What Do You Do When Your Brother's Wife Will Do Absolutely Anything To Pass College Algebra?

I would have liked to help my assistant, Tommy "Two Times" Johnson, with this problem before he actually tried to handle it himself. I think things would have gone a little better for him and his family. With Tommy's permission, I'm gonna share his story, so that perhaps, in the future, you'll know better how to handle this situation.

As a Doctor of Psychology, with an extensive practice, I must often utilize assistants from time to time. I have three assistants; Wally Mammoth, Tommy Johnson, and Connie Cryer, and all of which are students and/or teacher's assistants at the university. By the way, I also teach at the university from time to time. But like I said, my practice is quite extensive, and now, to go along with that, I've also started working on my first published work, that of which, you are reading right now.

Tommy Johnson, though he is much smaller in stature than Wally Mammoth, can still pack quite a punch. This is one of the reasons why he's so essential in my research. Take, for instance, what happened with his sister-in-law.

According to Tommy, this all happened about a year ago. Tommy, who is still an undergrad, had been putting off some of his gen-eds. One of those gen-eds was college algebra. It's not that algebra was particularly difficult for him. It's just it was tedious, or so he says.

Anyway, the time came where Tommy could procrastinate no longer and signed up for a summer session of college algebra, figuring this would make the class shorter, which in a way it did. Unfortunately, Heatherly, Tommy's sister-in-law had the same idea. And so, on the first day of class, Tommy, who was full of dread over taking the class, suddenly heard a familiar voice he couldn't quite readily place.

"Well, hello there," her mousy voice sang out.

Tommy cringed at the sound, as it somewhat startled him. Then he glanced over, and standing there was Heatherly, his sister-in-law, in all her brightly colored glory.

"Hi," Tommy uttered dryly.

"Jake was tired of me hanging around eating Bon-Bons all day. It's funny too, because I don't even know what Bon-Bons are. He told me, 'Heatherly, why don't you go do something. Get your nursing degree. Something. And maybe you can help out a little with all these bills.' To which I replied, 'Bills? Why, I thought bills were your department. While kids are my department.' Then he said, 'Well, do you see any kids running around here?' I told him, 'Nope, but that doesn't mean we won't be seeing them someday soon.' 'Right. Well while we're waiting, you can go get your nursing degree and help out with some of these bills.' Isn't your brother just a hoot?"

Tommy wasn't sure how to respond. His brother was just sort of a jerk. At least that's what Tommy thought of him. But he was big. And prone to fighting. Tommy knew that all too well from growing up being Jake's number one target for butt-kickings.

With nothing else to say, apparently, Heatherly decided to sit down next to her brother-in-law.

Once the class was underway, Mr. Jensen, the instructor, started laying down the class rules from the syllabus. After about fifteen minutes or so, Heatherly nudged Tommy's foot. Tommy sighed. Then he looked over. Heatherly was rolling her eyes as she sat hunched to her side and leaning against her arm.

"I'm so bored," Heatherly whispered a bit too loud.

Tommy nodded. "It's just the syllabus. It'll get better. I think."

"It better!" Heatherly sighed. "My first day of college and I'm already bored out of my mind."

After class, as folks were gathering their things together, Tommy was doing the same, thinking all the while about riding his bike home to see if he could catch Connie Cryer, one of my other assistants, on the phone, so he could talk to her while he masturbates, which was something he liked to do. Tommy has always been quite fond of Connie.

With these thoughts racing through his head, Tommy suddenly got a tap on his shoulder.

"You're gonna walk me to my car, right?" Heatherly asked, waiting.

Tommy nodded, reluctantly.

Not much was said as they walked to Heatherly's car. Then Heatherly decided to say, "Wow, feels like we've been walking for miles."

"Yep," Tommy uttered.

"It's true. I betcha I parked a good mile from our class. These parking lots are bigger than the mall parking lot, I swear!"

"Yep. Lots of students. Lots of parking."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not looking forward to this class."

"It's college algebra. It shouldn't be too hard. You took algebra in high school, didn't ya?"

"Yeah. I think. But that was what, ten years ago?"

"I think it'll all come back to you."

"You're so sweet."

Tommy shrugged.

"You know, I was really dreading this whole college thing. I mean, seriously dreading. But then I saw you there. And I thought to myself, 'You know what, Heatherly. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.'"

"Good," Tommy said, still thinking about Connie and what she might be doing and what she might be saying whilst, unbeknownst to her, he's beating himself senseless.

Heatherly continued, "I mean, how can I fail when you'll be right there, next to me, to help? I mean, you are gonna help me, right? You wouldn't let your own sister-in-law sink and drown right there next to you, would you?"

"I'm sorry. What? I was thinking about something else."

Heatherly looked disappointed.

"Help you? Yeah, I'll help you."

"Good, because Jake said he's gonna be pissed if I don't pass all my classes. That'd be pretty bad if I didn't pass the very first one, huh?" Heatherly laughed.

Tommy smiled, stilling thinking about Connie.

As the weeks passed, and the class progressed, it wasn't long before Tommy realized, no matter what, the compounding difficulty of an algebra class was more than likely impossible for Heatherly. This realization was a bit of nuisance to Tommy.

Plus, there was the issue of his own work being affected. To Tommy, the class wasn't all that difficult. The material came back to him from high school. Just like he thought it would. The problem was hiding this fact.

When he got papers back, he had to do his best to hide them from Heatherly. If she saw how well he was doing and how bad she was doing, well, instant depression would come over her. Tommy couldn't concentrate on his studies when Heatherly was sitting next to him contemplating driving her car into a tree on the way home.

Then, things took a turn. About midway through the semester, Heatherly's demeanor seemed to change completely. And Tommy was perplexed. He thought for sure she was just going to drop the class at some point. But no. Heatherly kept coming to class. And her hopeless descent seemed to miraculously turn around. How was it possible? Was she somehow getting it now? Perhaps, she was finally sticking with it instead of giving up before she even started. Tommy was pleasantly surprised and alleviated by the turn around.

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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 Your Pastor's Wife Is Constantly Complaining About The Lack Of Anal In Her Life?

My wife, Jennifer, who is a devout Christian, has always been a pillar of morality in my life. And that can be a valuable resource at times. I myself, I've never been very religious. However, when we first started dating, it became readily apparent if I intended on continuing the relationship, I would be expected to attend church. After my first wife, Naomi, who was practically a liberal, feminist, closet-lesbian, anarchist, Wiccan, I was probably feeling the need to compensate in the other direction, to a more straight-lace, conservative, WASPy woman. Hence Jennifer, my second wife.

Early on in our marriage, prior to venturing out to the east coast, we decided to attend an average-sized, about 400-500 people or so, Pentecostal church, in a remote town in Northern California. The church appeared, for all intent and purposes, to be very conservative. Although the women weren't made to wear dresses or skirts, they all did all the same. And although the women weren't made to keep their hair long, they all did all the same. For the most part, everyone dressed very conservatively, nothing too flashy. Not a lot of makeup. Not a lot of frills. Only a few women in the church failed to get the memo concerning these church-wide, self-imposed restrictions, my wife among them, and surprisingly enough the Pastor's wife also, Sister Rebekah, who I always felt I shared a certain affinity with.

As much as I tried to "surrender" myself to this church and its ways, it just seemed futile after a while. Sure, I had my moments of weakness, when the church and all its churchiness seemed to lull my sometimes sleepy mind into believing this whole rigmarole was authentic. But in the end, my mind would always wake up just in time to talk some sense into me. After all, the whole thing, especially when you approached it critically, seemed a little far-fetched.

Still, for Jennifer's sake, I continued to attend church with her. I had to at least try to please her in this way. It was obviously very important to her. I mean, it's not like she, all those years ago, when we first started dating, she didn't present herself as this sort of woman. It was quite plain. I couldn't blame her for my own idiotic need to give her the impression I would be fine going to church with her. Forever. And ever.

On the bright side, as a psychiatrist, just starting a practice in Northern California, the church provided an abundance of potential clients. It seemed that amidst all this oppressive conservativism, there were several folks who were just itching to get out, away from the church. Even if, all they needed was to leave the church, there was no way the thought was going to occur to them on their own. And for the most part, I didn't feel like telling them. Probably, because down deep inside, I knew that they knew it, too. And I was waiting for them to figure it out for themselves. In the mean time, their want and desire to leave the church manifested itself in other ways like alcoholism, wife-beating, stealing, fighting, bigotry, adultery, etc..

In the case of Sister Rebekah, the Pastor's wife, things were a little different.

I met Rebekah the first day we attended the church, when the pastor and her stood by the exit to bid farewell to all the folks attending the church.

Rebekah was somewhat tall and very beautiful. By far, she was the flashiest attendee in the church, wearing flashier clothes and a bit more makeup than any of the other women in the church. In addition, her dresses seemed to show slightly more chest and leg than any of the other women in the church. But she was the pastor's wife. And for the most part, this made her above reproach. Except of course for the members of the church who struggled with gossiping, which was basically 90% of the church.

Through the years, attending the church, and seeing these folks at various church functions, Rebekah always seemed to take a shine to me. And at times, she showed surprising candor. This always threw me for a loops, since everyone in the church, apart from those I saw in the office, seemed profoundly fake or delusional or both.

At one particular event, I believe it was a church picnic, I noticed Rebekah standing alone, by the brush along the lake. As bored as I was, I decided I'd approach her. After all, I had always thought we shared a certain affinity toward each other, as two, seemingly lonesome honest people stuck in a sea of the opposite.

So, I started, "Hello there."

"Oh, hello, Brother Mosely," she said, noticeably glad to see me.

"What might you be thinking about?" I asked.

"What does every man or woman or child apparently think about?" Then she discreetly gestured at something out on the lake and smiled back at me.

I followed her eyes and saw a teenage couple, out deep, with their arms around each other. I peered a second, and smiled, realizing they weren't just embracing but were actually fucking. Their intermittent looks of strain and pleasure were the giveaway.

"So sweet and so innocent," Rebekah said, marveling at the teenagers.

I smiled and looked a little closer at Rebekah.

"What?" she asked.

"Sweet and innocent?" I asked.

"That's Brother Scoll's son, Peter, and Brother Tanner's daughter, Willa. They're a sweet couple. They've been going steady all summer. I think it's cute."

"Rebekah?"

"Yes, Brother Mosely?"

"Forgive my French, Rebekah, but Brother Scoll's son and Brother Tanner's daughter are fucking right in front of you. In front of all of us. I don't know if I'd call it sweet and innocent, but I'd call it bold."

Rebekah peered out at them, watching for a moment. As she watched, at a certain point, she raised a hand to her chest in shock. "Brother Mosely, you're right. What should we do?"

I waved it off. "Do? Nothing. They're teenagers. That's what teenagers do. Fuck like bunnies."

"Brother Mosely, your language."

"Sorry. It just seemed like the appropriate terminology to describe this type of sex."

"Premarital sex?"

"No, fucking. Look at them, Rebekah. They're fucking."

Rebekah watched them for a while longer. This time biting her lips a little and clenching her fist tight. That's when another congregation member joined us. Rebekah didn't say a word about it.

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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 You Find A Girl Tied Up In Your Dad's Basement And She's Extremely Hot?

Recently, one of my assistants, Wally Mammoth, shared an anecdote with me and I'm going to share it with you, in case you should ever run across the same thing. As you know, Wally is a student here at the university, who helps me with research from time to time. When he isn't buried in papers and other schoolwork, Wally also helps his father, who is a retired police officer and lives just outside city limits.

Last spring, Wally decided to drop in on his father, which he does from time to time, just to see if there's anything he can help is father with around the house.

Wally rang the doorbell but there was no answer. He noticed his father's pickup truck parked in the driveway, where it had been for months since the transmission went out. Wally said he had offered to help him with it, but Wally's father could be stubborn. He insisted on doing it on his own. Even if it meant going down to get a loan at the First County Bank, where Wally's father had done his banking for years and had developed a long-standing relationship.

Anyway, Wally decided to use his key and go in and wait for his father. Wally flipped on the television and watched some "Threes Company". Just when things were getting good in the show, Wally could have swore he heard a noise, possibly a bell sound, coming from the basement.

Instantly, Wally thought how silly of him. Why didn't he think to check down in the basement right away. His father was always tinkering on some project in the garage or in the basement. Wally made a beeline to the basement door and went down the stairs.

Once on the basement floor, Wally scanned his father's work area. There were no lights or anything. Just the light coming in from the streetlights outside. Wally started to worry. Then he checked the other side of the basement, in the little makeshift room his father had been trying to finish for what seemed like years. Right now, it was just a bare room with painted cement walls and floors.

Wally walked over to the room and inside, to his shock and fright, Wally found a woman sitting on the floor, apparently gagged, with her wrists and ankles bound by rope. The beautiful, but scrawny woman was naked, save for a skimpy pair of black panties. She seemed almost in a daze. Perhaps drugged.

"What the hell is going on here?" Wally thought aloud. At a loss, Wally, just out of morbid curiosity, followed the thick, taut rope up to the hook in the ceiling, where it was locked down tight. Wally shook his head in disbelief.

The woman suddenly looked up, her big brown eyes glaring frantically, as she whimpered in terror.

"What the hell?" Wally said again, shocked.

The woman whimpered all the more, raising her bound hands up to him.

Wally walked over to her and knelt down. He took out his Swiss Army knife and cut the gag.

"Oh, thank you," the woman cried out frantically. "Thank you so much!"

"No problem. What's going on here?"

"That sick fuck!" the woman growled. "That's what's going on here!"

"What sick fuck? What did he look like?"

"He's old. And big. Real big. Like you."

"That's because he's my Dad. But why would he do this?"

"Because he's a sick fuck! Now, are you gonna cut me loose or what?"

"Now, wait a minute. I wanna get a few things straight. First off, who are you?"

"What does it matter who I am? Just get me the fuck out of here!"

I have to say, at this point, I had to agree with the woman being held captive. And I told Wally as much. I asked him the same thing, "Why didn't you just cut her loose?"

And he told me, "Wait. Well. I don't know. She was hot."

"So. When you happen upon a woman who is tied up, you need to untie her. Plain and simple."

"Not always," he argued.

"Not if she's hot?" I asked.

"No. You just can't go around untying every woman you find. What if my Dad had a good reason to tie her up?"

I shook my head and let him continue his story, as insane as it was.

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