Psychology 1 – Virginity 0

Self-confidence was the keystone. Patricia had more than her fair share of problems, he’d used up several pages of his notebook just listing them all, but her poor self-image was his over-riding concern. Crack that one and the rest would come tumbling down.

Mostly, self-confidence is about empowerment. Persuade the client that they can take charge of, and responsibility for, their own lives and that’s that. “You’re cured. Have a nice life and please send in the next client on your way out.” Patricia’s problem was the other sort. She was deeply unhappy with the way she looked: Possibly a valid concern as she had a minor curvature of the spine and saw this as the reason men were not attracted to her. He couldn’t just tell her that was rubbish: It wasn’t. But a physical abnormality is not an insurmountable problem. How many men aren’t married to super-models? How many women aren’t dating Brad Pitt? How many happy people haven’t got perfect bodies?

* * * * *

Patricia wasn’t actually Andrew’s client. She was his girl friend’s sister: A relationship that pretty much barred Andrew from taking her on as a client. Patricia was over from Portugal, staying with them for a few weeks combined holiday and job hunt. She’d had an interview with the BBC world service: If she got the job, she’d find a flat to rent, otherwise she’d return to Lisbon.

Elena, Andrew’s girlfriend, was a dancer and her rehearsal schedule had given Patricia and Andrew a lot of evenings together. Andrew was a professional good listener and, before she knew it, Patricia was telling him her life story.

The solution for Patricia’s self-confidence issues was not something Andrew would ever even contemplate. It had come from Elena, His girlfriend. Late one night, as she nestled against his shoulder in post-coital reverie, Elena had said “She’s a virgin. Did she tell you that?”

“Honey Bunny, you know I can’t discuss your sister. Ethics.”

“Poo! She’s not – couldn’t be – your client. Ethics.”

“Still – its not appropriate to discuss her. She’s learning to trust me and that’s a fragile thing. Lets talk about something else – what to do with this stiffy for instance.” He raised the duvet with one hand and admired his second wind.

“That’s what I’m trying to discuss.” Elena rolled on top of him, straddling his hips and pushing herself upright. “Patricia’s a virgin – that’s her problem. This…” She slid backwards, pressing her bottom against his erection. “…This is the cure.”

“You’re joking.” He looked at Elena’s eyes. She didn’t look like she was joking.

“I love my sister. I want her to be happy. Tell me that this won’t work.” She rocked against his cock again.

“It won’t. Sure, she needs to get laid, but not by me. She’s your sister for Christ’s sake! I am not going to sleep with your sister: That’d screw her up in a whole new way. It’d screw us up too, eventually.”

“You think I will be jealous?”

“I love you. I won’t even risk making you jealous.”

“I won’t be jealous. You and Patricia are the two people I love most in all the world. She needs this.” She looked severely sincere.

“She’d never sleep with her sister’s boyfriend. The guilt would stop her, even if I did make a play for her.” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing himself say. Was he seriously discussing deflowering his potential sister-in-law?

“She has a crush on you.”

“Really?” Surely he’d have noticed. It was a common problem in his line of work. Trust often translated into fixation.

“Yes, really. And you are very persuasive.”

“Persuasive?”

“You seduced me – on our first date too.” She smiled as she said it but it raised a valid point. He was 15 years older than Elena and, by the conventional rules, she was way out of his league. She had been 20, talented, startlingly pretty and as bubbly as shook champagne: He’d met her at his own 35th birthday bash. A workout buddy had brought her along as a date. She’d stood her date up by 10pm and that was that. She moved in the following weekend. Every time he looked in the mirror he wondered at his great good fortune. He wasn’t bad looking – for 37. An hour a day fighting the battle of the bulge at the gym had given him a reasonable physique though nothing like the male dancers Elena knew so many of. His penis wasn’t world beating either – seven inches, perhaps a little more on special occasions and good for two performances a night but nothing to write home about. Yet Elena seemed so happy with him. Best not to dig too deeply into why.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” She pressed back harder.

Andrew could feel the heat of her arousal as Elena’s labia pressed against his penis: She was really turned on. The whole prospect was actually exciting her, in which case… It might well be…

His train of thought careered into a tunnel as Elena moved again, guiding his cock with slim fingers into her body and sinking back down onto his hips, gyrating slowly.

“Ok…ok…But you’re gonna have to come clean with her after: Tell her it was your idea.”

Elena looked delighted as she flung herself forward and kissed him. That was settled then. As their kiss drew out, his hips started to rock, pistoning him gently inside her. Elena moved in response and their rhythm soon established itself. There was no more talking, just a sharing of body fluids at either end and a frenzy of roaming hands in between. Elena controlled the pace from on top, upping the tempo to the full flash dance pace before climaxing loud and long as Andrew, going rigid, unloaded into her for the second time that night.

In the darkness, in the guest room, Patricia’s cheeks were wet as she listened to the muffled sound of her sister’s orgasm. It wasn’t the first time – they seemed to be at it every night – but it was the loudest, most obviously ecstatic yet and it all just rubbed salt in Patricia’s emotional wounds. Nobody had ever made her feel that good. When the silence returned, she cried herself to sleep.

* * * * *

Patricia finally opened up fully the evening of Elena’s final rehearsal. She talked very candidly about a variety of issues she’d previously avoided, even responding positively when Andrew tested how far this new found candour went by asking some seriously personal questions. It was a level of trust born of desperation, but trust nonetheless.

She summarised her self-image problem with an outburst of, “Nobody wants to fuck a hunchback.” Followed by tears behind trembling hands.

“Hunchback? A bit of an exaggeration surely?” It was a very minor curvature: so minor that until Elena had told him, he’d originally thought it was just bad posture.

“It’s not an exaggeration.”

“Well I don’t see it. Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Show me this hump you’re going on about. Take off your blouse and show me what all the fuss is about.”

“I don’t need to take anything off, it’s obvious.”

“Its obvious that your back is curved but I want to see it in the flesh, so to speak. Take off your blouse please.”

A little puzzled and a little mesmerised by the calm monotone of his voice, Patricia started to unfasten the buttons of her blouse. She got to the last button before 23 years of Catholic indoctrination reasserted itself and her hands dropped to her lap, along with her gaze. After a few seconds’ silence, she started to sob again.

He crossed the room to where she sat and drew her to her feet. Her gaze was still resolutely downward but she offered no resistance. Walking backwards, he led her to the large mirror and rail he had bought for Elena to exercise with. Turning Patricia to face herself, He stood close behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

“One more button.”

Her shaking fingers fumbled with the button but succeeded in unfastening it.

Andrew could feel his penis swelling at the prospect of seduction. Elena had repeatedly asked him to seduce Patricia, every night for the last week, and the idea had grown into something of a fantasy for him too. And sisters were a common enough male fantasy.

As the last button yielded, he stroked her blouse from her shoulders, letting it slide down her arms where it hung like loose cotton manacles around her forearms. He carefully swept aside her long, auburn hair, draping it over one of her shoulders to expose her back. A pale scar ran down her spine for 7 or 8 vertebrae, bisected by her bra strap. He touched it gently, feeling her stiffen. Her reflection was still gazing at the carpet.

“Look at us.” His free hand reached around to raise her chin. Slowly her eyes followed and met his in the mirror. “Good.” His fingers, touching the scar, traced its length downwards. She shivered. “This is in the way.” He tapped the clasp of her bra to indicate his meaning then, without giving her time for cold feet, he unfastened the hooks. Her hands shot up to cup the fabric against her breasts but at least now her back was naked. He stroked her spine with the flat of his hand, feeling the slight curvature, the subtly different texture of the scar and the trembling of the girl. He felt like a predator and it excited him. He reached around to embrace her, placing his hands over hers and easing them downwards to free her bosom. She tried to look away.

“Watch us.” He whispered in her ear, drawing her hands free of her breasts. They were surprisingly well shaped and much fuller than her sister’s. He gazed at them in the mirror then slowly place his hands where hers had been, cupping a breast in each, covering her nipples.

There were fresh tears on her cheeks as she watched herself in the mirror. She sniffled and tried to object but he cut her off.

“I have a question for you. Will you answer me truthfully?” It was such an odd request that, dumbfounded, she could only nod.

Andrew pressed his throbbing crotch against the small of her back and said, “Am I a pervert who just wants to fuck a hunchback?”

“N-No.” She stammered.

“Correct. I’m just a man aroused by the half naked girl in his arms. You have lovely breasts. See.” He took his hands away, revealing nipples that had responded to being touched by standing tall and proud. “See. Lovely.” He cupped one hand under one breast, this time not hiding the perky pink bit. His other hand stroked her flat smooth belly – so much softer than Elena’s six pack – until his fingers slipped into the top of her jeans up to the last knuckle. His fingertips could just reach the waistband of her panties. “Unfasten your jeans.”