What Do You Do When A Girl Has Trouble Opening Up Unless You're Fucking Her Nice And Slow?

This is an issue I think many therapist and intimacy counselors struggle with; a patient who simply won't open up. It's often difficult to find the key. I'm not suggesting you should go to the lengths I went to to get my patient to open up. And some might cry foul. But to those, I say poo poo. On you. Poo. And I mean that both as a pioneer in the intimacy wellness field and a general person in general.

Isobel Sunday was angry. This is all I knew. She was so angry in fact, she wouldn't even come to my office for a session. So, her parents and I had to get a little creative.

We had Isobel, who was a senior in high school, called down to the guidance counselor's office, where I would be waiting. Her usual guidance counselor, a Mr. Chapney, I believe, was glad to free up his office, having given up on getting anywhere with Isobel a long time ago. Some, including members of the faculty, even joked that Isobel and other difficult students like her had driven him to drink. 

When Isobel knocked, I was standing behind the door. "Come in," I said, muffling my mouth a bit with my cupped hand.

The door opened and Isobel peeked inside. I grabbed her hand and pulled her the rest of the way in and shut and locked the door. As soon as I let Isobel go, she slapped me across the face. Once. Twice. Three times. I grabbed her wrists.

"Let go of me! I'll scream!" Isobel hissed.

"No you won't," I said, bluffing.

"Why won't I?"

"Because if you do, I'm not sure what will happen to you. You see, Isobel, this is the end of the line for you. Everyone is at a total loss. And the next stop for you might be a mental hospital. You ever see One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest? Did that look like a vacation paradise?"

"Hospitals aren't like that anymore."

"Aw, don't let anybody fool ya. They're more like that than anyone would care to admit."

"What do you want from me?"

"Not very much. First, I would like you to stop hitting me. I'm generally a good person and don't appreciate being hit for no good reason. Second, I would like you to sit or lie down on this nice comfy couch. Third, I would like you and I to have a nice, polite conversation. Okay? Can I let you go?"

"Yes."

I released Isobel. She immediately sat down on the couch and put her book bag on the couch next to her and folded her arms and proceeded to stare off. I turned a nice comfy chair toward her and sat down. I reached over for my tape recorder and pressed record and grabbed my notebook and pen. Isobel was still sitting the same way. Her expression was angry and cold.

"Hello. My name is Dr. Mosely Untreu. I would like it if you call me Dr. Mosely. Or just Mosely. Or Mo. Or M." I smiled, slightly.

Isobel remained unchanged.

"Okay. I think we're doing great. Now, where were you when we called you down to the office?"

"Math."

"Would you like to return and maybe continue this at my home office, say, Tuesday at 4pm?"

"Yes. Thank you." Isobel stood up.

I stood up. "Isobel?"

"Yes?" she said, annoyed.

"What sort of things would you like for our session? Any particular music? Incense? Lighting? It's no wonder you wouldn't want to open up in here. Despite your usual Mr. Chapney's efforts, I find it a little cramped and sterile in here. Don't you?"

"I don't know. I like it in here. I like that it's small. I like that much."

"Good. Would you like to maybe stay a little longer? I think you could survive one day without math."

"Okay." Isobel sat back down.

"Would you like me to do anything else? Anything to help relax you. Is there anything in here you could do without?"

"That." Isobel pointed at a big colorful ceramic frog on the desk.

"Done." I put the frog in the desk.

"I've always hated that thing. It always makes me think somebody ate a rainbow and threw up all over it."

"What else?" I asked.

"Those stupid posters." Isobel pointed at all the cheesy posters about teen suicide or pregnancy.

"Absolutely. Wise choice. But before I do that, look what I found in good ole Chapney's desk." I held up an open bottle of red wine and a wine glass. "How old are you again?"

"18."

"Well, that was old enough to drink in 1976. And what's good enough for 1976 is certainly good enough for 2003." I poured some out in the glass and handed it to Isobel. "We'll have to share the one glass. So don't snoz it all down." I looked up at the posters. "Now, for those idiotic posters." I took them down and rolled them up.

While I did that, Isobel set her glass of wine down and got up to shut the lights off and closed the curtains most of the way, cutting the light in the room down significantly. "I don't like so much light," she said.

"Okay." I sat down in my chair.

Isobel sat down on the couch. "I'm a little cold. Is there a blanket in here?"

Isobel's outfit was a bit on the skimpy side, mostly black with a black and pink top, which was partly see-through, showing a blue bikini top underneath. She was also wearing extremely small black shorts, which made her extremely smooth-looking legs seem to go on forever. Then little black sandals. It was summer attire. But it wasn't quite summer yet. Plus, the school was a little on the cold side.

"Blankets?" I glanced around. I looked in a few drawers. "Here, why don't you use my jacket" I slipped off my jacket and laid it over her bare legs.

"Thank you."

"No problem. Music?"

Isobel pulled her Ipod out. But she didn't have a dock for it. I looked around and found a small radio. I turned it on, turning it to public radio, which was playing classical. I lowered it.

"When we meet in my office, we'll have access to more music. And you can bring your Ipod. I'm sure my daughter has one of those dock things. If not, I'll buy one. I've been meaning to update my music technology."

Isobel nodded and took a sip of wine.

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What Do You Do When Your Friend Asks You To Fill In For Him With His Wife On Scrabble Night While He's Away?

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What Do You Do When You Accidentally Titty Fuck The President's Daughter Twice?

Now, a lot of this is top secret stuff, so I'm gonna have to be a little discreet. I rather not disclose which president's daughter I accidentally titty fucked twice, so I'm gonna purposely be vague about the time period. I'll do my best not to give anything away. It's a matter of national security, maybe.

At some point during my career as a world renown clinical psychologist and intimacy expert, I was invited to have dinner at the white house. And let me tell you, it was quite a special occasion. My wife at the time, which I won't name, adhering to my need to be discreet about the time period, was very proud of me.

When I arrived in Washington, I went straight to the hotel. Compliments of the president, I  was given a room at one of the finest, most prestigious hotels in the area. There in the room, I discovered a tux hanging on my bedroom door. The dinner was to be that very night, so I got a shower and dressed and was ready to go. Also compliments of the president, I had my own personal limo, which picked me up at the airport and when it was time to leave, took me to the white house.

When I arrived at the white house I was amazed by all the elegance. And also by all the other people invited to dine with the president. I have to admit, I thought, perhaps romantically, that it would be a somewhat intimate affair. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It was grand. And I was a bit lost in the sea of shimmering dresses and sparkling jewelry and any other means of advertising ones wealth. Far too wealthy for my usual crowd.

It stood to reason, if I was invited to this gala than certainly there should be other members of the academia present. I didn't recognize one.

I really wasn't sure what to do or how to keep busy. I was starting to wish they'd just start dinner so I could be done with the whole thing.

Somewhat nervous, I eventually found refuge on the outskirts of the crowded hall. There, I could remain even more anonymous than I already felt and quietly sip my wine. While I stood there, however, I was approached by a young woman.

The young woman was extremely beautiful. She was dressed in a long black gown. Her hair and makeup were like a movie star's. And her breasts, which were quite enormous, dominated the shape of her upper frame and formed a long line of cleavage, which there didn't seem to be any way of hiding in such formal attire. If I had to guess, I would put her age around 20-25.

"Hello," she said, somewhat nervously.

"Hello," I said.

"Aren't you Dr. Mosely Untreu?"

"Yes."

"We've been reading some of your work at school. I find it fascinating."

"Thank you."

"I'm Chloe," she said, though it is an alias for the sake of this story. In actuality, she gave me her real name but I hadn't a clue it was the same name as the president's daughters, since I never knew the president's daughters' names.

In preparation for this event, it's true, I had planned to study the names and faces of those who most likely to attend the dinner: ie, the first family, prominent cabinet members, prominent politicians. However, such intentions were lost, in favor of doodling on the computer and last minute packing for the trip.

"Hello, Chloe," I said, as polite as could be.

"I'm sure you absolutely hate it when people do this," Chloe continued. "But I'd really like to pick your brain about a few things."

"All right."

"First, let's find a quiet place."

"All right."

The young woman led me through a series of doors and hallways until we ended up in a large bedroom. I looked around, a little curious as to whose room it was. However, after a few spinning glances, I saw nothing that might personalize the room. Regardless, I said nothing.

Chloe sat down on the bed.

I stood.

"Why don't you sit down?" she asked and smiled, a bit unsure.

"I rather stand," I said, still holding my glass of wine. I set it on the computer desk. I noticed there wasn't even anything on the desk to personalize it, as if it could easily pass for a hotel computer desk. I surmised this must be a guest room, though it seemed themed for a girl, with the large canopy bed and pink motif.

"Sit. Please," Chloe asked again, somewhere in the neighborhood of pleading.

"All right." I sat down a few feet away from her.

"Only because I feel awkward if you don't," she added. "With a bosom like mine, I'm always self-conscious when someone's head level is above mine. Just a quirk of mine."

"I understand."

"And I simply can't stand up for another second. Not with these shoes. Speaking of which, I'm sorry but I must insist I take them off," Chloe said as she peeled her shoes off and set them on the floor.

"That's fine. Now, what did you want to discuss?"

There was a short pause, as she rubbed her feet. "Well, as I'm sure you've noticed. How could you miss them? I'm certain they're the first thing everyone sees when they look at me. Of course I'm talking about my enormous bosom."

"Yes, I've noticed." I smiled. "And I'm sure they're lovely."

"Thank you."

"So, what is it about them that you would like to discuss?"

Then Chloe proceeded to slide her gown straps down her shoulders and let her gown slowly fall free, buckling on her lap. Now, she was in a strapless black bra. Her large, fluffy breasts were barely secured, as the bra hugged the young woman tightly and her breasts even tighter.

"Do you mind?" Chloe asked.

"No. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."

"Well, I would like it very much if you looked at them." Then she reached behind to unfasten her bra, struggling at first, but then freeing her huge avalanche of tits, which jiggled with her every movement, as her fully erect brown nipples, which were quite large in their own right, fluttered about.

"Just as I thought. They're very lovely," I said.

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What Do You Do When A Girl Seems To Only Wake Up If She Can Taste Come In Her Mouth?

This particular study has definitely been the cause of much interest over the years. Perhaps above even my most famous studies. And I'm happy to add it to my sex guide, so that everyone can benefit from what I learned.

When I was still living in California, back when the fissures in my marriage to my second wife, Jennifer, were but an insignificant scratch here and there, a very interesting case fell into my lap. 

A young woman by the name of Winnie Marks was having a very difficult time with what some thought was narcolepsy at first. However, it was soon realized, her excessive sleep mostly occurred as an extension of sleep in the morning. Eventually, her sleep became so ubiquitous, she often missed whole days of school before she finally came to. Then, one day, her mother, Angela, realized she hadn't woke up the whole day and they were already approaching the next day. Winnie had slept around the clock for the first time. As Winnie reached her late teens, her parents decided it would be best if Angela quit her job to take care of Winnie full time. Given that Winnie needed around the clock care, a state agency agreed to provide care for part of this time, in an attempt to spell her mother.

Everything was going the best it could. Winnie was for the most part catatonic, and needed assistance feeding, showering, and bathrooming. That is, until a fateful discovery was made. And it was made in a most horrific way.

John Janick, a state worker, who had, over time, gained the family's trust, to the point where he was eventually permitted to stay home alone with Winnie, violated that trust. To quite a disgusting degree. And that's when the horrendous, yet amazing discovery was made that eventually turned the matter around in one fail swoop. And also, landed John Janick in the state prison.

I think I'd be remissed if I failed to mention one important detail to the case. Winnie was incredibly beautiful. Almost other-worldly beautiful. By the time I got to meet her, she was all of 19. Those in her family simply called her "Beauty". Shortened from when she was catatonic and everyone affectionately referred to her as "Sleepy Beauty." As I stood in the family's front room, and Winnie suddenly approached, I couldn't help but marvel a bit. She was flawless, with almost a magical face with smooth porcelain skin. She had long and flowing blond hair, which wrapped around her and down to her legs. She had a petite, yet shapely body, with above average size breasts.

"Hello!" Winnie said with vigor, perhaps too vigorous for her age.

"Well, hello there," I said, somewhat surprised.

"What's your name?" she asked me.

"I'm Dr. Mosely Untreu. You can call me Dr. Mosely."

"That sounds like mostly untrue. Are you mostly untrue, Dr. Mosely?" Winnie quipped.

Though I'd heard that same comment probably a thousand times in my life, the way she asked, so innocent and yet playful and biting, I couldn't help but laugh a little. Then the others in the room laughed.

We had a nice time, as I got to know Winnie and her family. And when it was nearing 5pm, I excused myself, making plans to see them in the morning.

I arrived at the nearby state prison shortly before 5:30p. After a short screening process and mini interview, I was permitted entry.

I met John Janick in a private room.

"Hello," I told him.

"Hello," Janick said, somewhat paranoid, not sure who I was.

"I'd like to talk to you about why you're here."

"Yes. Okay."

"According to your police statement you claim that the victim-"

"Winnie!" he interjected.

"Right," I said. "Winnie Marks put a spell on you and that's why you violated her while she lay there unconscious and utterly helpless?"

"Helpless? No. She wasn't helpless."

"How was she not helpless? She was unconscious. She was completely and utterly at your mercy."

"No! I was completely and utterly at her mercy. She made me do it!"

"She made you..." I glanced at the report, "Pick her up from her bed and lie her down on her parents' bed and have sexual intercourse with her and end the act by ejaculating in her unconscious mouth?"

"Yup." Janick folded his arms and sat back. "What the fuck are you doing here? I've told everybody about this and they think I'm fucking crazy. If they knew the real truth, they never would have locked me up. I had no damn choice in the matter. The woman put me in a magical trance and told me what to do every step of the way. I had no fucking clue what was going on until it was all over."

"And what happened when it was all over?"

"Winnie came to life. Basically. She was running around the house and I was sitting there watching her."

"And what happened when Winnie's parents came home?"

"At first it was cool. They were happy to see Winnie up and about. Then one of them, I think her father, noticed some come on her pajama lapel. Then he looked around, especially their bedroom, and figured out, basically, that we had had sex. And I still had no fucking clue."

"You don't remember the sexual encounter at all?"

"No, I do. And I don't."

"Explain."

"I remember it happening. Vaguely. But not because I remember doing it. I remember it like I remember what happens in Last Tango In Paris. Only instead of Marlon Brando and that French girl, it was me and Winnie... doing stuff."

"Like you were watching a movie?"

"Exactly!

"An out of body experience?"

"That's it! Exactly!"

"Okay. Thank you," I said. "You've been very helpful."

"What about me? Are you gonna get me out of here?" he asked, sounding a little frantic.

"Mr. Janick, I'm an intimacy specialist and sex therapist. I have no pull with these people."

"What the fuck! You're a what?" he asked, all confused as he stood up. "Why are you here?"

"Mr. Janick, if there's something I can do for you. I will try."

"Okay. Thanks." Janick sat back down and dropped his head.

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What Do You Do When A Job Applicant Lists Fellatio As One Of Her Additional Job Skills?

Recently, I've been toying with a little hypothesis of mine. Something to combat, what I feel, is a growing epidemics in today's business world. And that is sluggish productivity. My theory is simple, but I would need an assistant to, well, assist me in conducting the experiment. And that's where Connie Cryer came in.

Once my wife, Jennifer, and I moved to New England, my practice really started to pick up. I was building a substantial practice and there was no looking back. Then I was approached to teach some classes at the local university. I decided to give it a go. I guess I was feeling pretty indestructible. This is when I first started utilizing the help of assistants. My assistants would help me research, compile data, conduct experiments, review clients, and whatever else was needed to continue in my psychological endeavors.

So, on that fateful day, when I was in my home office, easing back and reading through the applicants, there was one in particular who caught my eye. Her name was Connie Cryer.

For the most part, her credentials were pretty standard. She was a grad student at the university. She had done some work in the field. But frankly, it was her resume which particularly caught my eye.

Really, it was quite serendipitous. Right there, listed among her additional job skills was, of all things, fellatio!

After an extended game of phone tag, I was finally able to get Connie on the phone. To my delight, she sounded very well-spoken and appeared to know her stuff. I scheduled an interview for the very next day.

The next day, Connie arrived on time and dressed exquisitely. She wore a very respectable business suit and short skirt, with a white blouse that opened up low but not too low, revealing just enough cleavage to hold ones attention, which I thought highlighted her willingness to slut it up, while exercising just enough discretion. When she first arrived, I have to say, I was a little alarmed by her height, which couldn't have been more than 5 feet, which she attempted to combat by wearing very high heels. Her long dirty blond hair was corralled neatly and her makeup was very slight, very professional. I especially made note of her piercing blue eyes, which seemed to suspend me where I sat.

Connie's demeanor couldn't have been more pleasant. Her attitude reflected that of a very receptive, eager to learn person. To my delight, she was already quite a fan of mine. She was prepared to recite my history in the field of psychology, including my landmark discoveries and published essays on interpersonal relationships and intimacy. I was surprised when she mentioned a seminar I spoke at, when I first arrived in New England, and how she hoped to one day meet me, and if she's lucky, work with me. Sure, it could all be bullshit in order to get her foot in the door, but I was willing to accept her words on faith they were genuine. Cleavage can sometimes have that affect on a person.

"All right, well," I said as the interview was coming to a close. "Let me say, Miss Cryer, you strike me as a very impressive person, let alone candidate for this position. In fact, I'm tempted to forgo my other interviews and offer you the position outright."

"Go ahead. I won't mind." Connie smiled with a quick wink.

I smiled, seriously thinking about it. Especially since there were no other candidates I was considering. "Well. There's the matter of due process. And due diligence. As you start out in this field, especially with me, you will learn that I like to be thorough, and try to cover all our bases."

"Of course." Connie nodded, projecting disappointment.

"Oh, but be of good cheer. You've done extremely well for yourself. And I wouldn't be surprised if I'm calling you late this very day and offering you the position."

Connie lit up and then shot to her feet to shake my hand. "Thank you so much, Dr. Untreu!"

"Thank you, Miss Cryer."

And so, that's exactly what I did. After I shot a round of golf. I made the call and offered Connie the position, to which she accepted immediately, sounding as if she might be jumping for joy.

"Miss Cryer, there is one condition I failed to menion," I added.

"Yes. Anything!" she said, still sounding ecstatic.

"You must be available to start tomorrow. I have a hypothesis I've been anxious to start working on and I simply cannot wait any longer."

"Absolutely, Doctor! Whatever you say. Whatever you want. I will be there."

I choked a bit. "Splendid," I struggled to say.

The next morning couldn't come quick enough. I was thinking about my hypothesis the entire night. The logistics. And if it could even be done. I would know soon enough.

Connie arrived at 8 on the dot. My wife, to my disappointment, hadn't quite left yet. From what I understood, she would be going on a shopping trip to the Lakes Region with her niece, Kimberly, who had been living with us for some time now. Last minute, Kimberly got called into work at the veterinarian clinic. However, there was still a good chance my wife would be going anyway.

Regardless, I told my wife I would be busy working in my office all day and I wasn't to be disturbed. My wife, who might have already been starting to grow tired of me and my work, didn't say much about my request. However, I was pretty sure she'd honor it, either way.

Then I returned to my office, where I had asked Connie to wait.

Connie was wearing a more informal outfit than the day before. A similar blouse and long skirt and boots. Her long, wavy, dirty blond hair was down this time. She was sitting by the window where I had set up two chairs, overlooking the garden outside. I found it to be a peaceful place for my sessions. I sat opposite her.

"Hello, Connie," I said.

"Hello, Dr. Untreu," she said.

"You look very lovely."

"Thank you."

"By the way. I usually have my clients call me Dr. Mosely. I just like the way it sounds better."

"Absolutely. Dr. Mosely."

"Splendid." I opened up my folder. "Now, for my little hypothesis..."

Connie sat up, eager to hear about it.

"The problem is sluggishness. In the work place. Our task is to figure out what we can do to help increase productivity. And so, here's my hypothesis."

Connie listened intently.

"As you know, my specialty is in the arena of intimacy. So, my solution, naturally, is going to be related somehow to intimacy."

Connie nodded.

"And in this situation, what could possibly be added to the equation to remedy all this sluggishness. A little something to inspire workers to press on, and keep working?"

"I'm not sure."

"Think about it. What does a man desire?"

"Women?"

"Certainly. More specifically?"

"Women's breasts?"

"No. It's something that women do. Something to breathe life into an otherwise deflated man."

"I couldn't say."

"Of course you could say."

Connie thought about it. She considered her thoughts. Then, while still looking askance, "A blowjob?"

"Bravo! Give the lady a prize!"

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What Do You Do When Your Wife's Niece Is Always Naked And/Or Masturbating In Bed?

My wife, who's very lovely, and very kind, recently confided in me about her sister's daughter. She and her sister, both, were worried that Kimberly was going through a terrible bout with depression. She was no longer interested in pursuing her career at Biggy Burger, where she had recently been promoted to assistant manager, but instead, was opting to shirk her newfound responsibilities in favor of spending everyday naked and/or masturbating in her bed. Due to my expertise in sexual health, rather than refer them to another physician, I reluctantly accepted the invitation to go, myself, to talk to Kimberly about these things.

It had been a while since I'd seen Kimberly. Probably a good three years, back when she was just finishing up high school. She was planning to go to veterinarian school but missed the deadline for classes. In the mean time, she decided she would find a job and raise some money. So, she started her career at Biggy Burger. At first, she hated it. But then, after the bulk of the staff were fired for stealing, she was quickly promoted. She went from head drive-thru personnel, night shift leader, night shift manager, day shift manager to finally assistant manager. During this fast track up the ranks of Biggy Burger, the time came and went yet again for Kimberly to sign up for veterinarian school, opting to work a little bit more, in hopes of moving out of her parent's house. Kimberly cycled through like this for a few years. Until she arrived in her present rut.

I arrived on a Tuesday morning. Only Sarah, my wife's sister, was home. Her husband is often away on business, and this day was no different.

"Hello, Mosely, I'm so glad you could come," Sarah said and gave me a tremendous hug. Sarah appeared quite worried about the situation. Her hair and clothes, which were usually so nice and neat appeared thrown together.

"Not at all. I'm honored you would ask me."

Sarah smiled. "I'm finishing up the dishes. Did you get a chance to grab breakfast? I have coffee going."

"Coffee would be lovely."

I followed Sarah into the kitchen. She poured me some coffee, remembering I take it with one cream and one sugar. Then she returned to her dishes in the sink. "So, did Jennifer fill you in on the circumstances?"

"Yes, I think I know everything I need to know. At least before I talk to Kimberly."

Then, as I sat sipping my coffee, the faint sound of a girl moaning in pleasure seeped out of the vent. I have to say, even though I had a good idea who this moaner was, the voice itself was so full of passion and delight, it was nearly impossible not feel at least a little something. In my case, it was the familiar feeling of my balls tingling. Luckily, blatant erection to speak of.

"She's up," Sarah uttered, as she dropped her head and cried at the sink.

I walked over to her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "There, there. Let's see if we can't get Kimberly out and about and contributing to society again, shall we?"

Sarah nodded, just as the sound of Kimberly suddenly wailing in ecstasy erupted from the vent. At the sound of Kimberly's sex-crazed crescendo and subsequent descent, I was at odds with my body, having to adjust myself. I did so discreetly. But then I noticed Sarah, herself, was also slightly amiss.

After a short pause, Sarah led me up the stairs and to Kimberly's room. Sarah knocked gently. Nothing. Sarah knocked a little louder. "Kimberly dear? We have a visitor," Sarah said softly as she entered the bedroom and shut the door slightly behind her. I listened as Sarah continued talking to Kimberly. "It's your Uncle Mosely. Remember? The Doctor. He's come all the way from California to speak with you. Isn't that wonderful? Won't you say hello?"

I pushed slightly on the door and there, on the bed, Kimberly, who appeared completely naked, but was wrapped in her bed sheets, was squatting, as if she might be riding someone or something in a sexual manner.

"Can I take the stuffed animal?" Sarah asked.

Kimberly, who was staring at me, lifted herself slightly, and pulled a stuffed giraffe out from underneath her and the sheets and handed it to her mother. Sarah took the stuffed animal by her fingertips and exited the room.

"Hello, Kimberly" I said.

"Hello, Uncle Mosely," Kimberly said. Then, while still covered by her sheets, she lied down on her back, up against a pillow. The tangled bed sheets, however, would only go so far, as Kimberly's little cone-like breasts rested on her chest.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

"Good," Kimberly said, quite sure of herself.

"How long has it been?"

"Three years."

"Yes. How old are you now?"

"21."

"Oh, old enough to drink."

"I've been drinking since I was 15."

"Oh, I see."

"I've been smoking pot since I was 16."

"Okay."

"And fucking guys since I was 12."

"All right."

"Fucking girls since I was 15."

"That's good to know."

"So, why did you come all this way?" Kimberly asked.

"Well, it's been a while. I thought we could talk."

"Just out of the blue? You decided to drive 200 miles just to come talk to me?"

"Sure, you're very important to me. You're very important to this family."

"Yeah," Kimberly said, rolling her eyes.

"You don't think you are?" I asked, as I walked over to her desk and pulled her chair over to her bedside and sat down.

"Sure. As important as anyone else, I guess."

"Of course. Everyone is important. Every member of this family is important to everyone else in this family."

"Is this what you came to tell me?" Kimberly reached over to the night stand and grabbed a cigarette and lighter and proceeded to light up.

"Well, I was hoping to ask you about something."

"What's that?"

"Well, I'd like you to tell me a little bit about what you've been thinking lately."

"Nothing special."

"What about this?" I said, waving my hands around.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this lifestyle you've been living."

"Oh. Do you mean my lying around in bed all the time, naked and horny and fucking every inanimate object I can find?"

I cleared my throat. "Yes," I said weakly.

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What Do You Do When Your Stepdaughter Is Constantly Flashing You With Her Giant Tits?

I feel like I might have painted myself into a bit of a corner on this front. At first, I was somewhat receptive to my stepdaughter's amusing displays of affection, as inappropriate as they were. But after a while, I figured something must be done. So, here is what I suggest you do when your stepdaughter is constantly flashing you with her giant tits.

As you might know, I've recently married. Third time for me. Hopefully three is a charm. Anyway, everything seemed to be going well. I mean to say, we weren't without the usual snags along the way of matrimony. My wife, Beatrice, is lovely in every way. However, before we got married, she led a somewhat wild life. Especially a few decades ago. The result of this was a collection of children, who, well, might be considered juvenile delinquents in some cases. In other cases, downright menaces to society.

I wouldn't want to disclose too much about my family, and all their flaws, as this wouldn't do anybody any good. However, in the case of my stepdaughter, Millie, well, I think some good can come of disclosure. And that's why I've decided to include it in this guide.

The first sign of trouble for Millie and I would have to be the first day I met her. Beatrice, my wife to be, decided to invite me over to her house for dinner, where I was to meet her three kids. Millie, at the time, was only sixteen.

Dinner seemed to go all right. It wasn't without the typical demonstrations of territorialism a dinner like this would bring. All of that, I was expecting. However, after dinner, when Millie trapped me in her pink bedroom and asked, somewhat innocently, "So, you're a doctor?" I was taken aback, to say the least.

"Yes, I'm a doctor," I replied. I glanced around her bedroom, with its incessant pinkness everywhere, and I was more than a little nervous.

"I have something to show you," Millie said, her voice sounding concerned.

"Well, I'm not sure if-" I stuttered.

Then she started unbuttoning her blouse.

"I really must be going," I said and started for the door.

"Wait!" she shouted, sliding in front of the door. "I need to show you something. I'm serious."

"I'm not that kind of doctor."

"Oh, what kind of doctor are you?"

"I work with couples. Relationships. Intimacy issues."

"Sex?" she blurted out, a little too excitedly for my liking.

"Well, yes. Sex between consenting adult. Usually married couples."

"Oh, okay. I'm neither one of those. But I do have sex."

"Well, that's not my concern. That sounds like something you and your mother should discuss. Now, if you don't mind. I would like to join the others."

"Why? They're all boring."

"Still. I must be going."

"You're sweating."

"I think it's a nervous reaction to all this pink."

"I have even more pink to show you."

"Well, I have to go, Millie. It was nice to talk to you."

"It was nice. I can always show you later."

"Sure. That's fine," I said. Little did I know, unbeknownst to me, I had just agreed to let her flash me just about every day for the rest of my natural days.

At first, Millie's flashes were altogether harmless. They were quick turns and pivots, where no actual flashing or skin was shown. This was mainly before I married her mother. After I married her mother, well, Millie was inclined to up the ante.

When we bought the house in Skylark, and we all moved in together, in hopes of becoming one happy family, Millie was about seventeen, almost eighteen and her flashes had grown somewhat sophisticated, if not just plain brash.

Rarely did she keep her clothes completely on. Meaning her underwear, especially her bras, which I was getting know each one seemingly each day, were always on display. To make matters worse, it was impossible not to notice that Millie's breasts had doubled in size in the short time I knew her, but she saw no reason to get new bras that would have fit appropriately. She preferred to keep the bras that were obviously too small, and caused her oversized breasts to spill out. Sometimes, if you listened real close, I'm sure you could even hear her bras straining to keep everything inside. It got to the point that Beatrice went out and bought her new bras, but Millie didn't seem to like them for one reason or another.

When Millie turned eighteen, I was especially excited, because it meant that more than likely she would be leaving us to going away to college. However, when she decided to go to the local community college, my hopes were dashed. And her age, as if she saw it as some right or something, seemed to invoke some sort of freedom or a free spirit in her. She was eighteen now. A woman, she would sometimes say. And so, naturally, her flashing could entail not only underwear now, but nakedness as well.    

One thing she liked to do in particularly was when only she and I were home, which was a scary proposition to begin with, and was happening more and more since Beatrice went back to work, was Millie would walk around the house completely naked. I would be in my office and if I forgot to shut my office door, invariably, I would see Millie walk past the doorway, talking on the phone or just walking about, completely naked.

On one of these afternoons, when I was working on some case studies in my office, I heard Millie call out, not frantic, just trying to get my attention, "Mosely? Mosely?"

I cringed.

"Mosely, could you come here?"

I went to the doorway of my office. "Where are you?"

"In here." I heard her voice from her bedroom.

I rolled my eyes. I walked down, somewhat stealthily, as if her prospective nakedness was a ninja about to pounce on me. I was already nervous. Already sweating.

I got to her bedroom and there she was lying on her bed, wearing a tight, black piece of negligee, which she didn't even bother putting her breasts in. Instead, she was lying on her stomach, with her large breasts spread out on the bed. But no nipples were exposed. As if that mattered.

I recoiled back and around the doorway. "Yes?"

"I have something to show you."

"I'm a little busy," I said, still looking away, down the hallway.

"I know. It'll only take a minute."

"What is it?"

"I can't just tell you. It's something I have to show you," Millie said playfully.

"Your mother will be home any minute."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Millie asked, amused.

"Well. I need to start dinner soon."

"Oh. Yeah. Of course."

"I'll see you at dinner."

"Okay," Millie said, disappointed.

After this, I decided to be a little more proactive about this problem. As soon as I got back to my office, I called one of my assistants, Connie Cryer, and asked if she could come by the house tomorrow.

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What Do You Do When A Girl Rises From The Sea, Wet And Shivering, And Starving For Cock?

I can't tell you how many times I've had to field this very same question, especially since I've been living in the New England area. I think the only way to truly address it is by sharing my personal experience with this particular phenomenon.

About a month or two ago, I decided to go down to the shore. There's a little Chinese restaurant there that is quite good. I'm especially fond of the pork egg foo yung. I would direct you to it, but I rather not pinpoint my exact location, as this phenomenon, as far as location, should probably remain somewhat anonymous.

Anyway, after dinner, which wasn't quite as good as it had been in the past - from what I understand they've recently hired a new cook - so, this was a bit of a disappointment, I decided to take a stroll on the beach there.

Keep in mind, this was a few months, mid-October or thereabouts, so the air was quite chilly. I, myself, well, I had a nice, thick sweater and khakis on. I was warm but definitely could have been warmer. Perhaps I should have brought a scarf. No use worrying about it now.

As I was walking, for some time, mind you, I saw a figure in the water. At first, I thought it might be some sort of debris that washed up on the shore. I made a quick glance around, but there wasn't anybody around, save for a couple off in the distance playing frisbee with their dog.

I slowly approached this item in the water. And as I did so, I noticed it doing something. In actuality, it was getting up. It was standing up. With a bit of a struggle, it did stand up. I quickened my pace to see what it was exactly. And once I was within a hundred feet or so, I realized, in deed, it was a woman.

The woman was probably in her late thirties. She was sopping wet. She had a light dress, drenched and sticking to her. In fact, it was slipping off her, hanging at her waist, leaving her bare-chested. She had long black hair that was also soaking wet. The woman was hugging herself, shivering in the cold evening air. The woman, I noticed, was also looking somewhat malnourished, or at least a bit on the skinny, skeleton-like side. However, she wasn't so emaciated that she didn't have breasts. They weren't very big at all, but her dark brown nipples were beaming from the cold.

I approached. "Hello?" I offered, careful not to startle her.

She said nothing. She was only shivering. Her lips included, quivering too much to form a mere word.

I thought to give her my sweater and perhaps bring her back to my car, where I would blast her with the heat. The heater in my car can work wonders sometimes. Then again, I wasn't sure if bringing her to my car would be proper. Without even knowing who she was and if she was consenting. As a doctor, I must always be wary of situations that might mutate into a full-blown problem and jeopardize my license.

The woman stepped closer, out of the tide's reach.

"My name is Dr. Mosely Untreu," I said, stepping closer. "What is yours?"

"I'm hungry," she struggled to say.

"Okay. That's fine. We'll get you something to eat." I glanced back at the street that hugged the shoreline, wondering if there were any restaurants open.

I couldn't go back to the Chinese restaurant. I think I might have offended them when I informed them their pork egg foo yung wasn't as good as usual. I thought I was providing them with valuable information. In actuality, I found, the Chinese people there would have much preferred to be left in the dark on this matter. Some people simply refuse to be helped. 

Anyway, that's when I felt cold hands on my thighs. I looked down, and the woman was pulling on me. I thought, perhaps she might want my pants. I took no issue with that. So I started to loosen my belt and undid my khakis. The woman, who was now kneeling in front of me, waited and shivered, feeling the emptiness of her stomach.

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