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Brian sat at his kitchen table, reading the morning paper. A feature article on health and relationships mentioned that oft-sited statistic about most men daydreaming about sex about 2,000 times a day. Brian sniffed. Not him. His experience with women was so limited, he dreamed about merely TALKING to a woman about 2,000 times a day. Brian was twenty-six, and he only just moved out of his parents’ house last week. He had a decent job, a nice apartment, a reliable but not flashy car. And he wasn’t that bad-looking, he thought. He could stand to drop a few pounds, but if he could only meet the right girl, that wouldn’t matter.
Who was he kidding? Meet the right girl? He never grew out of that fear that every boy has in high school… the fear of calling a girl on the telephone. When you’re sixteen, dialing a girl’s entire phone number except for the last digit, and then hanging up in a panic is normal. Even endearing. For a twenty-six year old, it’s pathetic.
Brian sighed. He met girls at work now and then. Sometimes he even braved a few lines of conversation. But he always knew they thought of him as pleasant enough, but harmless. Non-threatening. A friend. He’d give anything to be a little threatening. HarmFUL, even. Okay, not harmful, really, but you get the idea.
Brian allowed these bothersome thoughts to drift from his mind. He set aside his personal problems and went back to concentrating on the mixture of entertainment news and smarmy columns in the feature section of his newspaper. But then, an advertisement caught his eye. Look at this, he thought. It’s as if someone has been reading my thoughts… as if this ad is talking right to me.
MEN- DO YOU HAVE TROUBLE WITH WOMEN? Or do you have no trouble with women because you have no contact with women? Shyness is not terminal. Your problem could be a simple disorder. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and could easily be taken care of through therapy. Our two-week program, consisting of one-on-one work with medical personnel as well as trained relationship surrogates, may be all you need. Call DR. EVELYN SWELL at 555 – 2710
Brian raced for the phone and began dialing. And this time, damn it… he dialed all SEVEN digits.
* * *
Allison woke up on her living room couch, still in her short, tight, out-on-the-town dress. She stared at the TV set, which was playing the pre-dawn news for early risers and insomniacs. She groped for the remote and turned down the volume. The chirpy voice of the anchorwoman was bugging her. Allison had been out the night before, but she ended up going home early and falling asleep on the couch. Another night of getting dressed up and going to clubs. Another night of looking for single and available guys. And another night of watching all the guys drift toward the busty girls– leaving average girls like Allison high and dry… and alone. Shit, she thought! Do all guys have this selective eyesight that only allows them to see a girl’s bustline? That’s so unfair, Allison thought. She knew the rest of body was pretty okay. She had long legs that looked great in heels. Curvy hips, a slim waist. Her pixie face was framed by long auburn hair. But between the shoulders and the waist? Not much going on there at all. God, if only there was something she could do about that. But surgery was expensive. And maybe even unsafe. Oh, well, thought Allison. Another evening wasted.
She rose from the couch and headed toward the front door of her apartment to fetch the morning paper, teetering on her heels. Should have taken them off before she fell asleep, she thought. The paper lay on the mat outside the door. Allison brought it in and sat at the kitchen table, stopping at the fridge to open her usual morning Diet Coke. She opened the paper to the features and fluff section. A small understated ad caught her eye. My god, she thought. This is exactly what I was just thinking about. It’s almost as if this ad is talking directly to me.
WOMEN–DO YOU FEEL THAT SOME GIRLS HAVE ALL THE LUCK? THE BIG GIRLS–RIGHT? There’s hope. Call us. We’re specialists. We don’t do nose jobs, face lifts, or cellulite scraping. Our clinic does breast augmentation, and breast augmentation only– so nobody knows it better. AND WE’RE NOT PLASTIC SURGEONS! Our technique combines nutritional supplements with psychological conditioning, climaxed by our Exclusive Post-Procedure Relationship Therapy. Call now– you owe it to yourself. Call DR. EVELYN SWELL at 555 – 2710
Allison reached for her cell phone and began to dial.
* * *
Brian approached the huge but nondescript building where Dr. Swell’s clinic was supposed to be on 43rd Street. No sign– no markings of any kind. Just the address. He walked in. A glass door immediately to his right was stenciled with “DR. EVELYN SWELL/THERAPIST”. He walked in. It looked like any doctor’s waiting room. Brian walked up to the receptionist’s desk. He was startled to see no receptionist there. In the seat was a cardboard sign, hand-lettered in magic marker. kartal escort PLEASE BE SEATED. THE DOCTOR WILL BE WITH YOU SOON. Brian did as he was told– he sat down. He picked up an old women’s magazine. Automatically, he paged to the end, looking for one of those ads about realistic falsies “just like they wear on BAYWATCH!” Or maybe even one of those old, unbelievable bust increasing formula ads. He’d always looked for those… even in his mom’s magazines. After a moment, Brian had the odd feeling he was being watched. He hurriedly shut the magazine, and looked up just in time to see the doctor come into the room. “You’re Brian?” she said, peering at some notes on a clipboard. Brian stood up. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Come right on back. We’re all ready for you.”
She turned on her heels and began walking down the hall. Brian followed. The encounter was so quick and businesslike, he barely had a chance to see what the doctor looked like. Brian wondered why there was no receptionist. A little odd.
The doctor turned into a room that looked more like a den or rec room than an examining room. She turned to face Brian and invited him to sit down in one of the comfortable-looking armchairs there.
Now Brian could get a look at Dr. Evelyn Swell. He began his look by examining her white high heels– a little higher than he expected to see on a doctor. And they weren’t the thick, clunky heels you see nurses and the like wearing. They were thin– spikes? Is that what they were called? Brian wasn’t sure. They led into long, smooth legs clad in smoky black stockings. The stockings were held by garters that Brian was surprised to be able to see. Her white skirt was much shorter than you ordinarily would see in this kind of professional setting. She wore a white lab coat that clearly was designed to hang down past her skirt’s hemline. But Dr. Swell had the kind of figure that tended to foil whatever her clothes had in mind. She posessed the kind of prodigious bust that pointed right out at you and dominated her whole upper body– hell, her whole body, for that matter. Apparently in an attempt to downplay her bust size (as if it were possible), the doctor had pulled the lab coat closed– or as closed as was physically possible. This pulled the bottom of the coat so far up that rather than hanging to just above the knee– the coat ended just above her waist. When Brian managed to pull his eyes away from her… her… well, the front of her upper body, he got a glimpse of her mouth. That mouth crinkled into a sly smile. Brian immediately averted his gaze in embarassment.
“Well, Brian, I don’t have to ask you why you’re here. I know. I know the ad you responded to. And I don’t think I have to subject you to any elaborate psychological evaluation to get to the root of your problem. It’s obvious,” said the doctor.
“Obvious? You mean you can tell WHY I can’t talk to women?” Brian asked, startled.
“Sure. Tell me,” she challenged, turning her head away from him. “What color are my eyes?”
“I–I’m sorry, doctor. I don’t know.”
“Do I wear glasses?”
“Um… yes. No! I’m sorry.”
“Color of my lip gloss?”
“D-don’t know,” Brian stammered, nervously.
“How about the color of my hair? Do I wear it short or long?” asked Dr. Swell.
“I… I really have no idea.” Brian hung his head in shame. “I didn’t do very well, did I?”
“Oh, no. You did beautifully. You fit the profile perfectly!”
Brian didn’t know exactly what she was talking about, but he was pleased. He did SOMETHING perfectly.
“I know how to treat you,” the doctor said, hurriedly making some notes.
“How? I mean, what’s my problem?” asked Brian.
“No problem,” said Dr. Evelyn Swell, cheerfully. “You are what some therapists would call a mild fetishist. I prefer the term partialist.”
“What does that mean?” Brian wanted to know. “Is it bad?”
“It simply means you are PARTIAL to one part of a woman’s body more than others. You couldn’t describe any part of me north of my bustline. Am I right?”
Brian looked nervously to either side of the doctor’s face. “I… I guess so. I’m… I’m ashamed. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of! Nothing to be sorry for! You can’t talk to women because you’ve been trying to talk to the WRONG women! You need to concentrate on the kind of woman you’re really physically attracted to!” said Dr. Swell, scribbling some more notes. “I want you to begin your therapy right away. It will be structured a little like the driver education courses you remember from your teenage days.”
“How so?” Brian wanted to know.
“Theory, lecture, classroom– followed by on-the-road training,” smiled Dr. Swell. “You’ll work with me to learn how to please a woman of real substance. Large-breasted women like a man who can appreciate their special gifts. Tit women attract tit men! And you’re a tit man.”
Brian scowled. “A… tit man? It sounds awful.”
“It’s not awful. It’s wonderful. So far, you’ve just been maltepe escort bayan unable or unwilling to admit it.”
“But don’t women resent being reduced to body parts?” Brian asked.
“Oh, my goodness.” Dr. Swell shook her head. “Sounds like well-intentioned gender-based propaganda has worked too well on you. That’s a misconception, put forth by people with an agenda. The truth is this. You might be surprised to hear this, but large-breasted women are often shunned by women and men alike. They’re called fat– cow-like. Naturally, it’s not true. Women act out of jealousy… and I believe men sometimes act that way out of fear of what their buddies will think. I want to make you into a man who knows what he wants and what he likes– and doesn’t give a rat’s ass what another man thinks about it!”
She made her speech in such a stirring manner, Brian wanted to cheer. “Great! But how?”
Dr. Swell put her arm around Brian’s shoulder, which brought her marvelous bust into yummy proximity. “The way tit women can tell the tit men is this: you must concentrate in every way on the woman’s breasts. In your gaze, your attention, in the way you have sex… we’ll begin tomorrow at six. I’ll give you quiz questions on how to pay attention to a woman. All your answers must be breast-centered.”
The very idea turned Brian on. “But… does that mean I can never do anything else with a woman? Wouldn’t she like me to pay attention to her other parts?”
“Of course, but not right away,” counseled Dr. Swell. “That comes with time. The important thing in initial encounters is to signal to her that you LOVE TITS! Are you with me?”
“Yeah!” shouted Brian, scaring himself a little. “But doctor… one thing confuses me. Why was this office so hard to find?”
Dr. Swell fidgeted uncomfortably. Brian went on.
“Why don’t you have a receptionist? Why does it seem that you’re the only person in this entire medical complex?”
She grabbed his face forcefully and spoke in a low whisper.
“OK, Brian, listen up and listen good. I provide a valuable service for men like you. You can’t get this help anywhere else. But medical authorities and even law enforcement officials aren’t too sure about me. This is an underground operation.”
“Yes. You will pay me in cash. You will tell no one. It’s been my experience that men like you are so desperate they don’t mind. Am I wrong?”
“No,” agreed Brian. “In my case, you’re not wrong.”
“Good. Then we understand each other. The problem the law has with my practice is the ‘on-the-road’ training I referred to before. The ‘trained relationship surrogates’ you read about in the ad.”
“Ohhhhh,” said Brian, trying to signal that he understood– even though he didn’t understand at all. “What does that mean?”
“It means sexual surrogates. I employ trained professionals. Medical people– women who will meet with you at the end of your two weeks training. You’ll get to practice what you’ve learned!” she beamed.
“Police hear ‘sexual surrogates’ and immediately assume it’s prostitution. But of course, you realize it’s not,” said the doctor.
“Of course,” nodded Brian, now so turned on he could hardly speak.
“So tell me,” the doctor continued, confident her secret was safe with Brian. “Describe your ideal woman.”
“Oh, I don’t think I have an ideal. I’m more of a ‘total package’ kind of guy,” he answered.
“Brian!” snapped Dr. Swell. “That’s bullshit! Consider your answer to this question the beginning of your therapy.”
He sighed… a sigh that shook off a lifetime of hangups and rationalizations. “All right,” he began. “My ideal woman has enormous jugs. That’s the first, and probably the only thing you notice about her. She could, and probably does, have great legs, curvy hips, a creamy complexion, and long auburn hair, but still– the first thing you say when you see her is ‘My god, look at those enormous jugs!'”
Dr. Evelyn Swell smiled. This one was going to be easy.
* * *
Allison clutched the scrap of paper that she’d written the address of Dr. Swell’s clinic on. 44th street. This must be it. It was a huge building… at least a full city block square. But there were no signs… nothing to indicate what was inside. Allison pushed open the lobby door and looked around. It sure didn’t look like much. A glass door immediately to her left caught her eye. It read “DR. EVELYN SWELL/TOP BODY IMAGING”. “Top”. Pretty clever. She must mean to say it’s the best AND that’s the part of the body we image. The “top”! She walked through the door into the lobby. No receptionist. Just a hand lettered sign, saying something about how the doctor will be right there. From down the corridor, Allison heard the click of high heels. Dr. Evelyn Swell entered, a little winded.
“Hi,” offered Allison. “Are you the doctor?”
“Yes,” said Evelyn, breathless from rushing all the way to the other side of the building. “You must be Allison. escort pendik Take your shirt off.”
“Right here? Shouldn’t we go into an examining room?”
“As you wish,” shrugged Dr. Swell, as she led the prospective patient into an antiseptic looking area. “Now–strip!”
Allison went along gamely. If this doctor could help, Allison would have to cooperate. Dr. Swell examined her medium-sized breasts. “It’s not that they’re that small. But I would just love to have… more! Can you really do it without surgery?”
“Certainly. Our treatment is centered around a nutritional supplement that turns your metabolism on its ear. It totally changes the way your body processes nutrients– especially fat and carbohydrates.”
“How does it work?” asked Allison.
“It works beautifully! Just about everything you eat goes right to your bust. The rest of you remains unchanged,” claimed Dr. Swell. “If you eat right, after two weeks, you’ll have the breasts of a 300 pound woman– on your frame!”
“My god, that sounds perfect! Is it safe?” Allison wanted to know.
“So far,” said Dr. Swell.
“Is it… you know– approved by the drug people?” the patient prodded.
“Not a drug. A nutritional supplement. The drug people can’t even be bothered to test it.”
“And that’s the whole treatment? Isn’t there some awful exercise program?” asked Allison, making a face.
“No exercise. But I like to enhance the supplement with sexual fantasy,” advised the doc.
“What kind of fantasy?” Allison seemed dubious.
“You center thoughts on your breasts and how men react to them,” said Evelyn. “Even before the changes in them start occurring, you imagine that every man you meet is fixated on your breasts– and the mere sight of them makes him involuntarily ejaculate. You smile proudly and mischieviously at the way he just ruined his pants!”
Allison giggled. “And that helps?”
“Probably not, but doesn’t it sound like fun?” laughed Dr. Swell.
“Yes,” Allison agreed.
“Oh,” said the doctor. “I almost forgot! We won’t reshape your body and then just throw you to the wolves. Ours is the only program around that includes Post-Procedure Relationship Therapy. You’ll work with a professional sex surrogate. He’ll teach you to perform with your new equipment, and you’ll learn what true tit-men like in bed.”
“That sounds thrilling, doctor,” considered Allison. “But… well, it’s kind of… you know– unconventional. Even a little suspicious. I mean no disrespect, but can I… talk to some former patients? May I see your credentials?”
The affable specialist turned combatative. “Now, Allison– listen up and listen good. I have the training, I have the M.D. But medical authorities aren’t too crazy about me. They say my methods haven’t been tested in controlled environments, and I have no proof that they work. But they do! You have to believe me! And besides… you’re willing to try anything, aren’t you?”
Allison admitted she was. “I’ll give it a go, doctor. When do we start?”
Dr. Swell smiled. “Thanks for the confidence. We’ll start right now. Here’s your first dose–two tablets and a glass of water. Take them and after a minute, begin telling me a fantasy. What’s the first thing you’ll do with the breasts you’ve always wanted?”
As Allison swallowed the pills, the doctor went on. “The medical authorities always said it wasn’t ethical for a doctor to try a new technique on herself.”
Allison swallowed hard. “You gave yourself… those? With this treatment? Wow! Doctor, never mind what I said before. Shit, doc, I’m your girl!”
“Glad to hear that,” said the doctor. “And that fantasy–?”
Allison exhaled. Her eyes took on a farway look just before she began talking.
“Before I even let a man look at them, I want to lift my titties to my own mouth and taste the nipples. I want to feel them hardening between my lips…”
* * *
Brian came to the clinic every day for his therapy session with Dr. Swell. He’d sit and concentrate on her questions, trying to come up with every possible big boob answer. They’d work long and hard. And the estimatable Dr. Evelyn Swell provided a tantilzing combination of inspiration and distraction. She would sit NEXT to Brian, rather than across from him, undoubtedly to encourage the young man to sneak peeks down her blouse. The undulating cleavage spurred him on.
“Now– how does a tit man greet his woman?”
“Uh–with a kiss?”
“Wrong. He takes his two strong hands and covers as much boob as he possibly can, and hefts them up, giving the nipples a good ‘honk’,” said the doctor. “It not only tells her what he has in mind for later, it tells every envious man in the vicinity that ‘these juggies belong to me’!”
“Got it,” said Brian. “Give me another.”
“When a tit man is out with his big-titted woman… and he sees another woman with big boobs, what should he expect of his woman?” the doctor continued.
“An introduction?” guessed Brian.
“I’ll accept that,” agreed Dr. Swell. “In a perfect world, your woman would notice this new pair of biggies herself, and approach her without your asking. By the end of the evening, you should have your happy face surrounded with four big soft tits. Let’s continue…”
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