Until about eight months after my eighteenth birthday I considered myself a pretty normal woman. I hoped that I was a little prettier, kinder, and slimmer than average, and much more athletic, but those aren't for me to judge. I was fairly comfortable in my own skin and had normal social interactions both with other females and males about my age.
There was no real cataclysmic event that caused me to change my view of myself - and my anatomy. It came about gradually. Perhaps the first defining moment, however was when I was a senior in High School. We still had a physical education requirement. After P. E. one Monday one of my friends in the locker room asked "Cheryl, is there something going on with your pussy?"
"What are you doing looking at my pussy, June?" I laughingly retorted.
"Hey, I couldn't help it - it looks like something at the top?" June shot back without embarrassment.
I looked down; something did appear unusual. I wasn't about to start inspecting my pussy in the locker room, however, so I casually lied, "Oh, I see; it's a scratch. I'll put some ointment on it," and quickly put my flower-patterned blue panties on.
I did look at my pussy in the mirror at home that night. My clitoris seemed to be a little bit larger than the last time I had seen it - which was a while ago since I didn't make a habit of inspecting my clit, although I did play with it on occasion. I touched it. I got a little jolt. It seemed more sensitive than I had remembered it. I decided to play with myself for a while, and was pleased by the very nice orgasm that I got within just a short period of time. I got a good night's sleep.
The next Saturday, five days after my inspection and stimulation of my clit, I went on a biweekly bicycle trip with a club that I belonged to. That day we had planned to go on a thirty mile loop ride over terrain with lots of hills and valleys. For some reason I felt a little uncomfortable when we first started out, although I couldn't identify exactly why. I found out why as I coasted down the first significant hill.
My crotch was being pressed into my seat by the force of gravity as we went down the hill. My clit felt almost like it did when I masturbated. "Holy shit!" I exclaimed - hopefully not out loud although because of the activity at my crotch I couldn't be sure - "I'm getting an orgasm from riding my bicycle." I stood up, relieving the pressure on my clit as I stopped just before a climax.
The same thing occurred each time we went down a hill. Finally, I just started standing up and coasting down all hills, which meant that I ended up in the back of the pack of riders. I made it back to our starting point, although a few minutes further back than I normally was on our bicycle sojourns, but at least I didn't fall off my bike wracked by an orgasm.
I was the last one to leave the parking lot where we had started our little journey. As I sat in my car wondering what the fuck was happening I reached my hand inside my pants and touched my clit. I almost had an instantaneous orgasm. In shock I moved my hand out, thought for a second, made sure that the car doors were locked, and then inserted my hand in my pants again. After four or five finger strokes on my clit I had a full blown orgasm and had to bury my middle finger in my pussy to get some relief.
When I got home after my masturbation orgasm in my car, I did a thorough inspection of my clitoris. It has grown in size and sensitivity from the last time that I had inspected it, and the tip seemed was becoming bifurcated. Halfway through the inspection I ran a finger over it and I almost had a spontaneous orgasm. It took only another thirty seconds of manipulation to get an even more intense orgasm than I had had in the car!
It was shortly after the bicycle trip that my clitoris started interfering with my normal everyday life. It was now summer and I was working to save money for college. My job was as a counselor at a camp; I was primarily the soccer instructor since I had always been good at that sport, including starting for my High School team all four years, and I had a clinical approach to the game.
I started to get periodic "twinges" in my crotch just from normal activity on the soccer field. I found that any movement where either thigh crossed toward the other one - a common position when kicking a soccer ball - caused a significant tingling sensation. While the sensation was pleasant, it was distracting.
One of the male counselors at the camp was a cute guy named Roy from a county near the one I lived in, although the camp was in a different state. I found Roy very personable and attractive. He primarily coached swimming, but like all of the other counselors, including me, had other duties. We often ended up together as dining hall monitors, and the cabin of girls that I chaperoned was right next to the cabin of boys that he was in charge of.
Roy and I had shared many teasing and flirtatious comments over the first three week camp session, and even a couple of pecks on the lips. Having now reached my nineteenth birthday - he was twenty - I was not a virgin but I was very careful and picky and had had only two partners and only had sex with each a couple of times. I had found sex enjoyable, but it was not the Fourth of July fireworks experience that I had heard about. In fact, the masturbation orgasms I had since my clit had started growing and becoming more sensitive were better than those when I fucked. I had not fucked since my clit started changing.
There was a free afternoon, evening, and next morning between three week camp sessions. Roy and I - with the pretext of helping each other get the cabins we were caretakers of ready for the next group of campers - spent most of the free afternoon and all of the free night fucking and sucking. It started with a friendly light kiss in my cabin - but whether fortunate or unfortunate Roy put his thigh between my legs when he gave me the kiss.
The pressure from his leg on my clit drove me nuts; if I wanted to cool it I would have had to push him away immediately. Apparently either consciously or subconsciously I didn't want to because I ground my crotch onto his leg. I climaxed almost instantaneously, groaning into his mouth. At first he thought that there was a problem and he backed away slightly.
"What's wrong Cheryl?"
"Uh, oh...sorry..." I panted. "I, uh, I, uh, just had an orgasm."
Through my glassy eyes I could see the look on his face - it was priceless. Despite my mild protests he quickly had me undressed and lying on my back on the mattress on my bunk.
"Holy shit!" I heard him murmur under his breath.
"Holy shit!" I exclaimed when his tongue touched my clit.
The fucker licked, sucked, and fingered my clit. I went through one intense orgasm after the other. I was almost delirious when I noticed him removing his clothes. His dick was big and hard. His boxers had barely hit the floor when he had that thing buried in me up to the hilt.
My long bifurcated clit rubbed against his cock with each stroke. While I was only partially aware of it, this caused my pc muscles to pulse so that I squeezed his cock with my pussy as he stroked in and out. Also, the intense almost constant orgasms that I was experiencing caused me to writhe around on the mattress like an alligator trying to escape capture. I got the distinct impression that both activities on my part were very pleasurable for Roy because he came after only forty or fifty strokes and filled my pussy with cum.
Even when Roy stopped stroking he pushed his torso up with one arm and used the hand on his free arm to abuse my clit again. This resulted in me wriggling some more which caused him to mutter over and over "Oh fuck yeah!"
When he finally pulled out he panted "Holy shit, Cheryl, that was my best fuck ever - by a mile. Your clit is over-the-top awesome!"
My experience was like a fireworks display, earthquake, and tsunami all at the same time. I could barely articulate a response but I intended to tell him how fantastic it was for me. Actually, words weren't necessary because I was little more than a happy pile of protoplasm by the time that he extricated himself completely, and stopped stimulating my clit, and he could easily tell.
After Roy sucked my tits for a while we could hear noises outside and we were afraid that one of the other counselors would barge in. Roy got dressed and went outside. I could hear him talking with two other counselors, and heard them go to Roy's cabin to do some prep work for the next set of campers. I was still groggy and just covered my naked body with a sheet and took a nap.
I was able to rally about an hour before dinner, did the necessary work on my cabin, and as I was about to leave Roy arrived again. He escorted me to dinner and sat next to me trying to put his hand on my crotch. I gave him the evil eye and slapped his hand and mumbled "Wait until tonight horndog." He got a big smile and kept his hands to himself until we went for a little walk around the lake and then back to my cabin.
The fucking that night was the best of my life up until that time - by far. Roy loved to eat me, and was completely entranced by my large bifurcated clit. I simply could not count the orgasms that I had; the night seemed to be one continuous orgasm until I more passed out than fell asleep after he fucked me for the second time that night.
The next morning I rolled out of bed sore all over. Roy was still asleep. He was a big guy and sharing a twin size bunk with him would have gotten me stiff even if my pussy didn't sting.
I showered in the girls' shower building, one over from my cabin. It was early and no one else was there. I was careful not to touch my pussy, not only because it stung but because I was afraid of stimulating myself again. I did need to scrub quite a lot to get the cum and pussy juice off of my thighs.
I had no sooner turned off the water when I pivoted and saw Roy standing there, naked, with a big grin on his face.
"Roy, you can't be in here," I grumbled, "this is the girl's shower. What if another counselor comes in?"
"She'll get to see the best piece of ass I've ever had - and maybe on the planet - go nuts again as I fuck her," he smirked.
"Oh no you don't you bastard," I replied, half-seriously, half-fearfully. "My pussy is too sore."
"You'll forget all about it once I start stimulating that mega-clit of yours," he laughed.
While I tried to get away, once Roy got a finger on my clit - not hard to do considering how prominent it was - I was done for. He bent me over a sink next to the showers, and after stroking my clit twenty or thirty times stuck his rock hard cock into my pussy and banged away while he simultaneously fingered my asshole. I came another half dozen times before he jacked his last load into me, fortunately less volume than his other loads so I had less cleanup.
Except for one quick interlude one night halfway through the next camp session, Roy and I were only able to fuck between sessions. That meant two more Friday nights, all day Saturdays and Sunday mornings before camp came to an end. The fucking was incredible, and I think that my clit got even bigger because I thought about the fucking almost every night. Since it only took about a minute to get myself off, I masturbated several times a day all the while imagining my fingers were Roy's cock.
One thing that did disturb me a little was the way that the other male counselors looked at me after my first fuck fest with Roy. There was never anything overt, so I wrote it off to my imagination. I should have analyzed it more critically, or at least confronted Roy about it - it may have saved me from what happened the last night at camp.
All of the campers had already gone home, and the staff was just cleaning up before we were leaving too. While it had been fun with Roy, I wasn't sure about any liaisons with him in the future - it was a summer fling to me, regardless of how physically satisfying it had been. However, I was looking forward to a last night of great sex before leaving.
Per our arrangement, about two hours after dinner Roy came into my cabin. I was naked, and ready. He quickly disrobed with a wicked, expectant smile on his face, then immediately went down on me, sucking my humungous clit into his mouth and getting me to orgasm in about one minute flat. I had at least another three orgasms before he shoved his steel rod up my channel and fucked me as vigorously as he ever had. During the fuck he kept repeating "You have no fucking idea how great it feels to have your pussy constantly pulsating and for you to be gyrating all around. Every guy should experience a great fuck like this!"
I could tell that Roy was spent after the second fuck that night, he was so energetic. I was almost comatose as he continued to lightly finger my nerve-ending rich clit as he lay next to me. Suddenly there was another person in the room, and the next thing that I knew Jackson, another one of the counselors, in charge of baseball instruction, was over me naked. I protested and my mind wanted no part of it but I have to admit that someone couldn't tell that by my body's reaction. Because Roy kept stimulating my clit I didn't do anything except mumble "No" a couple of times before Jackson shoved his cock into my pussy.
I don't know how long the gang bang lasted, but Roy kept a finger on my clit as guy after guy fucked me, and between fucks he sucked or licked my clit. One of the guys - I lost track of who - had an enormous cock. Guys think that all girls want bigger cocks - I doubt that is true, and I know that Cheryl Briggs, me, myself, and I, don't. It was too big. It hurt me. After big dick was through I passed out and I don't know if I was fucked again that night, but the next morning I hurt badly, and could barely walk.
My sheets were full of dried cum and other bodily fluids - they "cracked" as I pulled my ass out of bed. Roy was on the floor, sleeping on a blanket. He apparently woke when he heard my groaning. With a big smile on his face he actually said "I'll bet that was the best night you'll ever have in your live, Cheryl - huh? And you made so many guys hap..."
He didn't get out the full word which I assume would have been "happy," before I kicked him in the nuts with all that I had. As he was screaming and covering his scrotum with his hands I dropped onto him with my knee to his face, obviously breaking his nose as blood spewed all out of the place. He couldn't effectively cover both his face and his nuts so I got him good in both places another three times each.
As Roy lay writhing in pain I got a knife out of my backpack. I knelt down next to him and said "I'm going to shower. When I get back you better be gone. Tell your buddies who fucked me to get over here and clean my sheets and this entire cabin because if they don't I'm going to track them down and cut all of their nuts off!"
He nodded his head "OK."
I put on a robe and showered - taking the knife with me. When I got back he was gone. By the time that I had packed four guys showed up at my cabin, all with sheepish looks on their faces.
I smiled at them. "I hope you guys are here to clean up after last night. You had a good time, huh?"
At first they were taken aback since they obviously had seen what I had done to Roy. However, after I said "Fun, huh?" they loosened up a little and all four smiled and two said "The best ever."
"Is one of you the guy with the really big dick?" I asked with a coy smile.
After some hesitation a guy by the name of Brian sheepishly raised his hand. "I guess that would be me," he chuckled.
I walked toward him with an even bigger smile. "Well, Brian," I said as I got into range and then gave him the most powerful soccer kick - if I hit a soccer ball with that force it would have gone a hundred meters - I could muster in his nuts. Since I now had shoes on it had to exceed the pain of the four ball-busting kicks that I had given Roy when I was bare footed.
As Brian fell to his knees groaning I sneered, "That hurt you as much as your freak cock hurt me. Think about that before you stick it into someone else you bastard."
I turned to the other three shocked guys, pulled out my knife and said "I'm going to lunch. I'll inspect the cabin before I leave at one this afternoon. If everything isn't in tip top shape, with all the blood and cum gone and the sheets in the laundry, I'll track you down cut your fucking nuts off you shitheads."
They scurried into the cabin, leaving Brian moaning in the dust.
After my unwilling gang-bang I knew that I had to be careful. I got so easily stimulated that it would appear to any observer that I was encouraging the guys' activities, so I had to be sure never to put myself in any similar situation again.
Another thing that I did after the gang bang incident was to go see an attorney to see if I could file a sexual assault complaint. I was very honest with her about the entire scenario. "Your medical 'condition' would not qualify the acts as rape. There were no drugs or threats involved. Your probability of success would be zero for criminal charges and so small for civil action that it definitely would not be worth the aggravation," she forthrightly told me.
I thanked her, especially since she didn't charge me anything. I also took her parting advice, "You should see if a doctor could do something to help you."
When I started college I got a recommendation from the health center there about what type of doctor I should see. I was told a plastic surgeon. I found one who was highly recommended and went to see him about six weeks into my freshman year.
Dr. Barnes was very knowledgeable, very professional, and very thorough. He had a female nurse, Nancy Randolph, with him in the examination room - I'm sure to protect himself legally because of the type of examination he needed to perform. I almost jumped off of the examination table several times when he touched my clit. He needed to measure it, and he had to hold me down and have Nurse Nancy do the actual measurement because I was so sensitive and jumpy. I was seconds away from an orgasm when she completed the measurements.
Dr. Barnes was frank about my "condition" and prognosis.
"Cheryl, the average clitoris is less than 5 mm wide and 16 mm long, but what is most important is area. Normally for a clitoris more than 35 mm2 in area I suggest a procedure called 'clitoral reduction.' The name is very descriptive of that procedure; I reduce the area of the clitoris hopefully without destroying a significant number of nerve endings so that sexual acts are still pleasurable," he said. Then he paused and stroked his chin.
"I'm not entirely sure what to recommend in your case, however. Although it is hard to get accurate measurements of your clitoris because it is bifurcated - the first in my experience - its area is definitely over seventy square millimeters, twice that which I normally consider hypertrophy and for which I recommend clitoris reduction surgery. However, it is also the most sensitive in my experience and I wonder about what effect the procedure would have on your sexual experience," he continued. His nurse looked on agape, apparently not used to seeing her experienced normally decisive boss equivocate.
"Tell me more about what you experience during sex," he said.
"Well, I have to say that it is really, really a phenomenal physical experience for me. From discussions with my friends I'm sure that none of them have the same intense level of physical satisfaction that I get. It is fantastic just masturbating, oral is incredible, and penile sex is over-the-top. I guess I want my cake and be able to eat it too," I posited.
"What do you mean?" Dr. Barnes asked.
"Well, I want the feeling to be the same, I just don't want it to be such a hair trigger. I don't want to go off just from inadvertent touching, or riding a bicycle, or sitting on an unusual piece of furniture - all of which have happened before," I replied.
Both he and his nurse were pensive.
"I wonder - is there a non-surgical alternative?" I inquired.
His eyes lit up a little.
"Let me think about it. Come back in two weeks. Tell my scheduler that she is to make room for you in 12-16 days from now whenever it is convenient," he responded.
I thanked Dr. Barnes and Nurse Randolph then took the paper he handed to me to the scheduler/cashier. "No charge for today," she said with a sly smile. "Very unusual; even more unusual is the fact that the doctor wants me to schedule a follow-up appointment whereby you skip places in the queue. He's only done that once before in the four years I've worked here."
I was flabbergasted. "What was that situation?"
"Where he was doing a research project that he ultimately wrote a medical paper on that was published in the New England Journal of Medicine," she nonchalantly replied. "How about Wednesday the 17th at 3 p.m., thirteen days from now?" she asked peering over her glasses.
"Perfect," I replied.
I marked the new appointment on my calendar and tried to put the visit out of my mind. "So you're a freak," I said to myself. "Many women would like to be as freaky as you; just be careful."
My plan had been to avoid any sexual stimulation except masturbation my entire freshman year. Of course given my memories of the incredible experience sex with a partner had been that turned out to be unrealistic. I was able to avoid going out with any guys that were part of a group, like a fraternity or a team, so as to maximize the probability of avoiding another gang bang experience. I did find a guy by the name of Tim who was homesick for his High School honey who was also friendly, discrete, and not bad looking. Once he fucked me he was anxious for a repeat whenever I wanted it, including twice before I went back to see Dr. Barnes.
Given what Dr. Barnes' scheduler had told me after my first visit I expected what happened on my second.
"Cheryl, I've come up with several devices that I think may help your problem without requiring an operation. Two are pad-like structures, and the third is a mild anesthetizing chemical that can be used alone or with either of the structures. I'd like to explain," he said.
With Nurse Randolph looking on he explained both devices, which he called A and B, and the chemical. After the explanation he had a requirement if I wanted to use the devices.
"I'm happy to provide you with all three free of charge. What I require in return is for you to keep a diary about how well they work, what problems there are, and any other comments you might have. Here is what Nurse Randolph and I have prepared," he continued, handing me a three ring binder with scads of pre-printed sheets in it. I looked them over - they were self-explanatory.
After I finished looking the binder over he said "Please note not to use the anesthetizing chemical within six hours of when you might have sex."
I looked the papers over a few seconds more. "Sounds good to me; this is like a scientific experiment, and I like lab work," I replied with a smile.
"One more thing; I'd like to write a journal article about it. It would include photos of your clitoris, however of course you would not be identified. Only Nurse Randolph and I would ever know who the study subject was," he continued.
"WOW. My situation is that unique, huh?" I rhetorically asked.
"Yes it is," he replied as both he and Nurse Randolph smiled at me.
"Come see me every three weeks to see how things are going and suggest any changes. You don't have to make appointments, just call the day before and tell me what time you'd like to come in and we can work it out," he continued with a smile.
I was diligent in following the protocols that Dr. Barnes had established and went to see him every three weeks, just like he asked. I found the anesthetizing chemical was a little too effective, and he made two changes to it before it really worked for me. By the time my freshman year was over I had a system that worked wonderfully. I gave up on pad A. I used pad B by itself most of the time except when I thought I might have problems, like on a bicycle trip, when I used pad B plus the chemical. Going to parties I used just the chemical.
Things with Tim worked out a little too well from my perspective. I considered him a fuck buddy, and I thought that he was happy with that arrangement, with three or four fuck sessions a week, typically with two fucks and some nice mutual oral each session. Toward the end of the school year, however, he started getting serious, wanting me not to go to parties or on dates without him, and wanting to establish a real relationship. I knew he was not the guy for me, so I had to break it off.
There was one guy, Mark, that I had dated a couple of times - using the desensitizing chemical - who was a graduating senior. I could tell that he was anxious to get in my pants, and that he was surprised when I shut him down after the second date. After breaking it off with Tim and once Finals were over I arranged to meet with Mark in a hotel room. I didn't have any pretense about what would happen.
Mark had me in a constant state of orgasm for about six hours. He loved my big bifurcated clit even more than Roy and Tim had. He was so enamored with "The best sex of my life," as he put it, that he was willing to modify his post-graduation plans to accommodate a relationship. Despite the fact that he was a hunk, I declined. I wanted to finish school where I was and had plans of my own after graduation in five years with a combined bachelor and Masters degree.
During the summer I got an express envelope from Dr. Barnes. It contained a draft of his journal article. He wanted me to review it in case there were some objections that I might have before he submitted it for publication. I was impressed with the way that he displayed and analyzed the data - most of which I had collected - and appalled by how humongous my clit looked in the photographs.
The article also had a link to a short video clip that only subscribers to the medical journal could access showing me going from placid to an intense orgasm within seventy six seconds when Nurse Randolph - with a latex glove on and showing only her hand and my crotch - stimulated my clitoris during my last visit to the doctor's office before the summer. Since the link would not be active until the article was published the envelope also contained a DVD with the short clip on it, total run time counting Dr. Barnes voice explaining the scenario before, during, and after the clitoral stimulation, three minutes and twenty seconds.
I knew that the video clip would cause a stir - even I was impressed by it, and I was the one experiencing the sensation. There is no doubt that any straight guy who saw it would want to fuck me. I was glad that Dr. Barnes had etched into the DVD "Viewing this DVD without the written permission of Dr. William Barnes and the unidentified patient is a criminal violation of the Copyright and Privacy laws of the United States subject to fine, imprisonment, or both."
I called Dr. Barnes up, thanked him for doing such a marvelous job with the Article, suggested only one minor change which he adopted, and he submitted it for publication. Two weeks after the start of my sophomore year, I got a call from Nurse Randolph to come and pick up a copy of the published article in the New England Journal of Medicine, and to get some more desensitizing chemical and a new pad. Dr. Barnes had promised to free of charge (except for shipping costs after I left college) supply me with both chemical and pads as long as he was in business, and to give the formula for the chemical and the procedure for making the pad to his successor once he was no longer in business.
The article had been published, both in paper form and online, for about ten days by the time that I picked it up. The receptionist insisted that I wait until Dr. Barnes saw the patient he was with before leaving because he wanted to talk with me. He came out about five minutes later, and ushered me into his office with a big smile on his face.
"I had to give this to you myself to tell you about the reaction to the article. There have been more than 500 on-line comments about it in ten days, and I've gotten at least 100 emails about it. I didn't even know that that many people subscribed to the Journal," he chuckled. "You're famous - or at least your clitoris is," he beamed.
I left chuckling too. "Well, I guess it's good to be famous for something," I said to myself, "even if you don't want the world to know it's you who is famous!"
My pad and chemical worked extremely well all through college. I was almost completely successful in dating - or at least fucking - guys that I knew would be discrete and by the time that I graduated had had well more than my share of awesome sexual experiences. I graduated after five years with my combined Bachelor's degree and Masters in Biomedical Sciences.
I was working as a medical researcher - inspired by my experience with Dr. Barnes - using my Masters' degree in Biomedical Sciences, and had learned to make my own chemical and pads so that I did not have to impose on Dr. Barnes' generosity, when I met Darren McNealy. He was a medical equipment salesman. Darren was tall, good looking, charming (perhaps "glib" is a better description) and interested. By the second time that he got me in the sack he had broken up with his girlfriend of eighteen months (I didn't know that until much later), and by the time we had been going out for six months we moved in together.
Of course hindsight is always 20-20. There were signs that I should have caught that would alert me to the fact that Darren was a social climber. They even included statements he made to me and others about how his main goal in life was to rise well above his middle class roots and never have to worry about money. However, I was in love - or at least thought that I was - and love is blind.
Darren and I got married after we had lived together six months. He wanted a pre-nup. I told him that I would agree if it had an infidelity clause that significantly punished a cheater. I was pleased when he readily agreed to that.
Darren and I had a nice medium-sized wedding. Some of the people that Darren had invited seemed to be very snobbish to me and he seemed to be kissing their asses, but I saw no need to associate with them in the future so I grinned and bore it. Darren's parents and sister were nice - I was a little surprised that he didn't treat them better than he did, but thought maybe I didn't have the complete picture.
While I never told Darren everything about my "condition," he did know about the pad and desensitizing chemical. He asked lots of questions about them even before we were married. I answered most, figuring that since he was my husband-or-be or husband that there was no reason to hold much back.
Although Darren had seen the Journal article he didn't have access to the video clip linked to the article. The video clip had been taken down even for subscribers after it had been up for only two months as a result of some complaints by the Journal's more sexually conservative patrons who thought that it was too prurient and not scholarly.
I never told Darren about the DVD - at least I didn't think that I had. However, for only the third time in my life I got rip roaring drunk during a friends' thirtieth birthday party and had a vague recollection the next morning of discussing it with Darren. He had remained sober, and he convincingly denied any discussion about a DVD but started asking questions about it when I brought up the subject. I shut him down on the subject, and told him to never bring it up again.
The first two and a half years of my marriage to Darren I was reasonably happy. I certainly enjoyed my work as a medical researcher; even though I would never get to the top of my field because I only had a Masters' degree and not a PhD or MD, I was well respected and gained more responsibility (and got more money) every year. Darren seemed happy in his work too (although he would have loved not to work at all), and our sex life was good. He loved my hair trigger clit and seeing me repeatedly orgasm, and I know that I did a great job of fucking him - with my pulsating pussy and spontaneous wriggling - so that he had a smile after every session.
The only reason I say that I was only "reasonably" happy was because Darren appeared to be more shallow than I had come to believe before our nuptials. He was - perhaps the most delicate way for me to say it is "pre-occupied" - with money and social standing. I went to many events with him "just to be seen," and the people who he hob-knobbed with at those events were some of the snooty types who came to our wedding. They were still snooty. What got me through most of the events was that I loved to dance and there were many guys there who also did, even if Darren was too busy socializing.
Also, our finances weren't the best considering the amount of money we collectively brought in. It got so bad that a financial advisor told me that I had to separate my finances from his. Darren wasn't happy when I established separate accounts and wrote checks for ½ of all housing and car expenses every month and required him to pay the other half. We also filed separate tax returns since some of the deductions he was making unsettled me. I did buy all of the food for when we ate at home.
For about six months after I separated our finances and we had filed separate tax returns for the first time things were a little weird. He had some "business trips" or meetings that came up suddenly, and although he still loved sex with me he was significantly less affectionate than he had been our first two and one half years of marriage. I thought that he might just be pouting about the separate financial situation but after three months I confronted him and he denied pouting or being less affectionate or that his trips or meetings were anything less than legitimate. He reformed for about a month, but then relapsed.
My situation was preying on my mind as we got ready to go to a big party at one of his normally snooty friend's house - actually mansion - with the pretentious name of Chauncey Van Hoist. While snooty, Chauncey had come on to me at several events, but I shut him down. At one event about six months in the past he had said something about "The New England Journal of Medicine" with a weird look on his face; he had no medical background, or interest, as far as I knew but was merely a trust fund rich brat, which made me suspicious. I questioned Darren about it that night and he said that he didn't have any idea what would cause Chauncey to comment about that publication, and he convinced me that he had never mentioned my "condition" to Chauncey or anyone else.
As I was getting ready for the soiree at Chauncey's mansion as was my normal procedure I applied my desensitizing chemical to my clit and eschewed my pad. With the benefit of 20-20 hindsight the chemical seemed a little different, but I chalked my perception up to my pre-occupation with Darren's behavior.
As we were pulling out of the driveway, Darren said "Oh, shit; I forgot my wallet. I'll be right back." He ran into the house and returned a few minutes later, and off we went.
When we got to the soiree as was often the case Darren left me shortly after our arrival to do his social-climbing thing. I found some interesting people to talk to, and was surprised that Chauncey - who hadn't taken my spurned advances well in the past - was being a completely charming host to me, introducing me to people and bringing me my favorite drink - Pina Colada - something most hosts don't serve, especially at big events.
At one point a guy who looked to be a couple of years younger than I am came up to me as I had just broken away from a less than stellar conversation. "I'm disappointed that your drink doesn't have an umbrella in it," he said with a smile.
"Why?" I asked smiling back.
"Because then I could make fun of you thinking that you were on a Caribbean beach and then tell you about my year as a beach bum after I graduated college. By the way, my name Nick Greer," he said, extending his hand, now with an even bigger smile.
"Nice to meet you - I guess - Nick," I giggled. I didn't like the fact that his touch sent an electric charge to my pussy. "Thank God for the desensitizing chemical." I thought to myself, although I noticed a tingle that shouldn't have been there.
Nick was THE best looking guy that I had ever seen in my life. However, even if I wasn't married I probably wouldn't have gone after him thinking that he was out of my league. Even though I had gotten more nice comments about my looks, not less, as I aged from eighteen to my present twenty seven, I wasn't any Kate Upton.
Nick was as gregarious and humorous as he was good looking. It was a little hard to draw him out about what he did after his year as a beach bum - which he seemed happy to talk about - but he finally admitted that he was managing a Hedge Fund.
"Aren't you a little young to be a Hedge Fund manager?" I honestly asked.
He turned a little red. "Well, yeah - but some people think that I have talent..." he replied before being interrupted by loud music starting.
Chauncey's house had a ballroom where a band had been setting up. "Say, enough chitchat," Nick said grabbing my hand. "Put your Pina Colada down and let's dance!"
Since I do love dancing and liked Nick's company in addition to his looks I said "Sure!" and placed my half-finished drink on a table. "It's for the best," ran through my mind about my abandoned drink since it was my fourth one, more than I usually drink and though I was by no means drunk I was feeling no pain."
Nick and I danced three fast dances, including a Latin one requiring some body contact. In addition to his other talents he was also an excellent dancer, and since dancing had become one of my main athletic activities after I gave up soccer, I was keeping up nicely. Then a slow song began. I started to move off the floor but Nick grabbed me and pulled me close.
I immediately noticed that something was wrong. My clit was acting strangely. "I...I... need to find my husband," I unconvincingly stammered.
"Oh I saw him on the porch when he pointed you out to me. He asked me to dance with you because he hates it and he knows you love it," he replied, more with a whisper than a shout despite the music in the background.
"You know Darren?" I asked, surprised.
"A little," he said, then immediately continued with "You know you're the best dancer here; I'm honored to be dancing with you."
My mind was trying to process his comments, especially that he knew Darren "a little," as well as my clit not acting like it should when he surreptitiously moved his leg between mine as we twirled around the dance floor. That is it would have been surreptitious for the average woman. For me it was way too real since my clit immediately went wild.
At first I groaned into his shoulder. Then I tried to push away. Then I tried to say "We...ah...ugh...have...ah...to...stop." He just pressed his thigh more firmly into my crotch. I orgasmed right there on the dance floor, and not just a mild one either. It was at least half as intense as one of my normal ones from penile sex.
He seemed a little surprised by my response, but not nearly as surprised as I would have thought that someone in his situation should be. I was now being almost entirely supported by him as he seemed to be maneuvering me to one part of the dance floor. Before I had come down from my climax he replaced his thigh with his fingers and started massaging my clit through the thin fabrics of my dress - I wasn't wearing panties.
I was having another orgasm when I noticed that we were at the edge of the dance floor and only a few steps away from the door to what I understood from the other time I had been here was Chauncey's study. It had been the only room on the first floor off-limits the first time I was there, and there was a hanging sign on the door knob. I couldn't read the sign but the last time I was there a sign said "Private Please."
Before I came down from my second orgasm Nick and I were inside the study. He was now seriously fingering my big sensitive clit, under my dress. My clit was as hair trigger as it had ever been; I tried to analyze why but the rushing endorphins generated by my arousal had taken control of my brain.
I remember lying on my back on a mattress on the floor with only my high heels on with Nick sucking and licking my clit like it was the most fun thing that he had ever done in his life as I had an almost constant orgasm. I remember him standing and quickly removing his clothes, a fleeting thought that his cock was the perfect size and beautiful and that his balls seemed unusually large, and then feeling the penetration.
My pussy pulsed as forcefully and frequently as I could ever remember, I writhed like a captured snake, and he groaned as he pummeled the shit out of me. He shortly ejaculated an enormous load into my soaking wet pussy as his dick was positioned to stimulate my clit as he stroked. I know that I temporarily passed out the orgasm was so powerful, not surprising since it had been preceded by at least a dozen intense ones.
I was snapped out of my lethargy by a tongue on my clit and mumblings of "Holy Shit." It didn't sound like Nick. It wasn't.
Even in the low light in the room I could see Chauncey with a shit eating grin on his face licking my clit. Suddenly a finger also started stimulating my clit, although it wasn't Chauncey's. It was some other wide-eyed guy who I had seen eyeing me at the party but didn't know. Soon Chauncey was pumping his dick in and out of my cunt while the other guy continued to stimulate my clit, making me incapable of protesting even though this was about the last thing on earth I wanted to happen.
Although my perception of everything that happened lacks clarity, I believe that aside from Nick five other guys fucked me, each one while someone else was stimulating my clit. I was completely worn out and sore, and probably looked comatose although I still could hear noises around me. I distinctly heard a voice I didn't recognize say "Wow; that was all time," followed by Chauncey's voice saying, "Yeah, I'm gonna tap that Megaclit bitch as often as I can once Darren divorces her."
I regained awareness shortly after I heard the door click shut. The room was quiet even though I could still hear the music and voices from the party. I got myself together as best that I could, found my purse discarded at the foot of the mattress lying in the middle of the floor. My purse was on top of my dress and bra. I fished out my cell phone and called a cab. I dressed, tried to straighten myself out, and as discretely as possible exited the room. I went right to the front door, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, and soon was out on the entrance end of the big circular driveway crying while waiting for the taxi.
Suddenly I felt a hand on my arm. "Hey, Cheryl; why are you leaving early?"
It was Nick's voice. When I turned he seemed genuinely surprised by my tears.
"Because I was gang-bang raped you asshole," I screamed, pulling my arm away from him, "including by you."
He now seemed shocked.
"What the Hell?" he asked while holding his hands up in a "I won't touch you" gesture.
I saw the taxi approaching. I ran to it, the driver stopped, I got in and said "Get me out of here as quickly as possible," and gave him my address. Nick was staring at the car as we drove away. I tried not to look back.
The foremost question in my mind as I was riding in the cab was "Why didn't my desensitizing chemical work?" It was then that I remembered my initial perception - which I dismissed at the time - that it had felt a little different when I applied it.
Then I thought about Nick saying that he knew Darren, and doing all of the right things to get me uncontrollably hot if I had no chemical or pad. And how had Chauncey "magically" appeared in the study after Nick was done with me, and how did a mattress come to be in the middle of a floor of what should have been a work room?
By the time I got home twenty minutes later and paid the driver my head was almost clear and I was anxious and pissed. I immediately went to where I kept my desensitizing chemical. I smelled it, put some on my finger, and poured some in a glass to get a good look at it. It was my normal chemical - but maybe Darren had switched it when he went back into the house supposedly to retrieve his wallet?
Darren was not the cleverest guy in the world. I immediately thought of a dozen places that he could have hidden a bottle of fake chemical - but maybe he just threw it out. The first thing that I did was to inspect the garbage receptacle in the kitchen. There, under a few wet paper towel sheets, was a bottle that looked just like my chemical bottle. I got out a rubber glove from under the sink, picked up the bottle with it, and put the bottle in a plastic food storage bag.
I'm no CSI, but I do watch TV crime shows, and I also work in a lab. I planned to have the bottle analyzed for prints and DNA, and the liquid inside it tested.
I then started thinking back to other possible unusual events in the recent past. Soon the comment Chauncey had made a while back about The New England Journal of Medicine came to mind. I immediately went to the place where I kept my copy of the Journal that had the article about me in it, and the DVD. Both were in the box at the back of the top shelf of my closet where I had put them, but they were the top items in the box. I NEVER put them as the top item. I always had the magazines and photos which were now underneath them on top of them. I carefully picked up the DVD case - which I had never let Darren handle - with my rubber glove on and put it in another plastic food storage bag.
I changed clothes, packed a large suitcase which included all of my valuables, chemicals, and pads; grabbed my notebook computer; got in my car; and took off for a hotel near my office.
Darren called my cell phone shortly after I checked into the Four Seasons. I saw no reason not to answer.
"Where are you, you slut; fucking some other guys?" he yelled, I guess figuring that a good offense was the best defense. His comment confirmed even more what I suspected had happened.
"Whatever do you mean darling dearest?" I sweetly replied.
"You know damn well what I mean. Chauncey told me about how you came on to him and showed me the video of you getting gang banged, you whore. I'll be divorcing your ass and enforcing the pre-nup come Monday," he growled.
"You may want to hold up on that a little while, sugar?" I even more sweetly replied.
"And why in the fuck is that?" he screamed.
"Because it might land you in jail after I test the chemical and the bottle and DVD case for DNA and fingerprints you fucking mental midget, that's why!" I screamed back, terminated the call, and turned my cellphone off and even removed the battery - maybe I watch too much TV, but why not go all the way!
Early Sunday morning I called the home of the head of security of the lab I work at. He wasn't thrilled to hear from me but we had a good relationship and when I gave him a synopsis of my problem he became cooperative. He agreed to meet me at my lab within the hour and put my plastic bagged items in the safe in his office. He used to be a homicide cop before he retired, and marked up my baggies just like they do evidence on crime shows.
When I got to my office the next morning I saw Darren's car in the lot. I knew he would not have been able to get into the building - since it is a secure medical facility - unless I was there. I called the guard station, confirmed that he was waiting outside the front door, and told the guard I talked to to be sure that he never got in. Then I asked one of the guards to open the normally inaccessible and alarmed back door so that I could enter. He grumbled a little, but complied.
After I entered through the back door, I went with the guard to the front desk to sign in. I then knocked on the inside of the front door and waved at Darren with a big smile on my face, then turned and walked to my office to the sound of him banging on the door and yelling something that I couldn't make out.
Darren called my office phone. I picked up. "I don't know what game you're playing, bitch, but I'm not afraid of you. I've got all the evidence I need in the video and Chauncey's testimony. Make things easy for yourself and just agree to the divorce and the pre-nup conditions and I won't embarrass you by including the video as part of my filings," he grumbled, although with a clear hint of uncertainty in his voice.
"Have you checked to see if your bottle is still in the trash? Have you located the DVD in the box that you returned it to after you showed it to Chauncey and others? If not, FUCK you and look forward to a Bubba being your cell mate, asshole!" The two questions I asked in a sickly sweet voice. The statement I shrieked.
My immediate supervisor was good friends with the director of the crime lab that did overflow work for the city, county and state police forces. They were happy to pick up and test my samples. If they had trouble determining what the chemical was they had a freelance retired chemist who could do it for them. They offered to do it gratis, but I insisted that I be charged their normal fees. "I don't want there to be any hint that what you find is tainted," I said. They picked up my baggies from the Security Chief's safe the same day.
That afternoon I got a surprise call. "Mrs. McNealy, this is Roger at the guard station. A guy by the name of Nick Greer is here to see you. He says that he doesn't have an appointment but that it is urgent that he talk to you."
I paused long enough so that the guard asked "Mrs. McNealy - are you still there?"
"Yes, sorry Roger," I replied. "What the hell is this," ran through my mind. I don't know why, but I decided to meet with him.
"Is there an unsecure conference room available, Roger?" I asked. There are three conference rooms that can be used by staff with vendors, or others, who we do not want to admit to the secure parts of our facility but who we want to talk with nevertheless.
"Yes ma'am; Room B."
"OK, Roger; please seat Mr. Greer in Unsecure Conference Room B and I'll be down in a few minutes."
I finished up the last sentence of the report I was writing then went into the ladies room to see if I looked presentable. "Why in the hell are you worried about that," I chastised myself, to no avail.
My demeanor was cold when I walked into the conference room. "I wasn't expecting to see you again, Mr. Greer. You have - pardon the expression - big balls to come here; plus how did you even know where I worked?"
"You're the only Cheryl Sue McNealy in the state, and I think that you know that I have big balls," he said with a grin. When I didn't smile outwardly, although I did inwardly, he said "Sorry, just an attempt at humor to break the ice. I'll get right to the point."
"I'd appreciate that," I replied with arms folded in front of me.
"After you left Chauncey's party, I got the distinct impression that part of what I was told about you may not be true. I confronted your husband and Chauncey about it, but they assured me that your abrupt departure with tears was an act on your part - part of the game."
"What fucking game?" I sneered.
"That's exactly what it allegedly was, a 'fucking' game," he responded without missing a beat.
"Chauncey Van Hoist is a client of mine. He and your husband came to my office about a week ago. Chauncey knew that I had just gotten out of a destructive relationship and was just looking for a good piece of ass that I didn't have to pay for or have complications with. They told me you were just the person."
I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms more tightly.
"Darren said that you and he had an open marriage, that you were sexually insatiable, that you had an unusual physical feature that would drive me wild, and that you loved to have surprise gang bangs arranged for you. He said that you truly liked them to be a surprise and not with the same people that you normally did them with. They showed me a DVD of your - 'unusual' equipment - and a photograph of you in a bikini."
I couldn't fucking believe what he was saying - not that he was lying, just that it was so fucking awful - and wanted to scream. However, I controlled myself and just listened with my stomach in a knot.
"I was interested, but wondered whether a hot chick like you really was interested in this shit, and why they wanted me to be point man on the next escapade. They gave me the names and numbers of two of your female friends and told me to call them, giving any pretext I wanted, and ask about you, and they would find out what I was saying was true."
I could contain myself no longer. "Did you?"
"Yes; well I called one of them; Constance Danner."
"That fucking bitch?" I yelled. She was one of Chauncey's snooty friends who had never given me the time of day, and who I despised.
"Yeah; well she confirmed everything that I could delicately confirm - without asking her if she had witnessed one of your gang bangs. Plus, I was VERY intrigued by your appearance, both in a bikini and - well," he now was blushing. "Well, uh, and your unusual physical feature. They said that they wanted me to be the one pretending to seduce you since you would find it thrilling because you didn't know me but would consider me handsome, and I would be first in the gang bang."
With that he got quiet for a second and cast his eyes on the ground. When he lifted his head back up he continued. "Looking back in hindsight I was gullible; but I guess that I really wanted to believe it at the time; and it was the best sex of my life. That's why I came after you when I saw you leave. I wanted to make arrangements for just the two of us to hook up."
After another sheepish pause he said "One more thing; I didn't know that they were filming it. I only found out later and demanded that they remove me from the video - which they did, in my presence."
A sudden calm came over me. Nick's story either confirmed or expanded upon every evil deed or intent I had attributed to Darren and Chauncey. "Why are you telling me this?" I inquired.
"Because I know that they lied to me and I want to do anything possible to help you."
"Anything?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied without equivocation.
"Even giving testimony? Losing Chauncey as a client?"
"I've already decided to jettison Chauncey, and yes, I'll give testimony. I know that I'm not going to come out of this smelling like a rose, but I have to do the right thing, and if that means testifying, so be it."
I smiled. "Meet me at my attorney's office once I get an appointment. Please give me your cell phone number and I'll call you."
Without hesitation, he reached into the interior pocket of his stylish suit jacket, pulled out a gold business card case, took out one of his cards and wrote his cell phone number on the back. "Please don't share my number with anyone else."
"Deal," I replied. "Thanks for coming in," I said while extending my hand.
Instead of shaking my hand he held it and kissed it. "I'm truly sorry," he said, then quickly disappeared.
Even though I was wearing one of my pads I felt a tingle in my still sore nether regions.
I got a recommendation from my Lab's attorney for a divorce lawyer, a woman with the alliterative name of Liza Litton, and called her up. She could see me Wednesday at 4:00 p. m. I explained the situation to her and asked if I should have Nick accompany me. Liza quickly responded "Yes, and tell him I'm going to do a quick video deposition."
I called Nick and he was good to go. I gave him Liza's address.
Nick couldn't have been more cooperative. Liza could not have been more ga-ga when she took Nick's video deposition. After he left she said "I'm sorry, but I have to get someone else form my office to handle this."
"Why?" I asked.
"Didn't you see what a fool I made of myself? I'm divorced, haven't been lad in several months, and that is the tastiest hunk I've ever seen in my life. I'll continue to make an ass of myself around him, and you don't want that, believe me. Dan Watson is the best we have - I'll introduce you."
And so I came to have Dan Watson as my divorce attorney.
He was good. He was quick on the uptake, and had several excellent contingency plans devised by the time that I left, two hours after meeting him. I apologized for keeping him in the office until 7:00 p. m."
"No problem; I'm going to love this case," he grinned. "Let me know as soon as the lab results come back so that I'll know which contingency plan to implement."
Darren had not served me with divorce papers yet. I didn't know if he was heeding my advice or if just couldn't find me. I decided to let him know where I was. I called him after I ate dinner that Wednesday night.
"I understand that you met with Nick Greer and got him to lie for you," he started out the conversation. "You really know how to use your mega-clit to your advantage don't you," he sneered.
I just laughed.
He changed his tune. "Look, we don't want a blood bath, do we? Even though I could get 80% of our assets by enforcing the pre-nup, let's settle this quickly and I'll just take 60% and we'll be done with each other."
I laughed again. "I know you, asshole - though apparently not as well as I thought given the absolutely dastardly thing that you did to me. However, I know enough to know that you've got your eye on one of your snooty rich friends to marry and let you live a life of luxury, otherwise you wouldn't have gone through all the trouble that you have. So I tell you what. I'll give you until the DNA and fingerprint test results come back on the DVD case and chemical bottle to accept 25% of our assets and I won't bring any charges against you; but tell your butt-buddy Chauncey that he's going to pay me a quarter of a million dollars otherwise I'm going after him big time both criminally and in civil court."
There was silence. "When will the test results be back?" he asked.
"A week from today," I responded. They really were coming back Monday but I wanted to know the strength of my case before a final discussion. "Next Wednesday morning you and your butt-buddy either tell me 'Yes,' or file your divorce papers; you can serve my attorney. His name is Dan Watson - tell yours." With that I terminated the call.
I did get the test results back Monday. Darren's fingerprints were in the system and matched fingerprints on both the DVD case and bottle. DNA on both of them also matched the DNA sample of Darren's that I had gotten from his hairbrush and given to the lab. The chemical in the bottle was not just inert - it actually had a slight sensitizing effect, so not only was it not desensitizing me, it was making my condition even worse when I applied it to my clit that Saturday night.
Wednesday morning Darren called me with Chauncey on the line. Chauncey tried to wiggle out of paying me, and Darren supported his supposed lack of knowledge; but I wasn't buying any bullshit. "Say yes in twenty seconds, asshole, or my attorney will have a suit on file by the end of the week, and will also call the cops," I yelled at Chauncey. A meek "Yes," shortly followed.
All of the settlement papers were ready that Friday - neither my attorney nor I wasted any time. The papers did provide that if the video of me getting gang-banged ever saw the light of day that each of Darren and Chauncey would owe me $500,000. After the papers were signed and notarized Darren coldly said to me "You know that I never loved you. You were just great sex to me." It hurt - but then I wondered if I had ever loved Darren. I didn't reply.
"Where's my check?" I asked Chauncey.
Nick Greer is making the arrangements as he's transferring my assets to another organization after giving me the boot - even I can't get $250,000 cash that quickly. Here's his card; give him a call and he says that he can meet with you to discuss it anytime," Chauncey replied.
Strangely, this scenario didn't bother me.
Then Chauncey callously asked - knowing that all the papers had been signed - "I don't suppose that I could get one more shot at your mega-clit?"
I tried to kick him in the balls but my four inch heels weren't too steady, and he moved away quickly, so I missed. I did yell "Screw both of you assholes," as they exited.
I called Nick. He asked to meet me at my attorney's office - where I still was - in ten minutes. He was in the area and would take me to his office. "Strange," I thought, but I agreed.
Nick picked me up right on time and was effervescent as we drove to his office. I didn't mind - I was in a great mood too. My divorce would be final in three months, and I got the house and in total 75% of our assets, plus a cool quarter million from Chauncey.
When we got to Nick's office I was impressed. It was classy but understated; everything was in good taste, including the original art work on the walls. I was less impressed by his greeting of the exceptionally cute and young brunette receptionist. "Hi sweet cheeks, any messages?"
"They're on your desk, sexy," was her quick giggling reply.
As we walked through the office he introduced me to several people. Even though they all called him "Nick," not "Mr. Greer;" it was clear to see that he was the boss. Two of the women he introduced me to were fashion model beautiful - except more so since they had real bodies and not sticks.
hen we got to his functional yet elegant office he started explaining my options for getting my 250K when I interrupted him.
"Seems like you like to have eye candy around," I snidely said.
"That's why I brought you here," he snickered.
"I mean your staff."
"Well," he said, "I tried not to hire them because they were so good looking but failed. The blonde was number two in her class at Northwestern's Kellog Graduate School of Business. She's happily married to an NFL offensive lineman who I'm careful around not only because he could crush me with one hand but because he got a third of his teammates to become my clients. The redhead has a Master's in Computer Science from MIT and is a lesbian - she was very impressed with you, by the way."
"What about the brunette at the reception desk - 'sweet cheeks' I believe her name is?" I said sarcastically.
"That's my sister, working this summer until she goes back to Stanford Business School."
I was embarrassed that I had asked about them for many reasons. Before he could continue about my options, however, I asked "Did you really jettison Van Hoist as a client - I know that he's a multi-millionaire."
"Sure as hell did," he replied. "There are things more important than money - like integrity and relationships."
Then he explained my options for getting my $250,000, each of which had different total economic consequences. I didn't understand everything he said, even though he had the options printed out nicely on two sheets of paper; there was too much jargon. "Which do you recommend?" I asked, pretending to understand the papers.
Option C," he quickly replied.
"Why that one?" I queried.
"Because that one will require you to interface with me and give me the best chance of establishing a romantic relationship with you."
"Why would you want that?" I sternly asked. "Because I'm 'Megaclit?'"
"WOW, you really do sell yourself short, don't you. I want a relationship, not just sex, because I'm attracted to you in many ways and I think that there's chemistry between us."
"You're too good looking for me. Everyone would always wonder how you got stuck with such a dog - it wouldn't work."
"First time I've ever been rejected for being too good-looking," he snickered. "I guess your confidence has really been shaken by that asshole husband of yours. Tell you what; let's do some real investigation. Let's go to some University psychology department or some marketing organization. We'll have them arrange for us to meet twenty random straight men and women then have them rate our looks for compatibility."
"That's crazy," I sneered.
"Afraid you'll get honest feedback and won't be able to use my comparative looks as a reason not to try a relationship?"
Somehow, against my better judgment, a week later we were at a marketing organization, me wearing a dress, heels and jewelry that Nick had picked out for me, and him wearing a suit, pants, shoes, and no tie, that I had picked out for him. We interacted with ten straight guys and women, all within eight years of our ages, for an hour.
After the meet-and-greet I sat down with the director of the organization to ask him exactly what was going to be done, and to insure his objectivity. He offered to let us view the proceedings through a one-way mirror. I accepted, and Nick sat next to me.
I guess I'm not as frumpy as I thought. Combining the men's and women's scores - both sexes rated both of us - twenty five percent thought that Nick was better looking that I was, ten percent thought that I was better looking, and the other sixty five percent said we were perfectly compatible in the looks department. I was shocked. I thought it would be 90-10 in Nick's favor.
After that I had no excuse not to date Nick. We dated - without penile sex - until my divorce was final. Then we dated with full blown sex for three months. I had fallen in love with him, but I wanted to make sure that he loved me, and not just sex with me because of my "unusual" condition. I made an appointment with Dr. Barnes for a consultation about possible clitoris reduction surgery.
When I explained everything relevant about my past and issues, Dr. Barnes agreed to do the surgery. Techniques had improved since I had seen him last and he thought that he could reduce my clit size and remove the "hair trigger" effect while still ensuring that I got satisfaction from the sexual experience.
I told Nick what I was planning. He never tried to talk me out of it. He drove me to the hospital, saw me in the recovery room, and took me home the next day. He had arranged for a nurse for three days, although I had never asked him to.
I was impressed. I wondered how it would work out with Nick.
Epilogue:
I hate "And they lived happily ever after" endings. They're cheesy and unrealistic. Therefore I'm not going to tell you about feeling that with Nick I now make love for the first time instead of just getting fucked. I will not mention that not only is Nick a great lover and my soul mate but that he is the best father possible for our two kids, and that his family and mine get along great. I'm certainly not going to let you know that I'm completely fulfilled and happier than I ever thought possible. Instead, I'm going to tell you about the pain and humiliation that I suffer.
Sometimes that bastard Nick leaves the toilet seat up!
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