"Hmmm…," George murmured, tapping his glasses with a pencil. "Not an unusual analysis, but more deeply astute than you realize; more than the majority of people realize. Jack, in your truthful, objective opinion, how emotionally stable do you think you can be? Honestly, now! I don't want a quick, egocentric answer."
I thought for a few moments before answering, probing my inner self as objectively as possible. 'I'd say I'm above average; the Navy doesn't really dig unstable types jockeying a couple of million bucks worth of airplane around the stratosphere. Now, I have a question: what's the job?"
When George told me, I thought he was joking. Then, as he detailed their work, objectives and services, I realized he was serious.
"Now, let me get this straight," I exclaimed, "you offer inhibited females the services of a gigolo!"
"No, Jack," Joyce snapped sharply. "That's an emotional, non-intellectual response. We offer the sincerely distressed female with deep-seated sexually oriented inhibitions, a sexual therapist who, through a careful program, can make her realize the full potential of her natural sexuality. The process is difficult for her and the therapist. Difficult, frustrating, and many times traumatic. This isn't some dirty, male stud service, my friend. So just forget any such ideas. It's hard, agonizing work which can only be properly performed by sensitive, sexually healthy males with extremely stable emotions."
Immediately, I was sorry and embarrassed at my outburst. These people were obviously sincere, well-balanced and completely dedicated.
"Jack," George said calmly, "your response was perfectly normal. Relax and listen."
For over two hours I sat and listened. Li the end, I too was fascinated by the idea, the foundation and the Shermans.
"I would like to accept the job," I stated. "When and how do I start?"
George heaved a sigh, leaned back in his chair and looked at me with a big impish grin. "I should accept without further ado, then pay you a dollar a week. Aren't you even slightly interested in what the pay will be?"
I'd become so caught up by the scope and boldness of the work, I'd plumb forgot about the pay. "Whatever the going scale is for this kind of work will be fine, Doctor. I need very little really, and I wouldn't have the foggiest notion of what to ask; Christ, there's no job with which to compare wages."
They both chuckled at my dilemma and asked if twenty dollars an hour seemed fair, explaining that their records showed this to average out to around three hundred a week, when a therapist was on a case. I told them it was ample, in fact quite a lot more than I was used to making.
"Fine, Jack," Joyce said. "You'll be paid somewhat less than that while training, but still enough to live on. You'll be subjected to three weeks of intensive training right here at the foundation. Then we'll assign you a case. Report Monday at 9:00 a.m. And please don't be shocked at some of the training; everything will have its purpose. See you Monday."
The interview was over and I returned to my apartment. Over a cold beer and a ham sandwich I contemplated Joyce Sherman's last words. I couldn't imagine what they portended.
The following Monday I arrived punctually at nine o'clock and was wisked to the dispensary for a complete physical. It was performed with efficiency by a handsome brunette doll who answered to the name Gail.
With cool, calm dispatch she told me to strip and shower, then took my blood pressure and scanned my chest with a stethoscope, oblivious to my male nakedness.
I wasn't quite so detached from her voluptuous charms. Her gorgeous body was clothed in a very short, translucent uniform. Her full, ripe breasts strained against the flimsy nylon dress. The outline of two very large nipples was very distinct and appetizing. As she listened to my heart I was almost tempted to touch them. The thought caused my cock to swell to full erection.
She pretended not to notice at first. Then, as she tested for a hernia by inserting her middle finger under my testicles, she smiled wickedly and said, "Well, at least they found a candidate who's hung properly, for a change." With that, she cupped my testicles and squeezed them playfully. "It's going to be a real pleasure, Jack, a real pleasure."
I was about to return the caress by cupping one of those ripe, heavy melons when she moved away quickly, shoving a small bottle into my hand. "Pee in it, lover, that'll get rid of your hard-on." Then she walked briskly into another room, switching and rolling her lush, firm buttocks sensually. It was nearly five minutes before my erection left so I could pee in the bottle. After I successfully deposited my urine for the medical record I dressed. I hurried because to be late for my first orientation would be bad form. As I marched down the hall I was still trying to assess the attitude of that cool, hip nurse called Gail. Somehow her manner and language didn't fit the cool, scientific detachment one usually attributes to legitimate research programs. Oh well, I thought, so who's perfect; maybe she was just bored and decided to break up the monotony. Even so, the picture of her ripe, full ass cheeks swaying beneath the flimsy nylon skirt lingered. I wondered how…
"Good morning, Jack!"
Dr. George Sherman's deep voice pulled me from my erotic reverie with a start. "Good morning. Am I late?"
"No, no. Now, sit down while I explain the ground rules of our operation, your training, and why you will be exposed to some of the rather unusual segments of that training. Oh, feel free to smoke if you like. Care for coffee? I make it rather well. Have to, Joyce hates it and refuses to make a decent pot."
He did make good coffee. As I sipped the welcome brew, Sherman settled comfortably in the big leather swivel chair and studied me carefully.
"Jack, how many times were you sexually unfaithful to your wife?" he asked casually. The question caught me completely off guard. Before I knew it I answered truthfully.
"Six, maybe seven times… Jesus! What a question," I cried. "Why the hell should you care?"
"Now, now… I meant nothing personal. I was just making a very important point. The next question is even more relevant, so answer it honestly. Now, why did you sleep with other females? And I don't want any of that time-worn guff about the male weakness for a beautiful ass and big tits. I wanna know the real reason a man who really loves his wife would gamble on losing her for another piece of ass."
I mulled the question for a full minute as I sipped my coffee, trying to remember back. Finally I answered. "My wife didn't like to fuck." If he wanted plain street talk, I planned to oblige.
"Ah! Very likely. But why?"
"Christ, how would I know? Maybe her mother told her it was a dirty duty; maybe I didn't turn her on; hell, there could be a thousand reasons!" I exclaimed in mild exasperation. He was opening barely healed wounds.
"I wonder how many men ever took the time to analyze the problem from a very simple basic truth, a truth which is so completely obvious that only our sensitive male egos would blind us to its existence. Jack, a very large segment of the American female population is scared to death of their capability to experience sexual satisfaction; total, gut-deep, cunt-throbbing, satisfaction! Our studies prove it beyond a doubt. The same studies show that such females never really let go all the way. They simply don't have the guts to participate if they can't be assured of being the best performer on stage.
"That's half of the problem. The other half concerns conditioning and psychological perspectives. Actually, all women are far more sexually endowed than men. No! Ifs true. The problem is to release this latent sexuality; free it from several centuries of deep freeze imposed by archaic social restraints."