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BWOR1 14 tv and the lecturn and other

(file contains parts 1-14)
The Body Worker

by

PlanetDweller

(MF. MFF, MFM, MMFFFFF, Mf, Mg, FF, Ff, Fg, FFFFF, groups in all combinations, sex therapy, sex surrogacy, incest, pedo, family group sex, therapist/patient, oral, anal, mast., light BDSM, hospice sex, sex therapist training, sex surrogate training, menstrual sex)

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Standard Disclaimer & Legal Stuff: The following story is adult fiction intended for private reading by adults over eighteen (18) years of age ONLY or a higher age if required by the political jurisdiction where you reside...if you are under eighteen years of age, you are required to exit now from your browser if accessing through a communications network or delete this file if accessing it through a local disk system...the following story depicts sexual acts which if they were perpetrated in real life would be against the law in all countries and localities; if merely possessing descriptions of sexual acts which would be against the law if committed in "real life" is against the law in the political jurisdiction where you live, you are required to exit access from this story and/or delete this story immediately...the following story is a work entirely fictitious and the characters, names, places, dates, acts depicted etc. bear no resemblance to any persons living or dead or events and acts which may or may not have taken place at some point in time....the author who is using the pseudonym above retains all rights of publication to this story...individual readers of legal age my freely possess this story and distribute it to other readers of legal age on a strict non-commercial basis...storage of this story on any commercial website or by any other means of storage and retrieval for commercial purposes is strictly prohibited without written consent of the originating author.

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Chapter 1: my short bio., and how I fell into the
profession (MF, FMF, sex therapy, sensual massage, sexual massage, oral,
anal, mast., etc.)
I have to admit it, I'm one of the luckiest guys in the
world. I have one of the best jobs in the world, make a
great living at it, and get to have sex with women on a
daily basis as part of my job. But the reason I feel so
lucky as that, more than anything else, I get to help
people, 99%+ of the time women specifically. As a bodywork
professional, my job is to help women heal the scars of
past and current sexual trauma and embedded negative
reflective sexual actions, through application of positive
bodywork principles. Don't assume I'm a male hooker or
anything close to that; I'm a trained professional, and all
my patients are referred to me through my employer, which
happens to be a professional psychiatric group practice.
Every single action I take is within the law, and every
single moment of therapy is reviewed by my bosses, who are
licensed M.D. psychiatrists or psychotherapy professionals.
I will admit that certain bodywork sexual therapy regimens are
just barely within the confines of the law
and/or the canons of medical ethics, but not one finger is
laid upon a given patient without the expressed orders of
one my supervising doctors, and all actions I take call to
the highest order of medical ethics which was the
granddaddy of them all, the Hippocratic Oath. And I will admit also that
professional sexual bodywork therapy might
be considered the psychiatric profession's, mainly the
family and sex therapy subgroup profession's, dirty little
secret. Bodywork for/on a patient is used on a patient when
talk therapy or drug therapy either alone or in combination
simply doesn't work, doesn't cure or hold out a reasonable
expectation for a patient's probable cure. The bottom line
is, is that sexualized bodywork therapy, for certain
patients which have certain gross sexual
dysfunction(s) that can't be treated by drugs or talk
therapy, works.
That's why I am such a huge proponent of my profession,
however borderline legitimate it may seem to the more
mainstream medical society or society at-large. In the two
years I've been a bodywork professional, I've come to
believe in it more and more. I have to admit that, at
first, I got into it because of the money, the opportunity
it presented, that and to be honest the fact I saw it as a
way of getting laid more than any guy could possibly
imagine. My profession has become so much more to me now,
but those more selfish motivations are what initially
nudged me towards considering it. Perhaps a short bio would
be helpful in understanding the how and why of the past, before I get
into the how, who, and where of the present.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I grew up in a happy but lower class family in central
North Carolina, mother and father and one younger sister at
home. We weren't rich and weren't poor, and because my
parents didn't have the money to send me to college, in
retrospect we were more lower than middle-class. After
graduating from Broughton High, I just bummed around from
job to job, when I wasn't slacking. I flipped burgers,
worked construction, ran a cash register at a gift shop at
Crabtree Valley Mall, did all sorts of normal jobs a
teen-ager with a high school diploma but not much else
would do. I tried to get some scholarship money to go to 'State, but
didn't have the grades for any, and didn't feel
like getting on the treadmill of debt by taking out student
loans I'd owe for the next half of my life whether I could
get a decent job after college or not.
One Sunday I saw an ad for a nurse's aide at Rex Hospital
in town, which said the job had potential for advancement,
with a starting salary of $8 an hour with a potential to make $12 an
hour or more. Quitting my job as a parts clerk
at a car dealership the next day, I applied for and got the
job. Being six-three and two-hundred-twenty and nineteen, I
got the job, no problem. Being a nurse's aide as opposed to
a nurse, especially when you're a male, is every bit as
hard, dirty, nasty, and difficult a job as you might
imagine. When ever a large patient needed to be moved,
whenever there was a task they didn't want to give to a
female, I or one my compatriotes was stuck with it. Still,
I enjoyed the work, I enjoyed helping people, and I enjoyed
the money. Eventually, I went to night school at Wake Tech,
and became an LPN. After six years of that and no chance of
advancing without a earning my RN which I didn't want to take the two
years off work and go to nursing college to earn, I became tired of it,
and decided to change careers.
A chance ad in a local weekly freebie arts and
entertainment paper lead to me attending the Carolus School
Of Massage Therapy. After getting some credit for some of
my previous LPN coursework, and after a year of night and
weekend classes at Carolus in nearby Durham, I finally
earned my LMT (Licensed Massage Therapist) certificate and
got my State license.
Because I was a guy, and female massage therapists simply
have an easier time getting jobs, that's just the way it is, I'm not
complaining, it took me another six months
before I finally found someone who would give me a
full-time job as an LMT, a group of sports medicine and
physical therapy physicians. Of course they used me in much
the same capacities as I was employed at Rex doing, moving
and positioning large patients and such, but I also was
given a fairly busy workload actually doing therapeutic
massage on patients, "apprenticing" under the PT's
(Licensed Physical Therapists) and orthopedic physicians there. It was a
great group of co-workers there, even the
doctors treated me and all other lower-level employees with
respect, and I loved working with "my" patients, both male
and female. The positive feedback I received from my
patients, how I knew my healing hands made them feel and helped them
heal, really made my job worthwhile. The money,
while it didn't suck per se, wasn't anything to brag about,
was a little but not much more than I made when I left Rex
Hospital, especially when I would have a slack month of
bookings, fifty percent of my salary being commission-based
on the number of therapeutic massages given during a given
pay period. But I made enough to pay bills and have
somewhat of a life, and that was good enough for me.
Two years and a bit into my tenure with the Raleigh Sports
Injury Clinic, I had another chance encounter, another stop
of the wheel of my life's synchronicity, which would change
my life forever, and put me in the where and when that I am
at now.
On a fateful day in February of that year, two years and some time ago
now, a certain Dr. Carol Stein came to see me
as a massage therapy patient. While shoveling snow a few weeks back, she
had blown a knee out badly, and had also twisted her lower back and
pulled a couple of muscles in her thighs pretty badly. Dr. Mike, our
chief surgeon, had
ortho'd her knee and that had healed very quickly, but she
still was bothered by the menu of pulled and strained
muscles she had inflicted in herself while shoveling snow
that day some weeks back, mainly because (and she admitted
to as much) she kept doing too much, wouldn't follow Dr. Mike's orders.
And she knew better, she was a physician, if
a mind physician, a psychiatrist, after all. It was on her
fifth visit to me, which was to be her last, that she
dropped a bombshell on me.
She was lying on my massage table face up, nude but a towel
covering her from breasts to just below her pubis. I was working the DCL
thigh muscle she had pulled and which was
still spasming from time to time, trying to restore enough
flexibility in it so it wouldn't tighten up and make her double over in
pain. As I felt it relax underneath my
fingers, Dr. Carol opened her eyes up just enough (it's
common for my patients to doze off while being massaged) to
make eye contact with me, and asked me sweetly "would you
mind giving me a labial massage, too?"
The one thing they drill into to you at massage therapy
school, the one thing my senior instructor, Pam, drilled into me while I
attended there, was that while all massage
is a very intimate act, the only thing that keeps
State-licensed therapeutic massage from being considered on
the same level as illegal prostitution is the fact that a
massage therapist can never touch a client in a selfish, sexual way.
Doing so is the highest breach of professional
ethics. That said, it was unstated knowledge sexual contact
does happen in therapeutic massage settings,
sometimes, in certain circumstances, with certain patients.
Rarely such sexual massage is by verbal or
written doctor's orders, more often it is simply a courtesy
to the patient. Admitted, I had sexually massaged maybe a
couple of dozen guy patients who had requested it during my
time at Raleigh Sports, and a greater number of women
patients. My sexual massage with my women patients were all
longer-term patients, like Dr. Carol, who I had a sense of,
who I thought wouldn't scream rape or inappropriate contact
or try to get my LMT license revoked.

So, I went through my usual of protestations, about how
doing so would be the highest possible breach of
professional ethics, how I could lose my license if I did
so, etc. Dr. Carol just looked at me and said "relax, Eric,
and I know the drill, and I also know that all massage
therapists selectively sexual massage certain patients who
request it...if you want, I'll get a prescription pad from
my purse, and write myself a prescription for a labial
massage, which will protect you from all future
liability..."

"No, that's okay, Dr. Stein, that won't be necessary"

I massaged her outer and inner labia, then her clit, then
gently frigged her, then massaged her inner thighs some and
went back to her labia and clit. She only had ten minutes
left in her appointment block, and I politely suggest she
might want to hurry. Plus, none of the treatment rooms had
locks on the doors, and while unlikely, it was possible
someone could burst in without warning and catch me doing
something requested but which could get me fired.

"Would you mind doing a deep anal massage, Eric?"

"No, not at all" I answered "but you only have a few
minutes left...but, sure..."
I slipped a latex exam glove on, lubricated it with some massage oil,
and massaged two fingers deeply into her anus.
She came twice that I could tell. Getting dressed, she
fished a business card from her purse, asking me if I could
drop by her office sometime soon. I replied honestly that
the only time I could do so would be after work, after
normal business hours, one weekday. She asked if later that
day would be convenient. Seeing her office was way the heck
out in north Raleigh, traffic would be a bear during rush
hour then, would make a ten mile trip take fifty minutes to
drive.
"Six-ish?" I asked.
The smallish parking lot at her office condo complex off Millbrook was
empty, save a Porsche and an old '70 AMX with
fading gold paint. The drive from Raleigh Sports' office in
Cameron Village had taken an hour and fifteen minutes,
thanks to two wrecks on Wake Forest and Six Forks Road, and
I was agitated. Taking some deep breaths, it occurred to me
that I was clueless as to why I was there. She had simply
asked me to come to her office, and I had said yes.
Usually, a situation like this is where a client asks me to
work off the clock, away from the office, thinking they can
hire me cheaper than what they're paying Raleigh Sports for
my services, which I never do, insisting they make their appointments
through RSIC. Focus. Shaking my shoulders and
doing some jumping jacks to loosen up, my irritation with
the traffic faded enough to where my eyes and face looked
calm, at least.

The entire office condo complex was deserted. The main door
to Wake family Therapy, PLC, was locked. Knocking, the
sound of a key turning was heard, and Dr. Stein let me in.

"Please, Eric, come on back to my office."

"Why did you want to see me, Dr. Stein?"

"Please call me Carol, Eric"

"Why did you want to see me...would you like a massage now,
away from my office, is that why you wanted to see me?" I
asked politely.

"Yes, partially, that and other reasons...would you like a
softdrink?"

She sat down beside me on the slightly worn dark-red
leatherette couch in her office, handing me a Pepsi as she
sipped on a Diet Coke.

"Eric, over the short course of you treating me as
therapist to patient, I've become very impressed with
you...you're a true professional, and as a medical
professional myself, I appreciate the quality of care when
given by others...I'll...I'll get right to the point...when
you gave me that anal massage earlier today, that was the
very best one I've ever had, no question, you really do
have a special talent, have special healing hands..."

"Thank you, Carol, I appreciate it...but I need to tell
you, I don't see clients off the clock, you'll need to call
the office and make an appointment to see me, I can't and
won't breech my agreement with Raleigh Sports."

"Well, technically, Eric, since today was my last
appointment for you to massage my damaged muscles, we're no
longer therapist and patient, which is why I wanted you to come see me
this afternoon."
She turned her body more towards me, and her posture
relaxed. Her facial muscles relaxed, she smiled a bigger smile while
talking, her pupils dilated noticeably.
Patients in the past had propositioned me enough to where I
recognized what was coming next. Considering I hadn't
gotten laid in a three or four months, that was fine.
"As an potential friend, Eric, I'm asking if you'd like to
have sex with me...please understand, first, that I'm
basically a lesbian, have been since my first husband
divorced me many years back while I was still in med
school, and that my professional practice partner, Jean
Forberg, and I have been lovers for the past ten
years...it's a committed relationship, we're married, so to
speak...but, I have to confess, the one thing I miss about
a hetero relationship is having a man's cock, not a dildo
or tongue, up my ass..." leaning in to kiss me, she
whispered "Eric, will you assfuck me, one friend to
another?"

A look of surprise came over me, and I couldn't help it. My face even
blushed a little.

"I'll suck you nice and hard if you'd like, and you can
even fuck my pussy some, if you'll spend most of your
energy fucking my ass" she continued.

"Sure..Carol, s-s-sh-sure...how would you like to do this?" I
half-stammered.

Dr. Carol was a 40-ish, middle-aged-ish, slightly plump, but not
unattractive woman, large breasts that looked to be in the "D" cup
range, a somewhat large but not fat ass, slightly chubby arms and small
hands and small feet. She stood up and turned her back to me. I unzipped
the seam zipper in her somewhat matronly business skirt, she pulling her
blouse loose from the confines of its waistband.

Flicking the hooks from her bra as she stepped from her
panties, I stood up as she sat down on the couch and help me undress.

"Friends...I'm doing this as a favor to a friend, some one I like...a
friend" I reiterated.

"Friends" she cooed back.

I plopped back down on the couch and she leaned quickly to my cock,
slurping away. My hard was immediate and powerful.

"Everything you need is in the bottom file cabinet drawer, my Eric Dear"
she whispered, pointing to a four-drawer cabinet in the corner. My
hard-on standing at attention, I waddled over to it, and fished three or
four condoms and a half-filled tube of KY from the assortment of sex
toys and samples of every conceivable contraceptive device and drug
known to mankind. Standing in front of her face, she resumed her
sucking, opening one of the condoms with one quick tear between teeth
and manicured nails like a pro, and rolled it onto my cock with her lips
and tongue, something no one had ever done to me before. My hard was
like iron. My hands gently groped her breasts as she sucked my
rubberized dick.

As she rolled up on the couch to present her butt to me, I asked as a
lover if she was sure she didn't mind a short pussy-fuck, before our
anal sex.

"No, Eric, Dear, whatever you'd like is fine...just
concentrate on my ass."

My hard being okay for the moment, my tongue found her
pussy first as she kneeled into the back of the couch,
lashing her clit and labial lips some. Working my way up, my tongue then
rimmed her anal pucker, then penetrated her dark rose, as my fingers
gently massaged her pussy and clit. Scooting up to straddle behind her,
my dick penetrated inside her, as I grabbed one asscheek with one hand
and pushed a lubricated thumb up her ass, my short digit pressing
through her Douglas Pouch tissue to where my longer cock was one with
it. She bucked some and seemed to come.

Pulling my thumb out and pushing my cock in, she moaned so loud with
unfetered passion that her office condo neighbors would have easily
heard, had it been business hours. My right hand pushed forward for
balance, my left hand reached around to find and rub her clit, my neck
leaned in and our lips meet and tongues wrestled, a perfect passionate
kiss.

The grind continued for another fifteen minutes or more, but she didn't
want to lay flat down on the couch, and it was an acrobatic act to
maintain my balance on the six to twelve inches of couch space that my
knees had to work with, so, I picked up my pace for three or four
minutes, and came.

"That was incredible, Eric, simply fucking
incredible...!!!" my Dr. Carol Stein-lover exclaimed.

I shot her a sweet and polite but slightly cynical "yeah, right, you
probably say that to all the straight guys who fuck you in the ass"
look.

She kissed me full on the lips, playing with my still
semi-hard cock as she sat-lay in my lap, with a "no, silly Eric, I mean
it!...thank you, friend...Thank You...you were incredible, you have
something, you gave me something very special, something I haven't had
in years...thank you.." her voice trailing off as she leaned her face
into my neck to snuggle a bit.

Then, out of the silence save the whisper of traffic noise out on
Millbrook Road, came a slightly sarcastic
clap-clap-clap-clap of someone's hands in mock salute.
Standing in the slightly ajarred doorway between Carol's office and
Jean's office next door, was Carol's partner
Jean. She didn't look mad, but she didn't look happy,
either. Her face didn't register much at all. Her hand
between her legs, her fingers playing with her cunt as she stood naked
in the doorway, said quite a bit. It shouted that a threesome with the
two of them was next, lesbians or not. But it wasn't to be.

"Did he perform as good as he looked like he was doing?" Jean asked
Carol with deadpanned nonchalance.

"Oh, yeah...Oh, YEAH...he handled me, the situation
perfectly."

"Do you think he'll do...do you think he's the one?..."
Jean mumbled to her with dispassionate indifference,
talking to Carol as if I wasn't in the room at all, her
intended rudeness making me a little pissed-off at her
"...have you asked him yet?"

"Asked me what, yet?" I interjected with concern. Was this a set-up? Was
this some sort of blackmail scam? What the fuck was going on?

"About a little business proposition we might have for you, that's what"
Carol responded as she pried herself from our embrace and Jean went back
to her office to get dressed again, as I and Carol did.

I was unsure of what to do. I knew I had been used. But I had gotten my
own rocks off, I had used Carol, so I figured what the hell. Getting
dressed, Carol sat in her executive chair behind her antique walnut
desk, as Jean came back in, dressed, her long and shapely legs stilting
her thin and shapely five foot nine fashion model frame. Talk about an
odd couple. Jean pulled a chair around to next to Carol, as they
motioned me to sit in a chair in front of the desk.

"I know you're a bit anxious and more than a bit curious, and maybe even
feel a bit used, Eric, but what we did was mutual, you wanted to assfuck
me as much as I wanted you to do it, or we wouldn't have, agreed?..." I
nodding my head yes in agreement "...but, I have to admit, Jean and I
did have a greater motive than just you and I having great sex this
afternoon...Eric, have you ever heard of the term 'bodyworker'?"

I nodded my head "no".

"Have you ever heard of the term 'sex surrogate'?"

"Yes, I have heard of that term, Dr. Stein" my language
dropping a gear to the more formal, as an expression of
irritation and slight feelings of betrayal.

"I feel you have a special empathy for patients, for women in
particular, Eric, a special empathy and set of talents that could be put
to much better use as a bodyworker, as a sex surrogate if you will, than
what you're doing now as a massage therapist...interested...maybe?"

"Possibly...what did you have in mind?"

"Eric, Jean and I, along with our other partner Dr. Kim
Johnson, have built up a thriving family and marital
therapy practice in our 13-14 years in business...we
counsel mainly male-female couples in all aspects of
family, marital, and sex therapy...but, what we don't
advertise, but which the rest of the psychiatric community knows and
which we bill probably fifty percent of our billings from from outside
referrals from other practices, is that we have also have a thriving
bodywork, sexual surrogacy practice, a greater percentage of which has
become female in the nine or ten years that we've been doing this...what
no one knows is that a couple of weeks ago, two of our three
professional bodyworkers quit at the same time...yes, they were both
women, and they fell in love, and left us to go out West, just giving us
two weeks notice, not even finishing out their patient calendars...this
has left in a real lurch, and a real potential crisis concerning
cash-flow...we need two bodyworkers, and we need them now...but
since the American Psychiatric Association doesn't recognize fully the
legitimacy of sexual surrogacy, actually frowns on most forms of
bodywork let alone some of the cutting edge stuff we do here in our
practice, it's not like we can put an ad in the classifieds for
experienced bodyworkers..."

I nodded my head and mumbled some "uh-hu's" in
acknowledgment, my eyes not wavering from Carol's. They may have been
great psychiatrists, but they were lousy
businesspeople, Carol was laying all her cards on the table upfront, not
a terribly bright negotiating stance.

"...I honestly do feel you have a special gift for relating to patients,
especially women patients...would you consider becoming a bodyworker in
our practice, Eric?"

"And exactly what would be my duties, what would be my
responsibilities, and what would be my compensation,
Carol?" I replied with a smile.

"The crux of bodyworking, Eric, is that you would have sex in
therapeutic modes with women patients that would be within the aegis of
our practice...mostly women, and some couples, mostly male-female and
some female-female couples, and maybe one patient out of a hundred being
a man but you'd see the odd man only in a setting with another woman
bodyworker as a team...we'd send you to a special school for
bodyworkers, we'd pay you for attending it and pay all your expenses
there and back, the proviso being that if we had to fire you for just
cause within the first year you would owe use what we spent on your
training or if you somehow flunked out of the school either then you
would owe what we spent on sending you there...but we're not worried
about that...after attending bodywork school, you'd be in our sole
employ...we'll offer you a great base salary, plus non-expensible
commissions on each patient you would see...we'll give you, no, we'll
insist on you living in a very nice apartment that's just a
quarter mile from here, where you'd live and where you would see all
your patients at as your professional therapeutic bodywork office too,
an apartment which will be 100% no-cost to you, except for your phone
and cable tv...and, you'll have delivery accounts at several local deli
and pizza places, where you can order whatever you'd like, your food
bill will be minimal...but more than anything else, Eric...friend,
Eric...you'll be helping many women who need a firm, strong, but gentle
and empathetic healing hand to overcome the gamut of sexual problems
that society dismisses women as generally having, let alone needing to
have therapeutic measures to cure...whad'ya say?"

Jean came around and handed me a sheaf of papers and a
videotape. The papers were a collection of non-disclosure, non-compete,
non-prosecutorial, indemnification, limitation of liability, personal
services contract forms, the whole nine yards.

"Just standard forms that all our bodyworkers and other
contract employees have to sign. For your protection and ours..." Jean
spoke as she walked back to her chair "...I'm sure you're curious about
compensation...that's on the first personal services contract, if you're
curious."

Seven hundred dollars a week base salary, plus a commission based on
forty percent of total gross billings.

"Just 40%?"

"We are giving you a thousand-dollar per month apartment rent-free, plus
you'll see in the table below that
paragraph that depending on total year-end billings, you'll be eligible
for bonuses that could add another ten percent, for a possible total of
fifty percent of billings...the commission is addition to your base
salary, it's not playable against that, don't forget that" Carol
intoned.

"Ohhhh...I see" I mumbled as I read further. It was obvious they would
be making money but not a fortune off my labors.

"And.." Jean interjected "...even though you can never
repeat this, and will only be touched on but lightly in
B-school, you'll basically have unlimited pussy in this
job...even though it can never be stated bluntly like I'm doing now, as
long as you accomplish the therapeutic objectives for a patient that you
are given by Carol or
myself, there will be nothing wrong with you enjoying
yourself too, with you getting your own rocks off,
Eric...you're single...think about...unlimited pussy,
limitless sex, hundreds of women....in fact, the bodywork profession has
learned over the years that due to the beyond intimate nature of the
job, that if you don't partake of your own desires and pleasures, again
within the therapy context and making sure that whatever you do enhances
the therapy and heals the patient quicker, if you don't relieve yourself
of the continuing sexual tension with your patients, you'll blow a
gasket, Eric, you'll simply go bonkers and quit, to use a psychiatric
term" Jean said with her first pleasant smile and half-laugh.

"Keep in mind too, Eric, that the average career life-span of a
bodyworker is just five years...fifty percent quit before their third
year, almost none last past seven..." Carol quipped "...that, and the
sometimes emotional turmoil you'll experience, you'll be in bi-weekly or
weekly therapy sessions with one of us as our way of monitoring your
mental attitude in health....a short career and an empathetic sinkhole
of emotions are the two greatest negatives of the job."

"What about disease?"

"With all the precautions taken with each patient before they are
allowed to participate in bodywork therapy, that's really a non-issue,
but prophylaxis modalities will be covered as part of your training in
any case..."

"Well, Eric, what'dya say, you interested?" Jean
half-sneered, bitch.

"I really would like for you to seriously consider joining our practice,
Eric, my friend..." Carol smiled saying much sweeter "...we do need you,
too, no BS...if we don't get someone, actually two, within the next
sixty days, preferably the next thirty days, half our practice will be
irrevocably damaged, business-wise...we need your help...I honestly feel
you'd be perfect for this job...will you join our team, Eric?"

"Can I see the apartment?" I asked with little-boy tone.

"Just make sure you watch the videotape when you get
home...you do have a VCR, don't you?...." Jean asked
sarcastically, bitch, I nodding "yes", "...and read over the paperwork
carefully, even have a lawyer read over
everything if you want, everything's above board with us, Eric."

"But we will need a decision within 48 hours from now, or we'll have to
try to find someone else..." Carol cautioned "and, Eric, one other
thing, that's not in the
paperwork...you'll...ahhheemmmm....cough...you'll also be expected to
'service' me like you did tonight, usually about once per week, as a
friend, not billable...that's non-negotiable, Eric...is that okay?"

"Sure, I don't have a problem with that, Carol...it was fun with
you...can we go see my new apartment now?"

We drove in Jean's Porsche, leaving Carol's old AMX in the parking lot,
to the brick triplex down Woodland Ave. and around to a cul-de-sac,
where it sat amongst a small collection of duplexes and triplexes. The
three units
curved around the lot, parking spaces in front of each one.

Opening the front door, Jean flicked on the lights, and
walked to the sliding patio doors to shove them open and let some fresh
air in. A large bedroom was to my left, a small kitchen with half-height
counter to my right at the far end, and a small anteroom, not much
bigger than a large broom closet which Carol said was intended for us as
an in-home office, tucked up under the steps to the second floor and
extending to beside the front door, a computer sitting atop a cheap desk
next to a small window which faced the parking spaces. A small but
working fireplace with gas logs sat squatty in the back left corner.

Outside through the patio doors was a large, wraparound deck that
extended a good ten or fifteen feet beyond the doors, a waist-high
semi-privacy fence on either side offering minimal but possible privacy
from the other two units, especially when the four-person outside
Jacuzzi at each porch area was in use. Back inside, Carol took me
upstairs to the second floor. Three rooms, again, one large bedroom, one
small one, and a smaller anteroom.

"The downstairs is intended for use as your professional treatment
area...the bedroom downstairs is to be your
treatment bedroom area...this area is to be your private space...you can
keep this furniture to use, or bring your own, as you wish, but
everything in the professional bedroom stays as is..." Carol whispered,
as she kissed me on the lips and grabbed my crotch in a friendly but
erotic way "...I really want to you to join our practice, Eric, my
friend."

Jean was pacing as we walked back down the stairs. I went inside the
"professional treatment area" bedroom, noticing a screen. Peeking behind
it, lay a high-tech gynecological exam table, along with a stainless
steel coatrack and some stainless steel cabinets. I couldn't help but
laugh aloud a light guffaw.

"This place is for professional bodywork practice, Eric" Jean sneered.

"Well, Eric, my friend...are you in or out?" Carol asked.

"You said I could have two days to decide."

"48 hours, kiddo" Jean shot back.

"Two days..." I sidelipped.

They drove me back to my car, and I went home. I stayed up most of the
night, watching the tape about bodywork
practices and methodologies, four times. The tape was
fairly generic and really non-sexual in most ways, but I picked up the
subrosa text within the portrayals of female and male sex surrogates,
errrr, bodyworkers, working with female and male patients, though they
discounted and didn't talk much about male therapist-female patient
bodywork.

My mind kept going back to what Jean said, about the job also having the
main side benefit of unlimited pussy, but most strikingly, what Carol
said about what I would be doing would be healing, would be healing
women, patients, and whatever slightly selfish pleasure I would receive
would simply be a side benefit.

The next morning, I went into Raleigh Sport Injury and
tendered my resignation, offering them sixty days, so my calendar could
be cleared and I wouldn't leave them in a lurch. They said sixty days
wasn't needed, that thirty or even just two weeks would be fine. They
implied but didn't come right and say that they could replace me with a
single phone call. Pushing it, I asked if they would still give me a
good reference if I was to want to quit right then, that I had a
fantastic new job offer, not saying who what or where, stressing that I
didn't want to leave them hanging with patients who wouldn't receive
massage therapy because of my leaving. Dr. Mike told me that I had been
an excellent employee, and they would really hate to lose me, but if I
had such a great offer, they wouldn't hold me back, and they would be
glad to give me an excellent employment reference.

I shook his hand, thanked him profusely, then drove over to Wake family
Therapy to personally tell Carol and Jean that I had accepted their
offer. They were both busy, but Dr. Johnson, Kim, came out to talk to
me. She said she was privy to everything, everything that had
gone on last night, and she was glad I had decided to come aboard.

Walking me back to her office, she handed me the usual tax forms and
such to fill out, and then I spent the next hour signing all the legal
stuff and having it notarized by Mariva, the receptionist. Once all that
was done, Carol and Jean came back to Kim's, Dr. Johnson's, office, and
much to my surprise, all gave me a polite but sincere group hug, Carol
again kissing me on the lips in a more-than-friendly kiss.

Reaching under a pile of papers on her desk, Kim handed me a plane
ticket to New York City, an itinerary, a company credit card that she
said had a five-hundred limit and was meant for emergency expenses, and
a bank envelope with five one-hundred-dollar bills inside it, Carol
cautioning to spend what I wanted on whatever I wanted, but to get
receipts for everything, and call if that wasn't enough.

The itinerary showed me leaving for JFK Airport that Friday night, and
coming back Sunday night week. I kissed Carol on the lips and Kim and
even Jean on the cheek, thanking them again and again. Carol handed me
two thick three-ring binders of material, the covers of which were
labeled "Manual Of Therapeutic Bodywork", warning me not to let anyone
see these under any circumstances for any reason and to take them with
me to my bodywork school, then patted me on the butt and told me to
scoot, that they all had patients to see, and they'd see me when I got
back. I left their office high on life, my feet fractionally inches off
the ground.

The Body Worker

by

PlanetDweller

Chapter 2: Prep, and the trip up to New York (MF, mast., oral, straight,
sex therapy)

The phone rudely awakened me at 6:30 the next morning. It
was Kim.

"Uhhhhh...ohhh...uggghhh....hell....hellooo?" I mumbled
into the receiver.

"Eric, this is Dr. Johnson...."

Cough...hack...clearing my throat...trying to wake up...

"uhh...yes, Kim...Dr. Johnson...what do you want?" I spake
with sleepy unintentional mild rudeness.

"Eric, you darted out yesterday before I could finish
telling you about the rest of what you'll have to do before
going up to your school...please come by my office at eight
this morning..."

"I thought you, errrrr, we, didn't open up until nine?"
"We don't, I won't be there, but Mariva will...you've got
more tests to take of all kinds, we need to have you do a
complete physical, get blood and fluid samples drawn, a ton
of stuff, and it needs to be done today, if you're going to
make the class starting this weekend...otherwise, you won't
have time, and we'll have to find someone else..." she
continued.

"Uh...Oh...okay...no problem....I'll be there at eight".

"Oh, and uh, Eric..."

"Uh-hu"

"Have you gone to the bathroom yet this morning, or eaten
anything yet?"

"No, I haven't, why?"

"Please don't if you haven't....don't eat, or go to the
bathroom at all, if you can possibly hold it...it's for the
tests...and if you have any questions during the day,
please call me directly, don't bother Dr. Stein or Jean, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, 'talk to you later today" I finished.
Mariva was waiting for me when I got to Raleigh family
Therapy's office five minutes before eight. She took me
into the conference room and handed me a stack of
pre-printed tests. One was a standard Meyers-Briggs
personality profile test, plus another one of some name I
didn't recognize, then a sexuality scale test to determine
where on the homo-hetero line I was, and a test for all the
world was like one of those online "purity tests", except
this one was much more comprehensive, over a thousand
questions and scenarios, and was much more formalized in structure.
Handing me a plastic brown bottle full of little white
pills, Mariva continued "Eric, these are MascuStat pills,
they're the first clinically proven oral male contraceptive
hormone pills..."
I shot Mariva an unvarnished look of disbelief, a look
which didn't hide what I was thinking, "you've got to
fucking putting me on".

"...don't give me that look, Eric, I'm serious..."

"There's no such thing" I replied.

"Yes, there is, and these are it...they've been available
in certain European countries for over twenty years now, and have shown
to have virtually zero side effects with
99.9% efficacy...the only side effects are a small increase
in libido, and a propensity to grow deeper and thicker
facial and body hair, that, and once in a while with a few
men, some mild headaches and stomach upset...anyway, after
you finish your tests this morning, take one at lunch, and
every single day for as long as you're employed here at
Raleigh family in your capacity as a bodyworker, you'll
need to take one per day, the very last thing before you go
to bed...here's a copy of the page about them from the EC
(European Community) PDR (Physician's Desk Reference, a
guide to prescription drugs, Eric)...if you have further questions about
them, talk to Dr. Johnson, OK?" Mariva
continued, I nodding my head silently in agreement.

"And..." she started again, giving me several pre-printed
forms "...here's your authorizations for all the tests
you'll need to take and other errands you'll need to
run...please look them over, ask if you have questions, and
ask especially ask if you don't know how to get to any of
the addresses where they're located, okay?"
I looked them over, and replied "no, Mariva, everything
looks fine, I know where all these offices are, 'can find
them at least".
I really had to take a shit really bad and a piss even
worse, but almost busting with pressure, I made it over
quickly to my first stop, MedFacts Corp. over on Computer
Drive off Six Forks Road. Damn near running in, I handed the
receptionist my paperwork, told her I couldn't hold my
urine or bowel movements much longer, and she quickly
hustled me back to an exam room. A nurse darted in quickly
behind her, handing me a urine specimen bottle and a
wax-paper bucket with lid for my stool sample, pointing me
to the bathroom in the corner of the exam room without
saying a word. Ahhhh, it felt so good, to finally get some
relief! And, I had done what Dr. Kim asked me to do, held
it all in until asked for it. No way I was going to screw
the pooch on this opportunity of a lifetime.
Coming from the bathroom, this nurse that really
looked like a nurse, early middle age with short
hair and white posture shoes and a bit frumpy, had a
vampire table next to an exam chair all ready for me.
She took two tubes of blood from my right arm, then two more from the left.
The receptionist brought in a small cup of
orange juice for me to sip on, the nurse stopping me with a
"not yet, not until I get a sample first", swabbing the
inside of my mouth in three different places with three
different sterile swabs, tossing them into separate sterile
specimen tubes. Reaching in to retrieve an old x-rated porn
magazine from the exam table's instrument drawer, she
busily labeled all the recovered specimens while looking away from me
with a "Mr. Woods, please get undressed, and
masturbate yourself to a firm but not hard erection, and please, do not
orgasm while doing so..." she said as if
talking to an appliance repairman about her broken toaster "...I'll be
back to collect the last specimens needed in three or four minutes,
thank you" she concluded, as she
took the other specimens out to the outer office.
The porn was boring, and while I can always get an
erection, even while reading the newspaper, I just didn't
feel like it. I was playing with myself, looking at the
nastymag, when Nurse Ice came back in. She gave me a look
of unbridled disappointment. My erection was between half
and three quarters. Motioning me back on to the exam table,
she began masturbating me herself. Harder, but still not hard.
"Would additional visual and other stimuli help you, Mr. Woods?...this
is an important test, your employer is
totally insistent upon it..." Nurse Iceberg continued.

"Sure...I guess, 'guess so..." I answered a bit shyly,
unsure what I was slightly embarrassed about.
Getting up and locking the exam room door behind her, she
quickly undid her white nurse's blouse and scooted out of
her bra, her gargantuan tits with saucer-size nipples
flopping onto her chest. Cradling my cock between them, she
got me into a tit-fuck with a practiced ease. That did feel
good. It finally got hard after a few minutes of this.

"I
can't give you oral stimulation without ruining the test,
Mr. Woods, and you do need to come, and I need a sample of
both your pre-cum and your come...you're excited but not obviously
sufficiently so...is there anything I can do to
expedite this process?" she asked friendly but
professionally.

"May feel your breasts and pussy, Nurse?" I asked with
attempted equal professional detachment.

"Yes, you may".
I played with her actually not-too-bad mounds of round
while she stood in front of me. Standing up, I shoved my hand down her
pants, and found her cunt, beginning a slow
frig. She noticed a drop of pre-cum forming on my urethral
opening, and patted the exam table, motioning for me to
scoot back up there. Masturbating me a little more, she got
her sample of pre-cum on a sterile swab, and then with both
hands, managed to bring me to orgasm, catching that
specimen in another clear glass specimen jar.
"Thank you, Mr. Woods, you've been very cooperative" she said as she got
re-dressed and unlocked the exam room door.
My next appointment was with a GP I didn't know and had
never been to at 10:30AM. Having a ton of personality and
sexuality tests to fill out before five that afternoon, I
bided my time productively, filling them out while waiting
to see the doctor. Finally, at a little past eleven a.m., I
was called back into an exam room. I had expected an old fart of a
physician, but was treated to be examined by a very attractive lady
doctor. I know it was all clinical, but her looks didn't hurt,
especially when she was working
my butt with that ol' fingerwag. She pronounced me fit as
any sixty-year-old man she's seen lately, laughing at her
own joke, as I got dressed and headed for some lunch,
stopping at the Arby's on Hillsboro St.
I continued filling out the tests with my trusty number two
pencils as I scarfed down some roast beef and cheese
sandwiches. I hadn't even eaten a single bite of anything
for breakfast, per Dr. Kim's admonition, and was hungry.

My
next appointment, my last for the day, was at a
photographer's, which I didn't understand, but really
didn't care, at 1:30.
My session at the photographer's was bizarre, but harmless,
I guess my new employers had their reasons. Basically, I was lead to a
backroom at the studio where there was a
black backdrop with the thin white borders of thin white lines forming
one-inch or so squares on it. While I was
completely naked, they made me stand, turn, squat, and pose
in a wide variety of stances and poses, while in front of
the backdrop. Damned if I know why. Like I say, though,
unimportant.
Finishing my photo shoot, I just drove around some to clear
my head a little, and ended up parking in the parking lot
of Lake Johnson City Park and finished filling out the
tests at a covered picnic shelter area. For a February day,
it was a perfect North Carolina winter day, no humidity, high around
sixty.
Heading back to my new office, I dropped all the paperwork
copies and receipts from the tests and all and the
personality tests and all off. While making small talk with
Mariva, she is nicer than maybe I've indicated so far,
Carol, Dr. Stein, popped around the corner of the hallway
and said "hi" to me. I asked if she had a minute, and she
said yes, just a minute. We went back to her office, and I
asked her about this MascuStat male contraceptive pill,
told I hadn't heard of such a thing, and had some real
concerns. She asked if I had taken one at lunch yet per
Mariva's earlier instructions, and admitted that I hadn't.
"Eric, my friend, my employee, you've done real well so
far, but it's important to always do
exactly as I, Jean, or Kim tell you to do...
otherwise, this arrangement is not going to work out... I'm
not scolding, just reiterating...do you understand?"

"Yes, Carol, I understand"

"Good...take one of those pills right now, and from now on,
you must take one each night last thing before bed,
okay?"
I went out to the bottled water cooler to get a cup of Le
Bleu, and walked back in to her office to let her see I was
indeed taking a pill right then. She was on the phone, but
still motioned me in. I had another couple of questions. I
wanted to ask her about this Polykinetic Bodywork School,
especially me being put on the hook for right over $10,000
to the practice, if I was fired or quit during the first year.
"Eric..friend, it's real simple..." she said with sweet face as
she reached across the table motioning me to
extend my arm and hold her outstretched hand "...trained bodyworkers are
in such high demand all over the country,
it's such an exclusive occupational category that you're becoming a
member of, that once you become trained and get
a little experience and learn the business part of the
business, learn who's who and where's what, that you'll
probably be headhunted by other practices in other States,
particularly in the major metro areas, you'll probably get
offers that will be much higher than what our modest
practice can afford to pay you here...that indemnification
agreement is simply our way of protecting ourselves from getting stuck
for the ten or eleven thousand dollars,
should you decide to leave us...we're making a commitment,
and we feel you're making one to us...this just puts it in
black-and-white, that's all".
Made perfect sense, what Carol was saying, so I bought it
at face-value. Leaning over her desk to kiss her a friendly good-bye
one, she grasped me behind my head and firmly
lip-locked me for a minute or more, her tongue finding mine inside my
mouth. I smiled as I pulled away to leave, she
mirroring one back to me. Then she handed me a sealed
business-size envelope, telling me not to open it under any
circumstances, until I was actually on the plane heading to
school that following Friday, I nodding in agreement.
Another mystery, but again, I didn't care. I simply didn't
care.
"See you when I get back" I whispered as I blew her a
friendly kiss as I turned to head out. I thought to myself
that she would make a really nice girlfriend, even if she
was probably fifteen years older than me, that, that and the fact she
wasn't already married to another lesbian.
The next day was a total slack day. I studied my bodywork
handbooks as best I could, but a lot of the concepts
presented were so far-out, so cutting-edge, that a lot of
them didn't make a whole lot of sense to me. I figured
everything would be explained to me at the bodywork school.
Mariva called about lunch and told me the lab had screwed
up and they needed to re-swab the inside of my mouth. I
asked what on earth that test was for, and she replied
"honestly, I haven't the foggiest".
I ran by MedFacts and they did another series of swabs on
my tongue and gums and roof of my mouth, and I was flat out
of there in five minutes. My life was changing, certainly,
hopefully for the better. My salary had been increased
twenty-five percent plus just on base alone that week. I felt like
treating myself. I went to Sam's Steakhouse since
I was in the part of town anyway, had myself one of their
perfect prime ribs, washing it down with a couple of
Heinnies-on-draughts, and went home and to bed early.
Friday-day was just a blur. I remember trying to study my
manuals some, but couldn't concentrate, so I just
cat-napped away most of the day in my easy chair, ESPN
creating a drone of white noise on the tube. A siren off in
the distance woke me up from my shallow slumber around
three, lucky for me. My plane for NYC was due to leave in
about two hours, and with the traffic on '40 and all, and
all the incoming business people coming home for the
weekend from out-of-state, I knew I had better skee-daddle
on, so I wouldn't miss my flight, and screw up my life.
I have to admit that this was only the second or third time
I had ever flown anywhere. Somehow, I got in my head that
the practice was going to fly me up first-class. Yeah,
right, fat fucking chance. My USAir 737 heading to JFK
Airport in NYC stunk like a week's worth of mixed body
odors and stale food and alcohol witch's brew of smells.

The odor of burned kerosene fumes from the idling engines
outside also mixed in with the other bitch's brew fumes, rolling in from
the open cabin door at the front. I felt I
was going to be airsick soon, and we hadn't even begun to
taxi for takeoff. My seat, my narrow-assed coach set, was
all the way in the back, the back of it pressed against the
bulkhead next to the toilet. At least they had booked me an
aisle seat, where I could stretch out my six-three frame.
The plane was nearly empty, five or six passengers total. The RDU
terminals had been nearly full of the herd of human
cattle returning from their business foraging expeditions
the week before, but my flight heading up, away from the destination
that most of the rest of the traffic was
seeking, was nearly empty. A short, plumpish, but
well-groomed woman made her way down the aisle with two
carry-ons dragging. Opening the overhead compartment above
me, she saw it was full of my bags, and opened the one next
to it, asking if I minded helping her put her things in the
overhead, since she was a little vertically challenged,
making a harmless joke at her own expense. I told her I
didn't mind at all, 'happy to help. She sat down in the
middle seat of the three abreast row next to me. I
suggested she might want to move up to one of the empty
rows where she could have a whole row to herself, that the
flight crew didn't care. She smiled, and moved one over to
the window seat instead, settling in for takeoff.
The plane glided out above Umstead State Park next to the
airport, turning a one-eighty to head north to Naw Yawk.

The setting sun pierced the window, lighting my seatrow
companion's face like a painting. A few minutes of silence,
then I introduced myself. I told her my name was "Eric", and that I was
heading to NYC to attend a week-long
training conference that my employer was paying me to
attend. She introduced herself as "Margot", and said she was also
heading that way for something similar, asking me
where I was staying when I got to town, just making
friendly smalltalk. Absentmindedly, I replied "at the
Roslyn Harbour Inn, in a little town just outside New York
City called Roslyn, I think it's out on Long Island
somewhere".
Her mouth visibly dropped. "Eric...it is Eric, right?"

"Yes, Margot, call me Eric" I smiled back.

"Eric...Eric, you by chance wouldn't be going to attend a
workshop that has the word Polykinetic in the name of it,
would you?"
My own mouth then dropped, too. "Margot, is your employer,
by sheer chance, Raleigh family Therapy on Millbrook Road
in Raleigh, are you a recent hire, and by chance, do you have a sealed
envelope in your possession that Dr. Carol or
one the doctors told you not to open until you were in the
air?"

"Yes, Eric...to everything".
Total silence for ten or more minutes. Carol, for some
bizarre reason(s), had played another one of her byzantine
games on me. I stood up, opened the overhead, fished my
sealed envelope out of my jacket, and sat back down to read
it. As I began reading mine, Margot got hers out of her
purse, and began reading her own letter to her from our new
bosses. The letter to me basically introduced me to Margot,
giving me a short bio of her, said that she was their other
new employee that they had hired to replace the other
employees that had left, and that she and I would be
apprenticing under Connie, the long-standing bodywork
employee of Raleigh Family, once we got back from our
training. Connie was burned out, having hit the old
five-year brickwall of being a professional, full-time
bodyworker that Jean and Carol had mention during my
recruitment, but had agreed to stay on until Margot and I
or whoever had completed the rest of their apprenticeship
under her. It went on to say that we two were to be the
core of their bodywork team, that we would be working
extremely closely as a team once we got back, and that
eventually, we would also mentor any new bodywork
employee-recruits they might hire in the future. It
concluded by telling us that we would partnered together during our
classes soon to come, and since we would
literally be having sex in every conceivable way hundreds
if not thousands of times in the future, it was within the
"rules", it was okay for us to go ahead and have sex
tonight if we wished, just for fun.
I was stunned, and by the look on Margot's face, she was equally
stunned. Silently, I handed her my letter, and she
mine. Her letter read boilerplate identical to mine, except
hers contained my bio of course instead of hers, and the possessive
presence was changed to me and not her, if you
know what I mean. Stunned. Fucking stunned. Carol and them
had played matchmaker to Margot and myself, without ever asking us let
alone introducing us, they had fucking
basically "married" us without ever letting us meet first
and say yeah or neigh, married us at least in the
professional, the health professional slash professional bodyworker
sense of the word. Fuck them. My blood
immediately boiled inside at this gross deception, then
fell back to a simmer, then to a bearable warmth.
I looked over at Margot Kendra Knight sitting in her window
seat. My eyes took her in, totally. 4'11", 125 lb.s or so,
pageboy-cut deep brunette hair, thick-lensed glasses inside
a plain dark frame, green eyes, shapely 34D or slightly
larger tits, a reasonably narrow waist and hips that were
in proportion to her height and weight, wearing enough
jewelry to be an Arab bride but tastefully so in the right
places, small hands with delicate fingers, small feet, her
package fitting nicely in her solid black off-the-rack
Stein-Mart dress. Not bad, really. Considering that my
bridges were burned and that, apparently, Margot and I
would be sexual partners for the next some years many times
more than any similar married couple would be in the same
time frame, if so in a professional not passionate sexual
way, I, I mean Carol and them, could have done a lot worse
to or for me. And, Margot seemed to have a high sense of self-confidence
and self-assurance that just radiated her
basic niceness and decency and empathy and yes, raw
sexuality just under the surface. She projected a sense
that she liked everyone and most everyone liked her, and that she could
handle herself in most any situation. Truly
feminine. That's the feeling I'm looking to express. All woman. Velvet
dynamite inside a healing and nurturing
package. Yep, I could have done a lot worse.
Margot was similarly scoping me out, probably, hopefully thinking along
the same lines I was. She smiled at me, and
I smiled back, genuinely. She got up and sat back down in
her original seat assignment, next to me. I took her hand,
intertwined our fingers, kissed her on the forehead, and asked "Margot,
'everything okay?".
Looking deep into my eyes for reassurance, finding it, she
replied "Yes, Eric, everything's fine", smiling a most
sincere smile back to me still.
Our plane slid through the star and street-lit darkness of
New York City, bumpily touching down on an empty outer
runway at JFK. We two being at the rear, being last off the
plane, I put my arm around Margot's waist as a sign of
trust and friendship, she returning the gesture. Exiting into the New
York City piss-smell from USAir's passenger enclosure, three older black
guys in dark uniforms waited
as a group together, one holding up a sign that read
"Woods", another that read "Knight". We walked up to them,
and said who we were.

"Have any checked baggage?"

"Just one piece" I replied.

"I had two" Margot chimed in.
"Let me have your baggage claim stubs, so we can fetch them
for you."
I shot him a puzzled look, like it might be some sort of big-city scam
to steal my luggage, but he quickly pulled a
letter of introduction out from his pocket, a short two
line letter on a Polykinetic Bodywork Institute letterhead
and signed by one Dr. Hugo Chaim, telling to whom it may concern who his
employees were.
One of his helpers took our claim checks and went off to get our luggage
for us.

"We've got three more coming..." "Mac" said, "...and their
plane won't be in for another two hours, they're flying in
from the west coast, we'll all have to wait
together...would you like something to eat or drink?"
I looked at Margot and she nodded her head "yes". We
started to wander off to one of the clipjoint restaurants
down the terminal's hallway, but Mac caught up quickly to
us, with a "Mr. Woods, Ms. Knight, we need to stay together
as a group...burgers okay?...let's go to that restaurant over there",
pointing to a semi-fancy for an airport
terminal sitdown restaurant with semi-open seating.
As we walked, I couldn't help but notice a somewhat plump
but nice-looking and nicely-built middle-aged 40-ish white
lady, and a late 20's, tall and rather thin but shapely
with small breasts light-skinned black chick with
straightened hair and huge eyes also fall in behind us, as
part of our little group.
"Oh, my manners..." Mac chirped "Eric, Margot, this is
Gwen..." our hands reaching to shake hers, our middle-age
lady friend "...and this is Maddy", a round of continued handshakes and
pleased-to-meet you's being exchanged.
"Everyone here..." Mac continued "...is to be attending the
seminar together."
"You say there's three more coming?" I interjected.

"Yes, I said that..." Mac replied toastily "...but they're
coming in from the west coast, they'll get together on a connecting
flight at Lambert Field, errr, St. Louis, and their flight won't be in
for another two hours or so...I'm
hungry too, let's eat."
Since Mac said the Institute was paying, we all splurged a
little. I had a $40-some dollar filet mignon, and Margot had a nearly
equally expensive grilled swordfish. For an airport hole-in-the-wall
restaurant, the food wasn't bad at
all. Mac sat a separate table with his two helpers away
from us, the other one having come back, telling us our
luggage was in the hotel shuttle van already, as we four ate together,
sharing conversation and harmless tidbits
about our lives with each other.
Gwen was fascinating. It turned out she was a former RCMP
(i.e., Mountie) officer, and having been shot in the line
of duty during her sixteenth year on the force, was offered
an early retirement package at full half-salary and benes,
which she took. Her thick middle Canadian accent amused all
of us, and I told her so, she noticing that I didn't lack
for my own accent, my flat North Carolinian one, said with
a smile. Maddy was a NYC native, Brooklyn born, who had
left when young, her parents moving frequently, and had
lived all over since, living "upstate" currently. Gwen was
an RN, having taken nursing up as a second career after
retiring from the RCMP, and mainly had been a private duty
nurse, where she could set her own hours, not needing a
full-time job with her RCMP pension. Maddy was a PT, a
licensed physical therapist with licenses in New York State
and California and a handful of other states. Margot
mentioned to the them that she was an EMT, had been one
since after high school, but was tired of the
discrimination she faced daily on the basis on her height
and gender, and was tired of having to wear a flakjacket all the time
because of the constant daily danger she faced
in her job when called to rescue OD'ing crackheads and
such.
Both Gwen and Maddy were also going to work for psychiatric
practice groups after the school, much like Margot's and mine Wake
Family Therapy group. I asked them all if they really had any idea what
to expect, other than apparently
we'd be having a ton of clinical-based sexual bodywork
training of some sort next week, admitting I didn't, and felt a little
anxious because of the uncertainty of it all,
they amen'ing me.
Mac fetched and paid our tabs, then motioned us to follow
him. We walked down and to a horizontal escalator between
concourses, then up some stairs and made a long walk to a
gate near the very end of a concourse. In a few minutes, a
TWA jet pulled up to our gate, and a handful of passengers
disembarked. Mac held up a sign that read "Rogers", another
helper held up one that said "Patel", and the third
"Garingoko". A very young and attractive Indian as in India
the country woman walked up to the Patel sign, an even
younger, she couldn't have been much over 18, Japanese
beauty walked over to the Garingoko sign, and someone who
looked to be a world-class runway model, mid-20's or so, perfectly
cwoff'd medium blond hair, perfect medium fashion
model build with small but not tiny tits, who carried
herself with the ease of a trained model, walked over to the Rogers sign
that Mac was holding.
"Florence, Surawan, Keiko, this is..." Mac continued as he
completed all the introductions. "By the way, there's one
more to be in your group, a Nick Black, but he's a local,
and is already checked into the hotel...Florence, Surawan,
Keiko, we've already eaten...would you like to stop and eat
before we leave?...it's on the Institute", all of them
shaking their heads "no", mumbling something about a rough
flight and going through a thunderstorm and all feeling
queasy.
Mac lead his merry band of professional sex bodywork
wannabes through the airport to baggage claim to pick up Keiko's and
Surawan's and Flo's ("please don't call me
'Florence', she had gently scolded Mac) luggage, Mac's
helpers putting it on a chart and lugging it behind them,
as we made our way to the parking deck.
I had expected a real limo, not a van, but Mac had
said "hotel shuttle van", and that's what it was, looked close to an
airport car rental shuttle van. At least it had
room enough for all and luggage and then some. Margot and I
sat together on one of the bench seats and made small talk,
holding hands. The rest initially sat apart and kind of
ignored each other. As our longish trip continued, one hour
then longer, the other girls finally moved around the van
some, sitting together briefly in twos and threes and
making small talk. A rolling chick party, haha.
Even though it was dark, what we could see of the Roslyn Harbor Hotel
was impressive. Concierge service out the ass.
You couldn't pick your nose without a hotel employee asking
if they could do for you. Lavishly furnished lobby. Nine story tall
rooms-area stack. Smelled like money, old money.
Mac lead us into the bar off the main lobby, telling the bartender that
whatever we wanted was to be on Dr. Chaim's
account, and went to get our keys. Margot sipped on a red
wine, I on a Michelob on draught, and the rest of our hen
party on wine coolers or light cocktails, as we sat at a large round
table together, kind of all snuggled together
close, realizing this was "it", that we were where we were
for what and when and why we were there. The rest of the girls began
playing hand-s's a little, as mock PDA's, even
though there were a few people drinking at the bar or
eating at tables near us. Realizing the people were turning
to look, the public displays of fake but nice affection
quickly died down. I kissed Margot on the lips, though, and
she kissed back.
Mac brought our room keys over. They were a thick paper
square, 2"x3" or so, with punched holes in them, a kind I
had never seen before. "Everyone know how to use these
keys?" Mac asked the group, we all nodding or mumbling
"yes". The keys were on a large, thin metal ring, to which
a standard key was also attached. "The metal key is for the
lock mechanism in the lobby elevators for the ninth floor,
which is the only way to access the ninth floor...please,
please don't lose that ninth floor elevator key, or
there'll be hell to pay...I'll show you how to use it when
we go up shortly" Mac finished.
His helpers taking our luggage up on large flat carts via
the freight elevator to our rooms, we all piled into one of
the main lobby elevators, Mac pushing his ninth floor key
in and turning it to the right. "You can only turn it to the right...at
the lobby, it takes you directly to the
ninth floor...at the ninth floor, it takes you directly to
the lobby....if you are on the ninth floor and want to go
to any other floor, and there shouldn't be any reason this
week that you should, you'll need to go to the lobby, then
hit a button for floors one through eight, just like you normally
would...any questions?" he finished, we nodding our heads "no".
Our luggage was already in our room when we opened it up,
and the heat had been just turned up. One giant, king-sized
bed. I'll give Carol and them credit, they're not bashful
or subtle, not at all. Margot and I filled the bed with our
luggage, and pulled out a few things, mainly toiletries and
such for our own use that week, my razor and Margot's
feminine things and such, ferrying them to the bathroom, then pulling
some but not all clothes out from our bags and
hanging them up on the standard hotel theft-proof
clothesrack.

"Feel like a shower, together?" I nicely asked Margot.

"Sure"
The wall of high pressure and very hot water melted away our trip grime.
I shampooed her hair, and she mine, I
having to kneel and hold my knees so she could reach the top of my head.
We kissed, a long time, not as lovers since
we hardly knew each other, but as beginning friends,
friends who soon would be bodywork professionals working together.
We kissed and groped each other as the cleansing
pure hot water washed our future sins away. We knelt down
together in the shower, she pressed against the wall and me
to her back, and my cock entered her. We craned our necks
and kissed as we fucked. She felt so warm and wonderful and
all-woman-ly in my arms. Our partnership was going to be great, that was
obvious. My knees were starting to hurt, and I asked if her knees were
hurting too, against the cold
hard tile shower floor, she nodding "yes".
We stood up, and I forced my hand between her legs as we kissed, Margot
coming within a couple of minutes from my frig. She dropped to her knees
for just a moment, took my
member in her mouth, and put my hands on either side of her
head, in a gesture that it was okay to fuck her mouth. I held her head
tightly as I fucked her sweet womanly oral opening, just letting go and
coming within a minute,
knowing her knees would start hurting soon if I didn't.
Finishing rinsing off, we toweled each other dry, then
headed to bed, and our future.

As I pulled back the cover, there was a big, red
posterboard sign with the words "Eric, take your damn
pill!, talk to you and Margot next week, Love, Carol".
Damned if Carol wasn't as relentlessly mother-hen-ish as she was
non-subtle. I stumbled back to the bathroom to find
a waterglass and take my damn MascuStat fucking male
fucking oral contraceptive pill, fuck Carol, if she was my
boss and basically a decent person. I have to admit,
though, that without the note, I was so tired from the trip
I would have forgotten. Margot was already under the covers
when I got back to bed just a moment later. I pulled her back close to
my chest and snuggled with her as we fell
asleep together. The next conscious memory was some hours
later, the phone ringing an un-asked-for wake-up call at 7AM, courtesy
Dr. Chaim & Co.

"Please assemble in the training room for your first
orientation in one hour please...just look to the left out
your door and you'll see the sign in front of the training
room out in the hall...thank you, and good morning, and
welcome to Roslyn and The Polykinetic Bodywork Institute",
then, "click".

I gently shook Margot awake, and the second step of our
journey together began.
The Body Worker

by

PlanetDweller

Chapter Three: Day 1, or, The Journey Begins
I took a quick rinse-off taking a soap-less shower as
Margot got in a quick doze, not wanting to get up. Getting
out of the shower, I walked over to bed and kissed her
awake, telling her she really needed to get on up,
or we'd be late. I was finished shaving and dressing by the
time she was finally out of the shower. Waiting a little impatiently
while sitting at the foot of bed, watching a local tv channel on the
hotel's cable system, I began
pacing a little around the room, and noticed a door toward
the glass backwall of our large, expansive room I hadn't noticed
earlier, which lead to a room with bookshelves full
of books and a nice-looking executive desk and a nice couch
and all. I had never heard of a hotel room having a study
in it before. Leaving the study, I glanced at Margot
finally finishing getting dressed, and noticed another door
across the room from the study, which lead to a kitchenette
area, complete with fridge and oven and stove and
microwave, the whole bit. "Must be what they call one of those 'suite'
hotels", I thought to myself. Nice.
Margot and I friendly-kissed silently and walked out of the
room arms-on-waist, looking to the left per instructions.
Along the hall's wallspace between the two elevators was a
desk with a uniformed hotel employee behind it which hadn't
been there the night before. A little further past that, Gwen and Keiko
popped out of one of the rooms we walked
past, joining our short hike to the classroom, we noticing
a hotel lobby-type sign on a chrome stand with movable
white letters that I couldn't read another fifty feet or more down down
this long corridor. Politely, I asked the uniformed hotel guy if that
was our classroom, assuming he
knew who we were and why we were there, pointing to the
sign in front of the double doors, and he nodded yes, the
walkie-talkie in a stand on his desk softly crackling with
unintelligible gibberish.
Maddy, Surawan, Flo, and a tall, well-built Italian-looking
guy who I assumed was Nick our other classmate, were
already in the classroom, milling around making small talk,
eating bagels and fruit and Danish and such from the open
breakfast bar which had been set out for us. Gwen and Keiko
and Margot and I grabbed some grub from the table, another
uniformed hotel employee behind the table spread preparing
our orange juice or coffee or whatever we wanted to drink.
We walked over and introduced ourselves to Nick. He seemed
like a nice guy. Thick, heavy New York-Brooklyn-Queens
accent. Curly dark brown hair, much like my own, except
even curlier. Looked like an exercise freak. A little
shorter than me, six foot even or so. He shook my hand and
kissed my lady companion's hands, a real smoother. But he
didn't have what I would consider to be a New Yorker's
attitude. He seemed more relaxed, not wired at all,
pleasant.
The clock on the wall read ten 'till eight. I scoped the room. Large.
Maybe thirty feet deep or deeper, maybe a
hundred feet wide or better. Slideable accordion partitions
every thirty feet or so, standard hotel practice, to make
the room bigger or smaller as needed. Large projection tv
in towards the back, a projection screen behind it. In
front of that, a short lecturn, and in front of that, a
couple of office desks and chairs, an overhead projector to
one side. A phone on one desk. I notice things like that. A
Dry-Erase board on an easel. In front of all that, a row of
smallish, maybe four feet by two feet, small
conference-style plain tables, two chairs at each one.
Small stacks of papers atop each one, pens beside the
papers, along with some folded paper signs with our names
on them in large block letters. To the left far side, doors
for men's and women's bathrooms, and a room which was
labeled "showers"...curious.

To the right, a pile of old junky equipment and stuff, stacked beside
four gyn exam
tables which had lockable caster-wheels underneath each
corner of each respective one. Four beds on coasterwheels
also pushed into a glump.

Near that, another random pile of
curious stuff, what looked like partial human anatomy
"dolls" (I don't know of any other way to describe them),
full-size navel-to-knees anatomy dolls, both male and
female, some 360-dimensional, some 180-sideview-cutaways,
some of them having what looked like electronic display
panels attached to them. Stainless steel medical tables and
carts in random order. A wire rack full of boxes of exam gloves and
other medical supplies. Nick came up behind me
and touched me on the shoulder, breaking my concentration.
The girls were sitting down at the desks near the lecturn
near us, their chairs pulled around to a semi-circle.
"It is good to meet you, Eric..." Nick chatted "I'm glad that you are
here...I've been waiting a couple of months for this to happen...up
until last week, it looked like I
was going to be the only guy in class...it's good that
you're here, Eric...you wanna go get a beer by ourselves sometime this
week?"

"Sure, Nick, that'll be great, I'll be looking forward to
it...hey Nick, they got you taking this MascuStat shit
too?"

"Yeah...I never heard of such a free-king thing in my life"

"I hadn't either, until my bosses told me I had to take it
as a condition of employment"

"I figure, from the sheet they showed me, that it's
harmless enough...they told me it was either that, or a
vasectomy..."

"My bitch bosses didn't mention that option to me...hey
Nick, you know what to expect in this class?"

"Well, kinda, kinda not...basically, I think we're going to
be trained by what is in 'the book'...you got your manuals
already, doncha?"

"Yeah...I've been trying to study them, but a lot of that
shit in there makes no sense"

"Yeah, I know..."
We chatted for another two or three minutes. I give Nick my
long and short, he mentioning that he had been trained as a
combat medic while serving in the Army, but that soon after
his MOS school they assigned him to different base
hospitals, where basically all he did was grunt shit work,
much like I had done initially at Rex early in my career.
He had quit, didn't re-enlist, and had fallen into a New Age-ish health
career, where he had been making a decent living doing reflexology (feet
and hand massage), iridology
(using examination of the eye to diagnose body illnesses),
colonic irrigation therapy (like it sounds), before being
recruited a few months back by Mrs. Dr. Chaim herself to be
trained as a bodyworker and work within her and Dr. Chaim's
professional marital and family sex therapy group.
The clock read eight-twenty-one. A seriously looking
wrinkled skin almost diseased-in-appearance balding old man
with scraggly white goatee beard and wrinkled old clothes
and scuffed shoes walked into the room like he owned the place, a plump
woman stuffed into a cheap print dress two
sizes too small wearing orthopedic prescription shoes
trailing behind him. He went up to the DryBoard and wrote
his and her names in large letters. Turned out he actually
did own the place. Clapping his hands several times to call
the class to order, he bellowed "welcome, ladies and
gentlemen, to my hotel, to my institute, and to my class,
my Polykinetic Bodywork Institute class, Class Of February
1997...please, stop your conversations, and take your
seats."
Margot and I moved to sit at our assigned table, and began
shuffling through the pile of papers in front of us.
Everyone else quietly sat and did the same, as Dr. and Mrs.
Chaim whispered to each other for a moment, Dr. Chaim
taking a seat on a tall stool behind the lecturn stand.
"I see that everyone is here, and appears to be wide awake
and ready....good..."
"...I am Dr. Hugo Chaim, and this is my wife and partner in
all ways for the past four decades, Mrs. Dr. Helena
Chaim..."
"...You may or may not remember us, many of you are too
young, from some of pioneering sexology studies we did and
published our results about some decades back, a couple of
which became best sellers in the early 70's, especially in
our early work in further identifying the morphology of and
promoting awareness of the human female 'G-spot'..."
"...We were never as famous to the outside world as Masters
& Johnson or Kinsey, but we had our fifteen minutes...we have always
been more respected within the inner core of the psychiatric community
than those people, and have a
better reputation for doing leading, cutting edge
sexological research, and developing concurrent modalities
to implement the desired product from that research..."
He took a moment to sip his coffee, as we mimicked him,
finishing our breakfast rolls and such and swig on our own
juice or coffee, he pausing, almost closing his eyes for a
second, as if to attempting to gather his thoughts.
"First things first...you may call me Dr. Chaim, Dr., or Mr. Chaim, or
Teacher, but do not address either myself or
Mrs. Chaim by our familiar names...second, there several forms in front
of you that you need to sign...these forms
should be similar to some of the pre-employment forms you
recently signed, limitation of liability forms,
indemnifications forms, non-disclosure and non-compete
documents, etc.,...take a moment to look them over, then sign them
all...an instructor will be around in a moment to
pick them up...we'll have them notarized, then fax a copy
to your employers...if you'd like a copy for your own
records as well, ask an instructor later...third, let me reiterate the
nature of this course and need for absolute
confidentiality..."
"...This is a course designed to teach the basic of
polykinetic bodywork principles, which is a way of healing
the wounded psyche of a given patient, by application of kinetic
application of sexual focus therapies...what you will learn this week,
and in the near future from your
apprenticeships, is an outgrowth from the old sexual
surrogacy practices of decades back, which worked, to a
point...over the past decades and years, we have further refined the
paradigm of using ritualized sexual therapeutic
contact between therapist and patient to enable healing
soma-to-soma, body-to-body, that situationally can't be
accomplished by conventional psychiatric or pharmacological
means...because this approach would be so offensive to the
public at-large, and is still suspect by some in the
psychiatric establishment who are not trained sexologists,
though daily it is being used by more and more mainstream
psychiatrists, the need for absolute confidentiality in all
aspects of your soon-to-be professional career is a must and should be
obvious to you..."
Two men and two women, all in their mid to late 20's
looking like college students and wearing labcoats, came
up behind us all as we were sitting at our desks, picking
up our signed forms, looking them over, taking them away to
be notarized by another young female-type person, who had
come into the room and was sitting at the desk near Dr.
Chaim.
"Forget every notion you've ever had about what is and is
not sex, right now, and forget every notion you've ever had
about what is or isn't, might or might not be appropriate
treatment for promoting healing in a patient...what we'll
teach you, works, even though you might not
initially think so...Gwen and Nick have both been in
boot-camp situations before, and this is what you have
volunteered for, a polykinetic sexual bodywork
bootcamp...and just like bootcamp, we're going to break you down,
break your past fears and hopes and dreams
and dreads down, and rebuild you into someone you won't
recognize afterwards but who will more of actually who you
are, and do so in nine days..."

"...Now, some basic groundrules...you must, I repeat,
must comply with every direction or instruction
given to you by myself, Mrs. Chaim, or one of my
instructors...you're not prisoners or even enlist-ees here,
you're free come and go as you please or even to go home at
any time, but you've all come here to learn the core skills
of a new profession, and by God, in nine days you will have
learned those skills if I have any thing to say about
it...you may ask any question at any time to do so, but
please be courteous and wait for an appropriate moment to
do so...your days will be long and grueling, just like
bootcamp, typically twelve hours or longer not including lunch or meal
breaks, but we do schedule other breaks and
rest periods enough to where you can relax and hopefully absorb what
we're trying to teach you..."
A waiter brought around a tray of ice, cups, soft drinks,
and carafes of juice and coffee to our tables individually.

The four people, two men and two women, apparently our
instructors, pulled up chairs behind and to one side of Dr.
and Mrs. Chaim. The waiter refreshed Dr. Chaim's coffee in
his styrofoam cup and he continued.
"Let me tell you some interesting facts about our society,
my students..."
"...over fifty percent of the women in America suffer from
one form of sexual dysfunction or other pathology of
condition that prevents them from enjoying what most people
would consider to be a normal and healthy sex life, from conditions such
as vaginismus, painful intercourse,
reactions to psychoterror crimes such as rape or incest, fatigued
libido, etc. ..."
"...forty percent plus of the men in America suffer from either a
correctable psychophysiological condition that
negatively impacts their sex life, such as premature
ejaculation or erectile dysfunction, or a more purely
psychological pathology such as diminished libido..."
"...over one new million cases of non-consensual incest
against females between the ages of three and fifteen and
half a million similar cases to the male gender happen each
and every year..."
"...four million women are victims of one degree of rape or
another each year..."
"...millions of couples get divorced each year from a root
cause of one or both partners having one or more
dysfunctional sexual pathologies..."
"...it is to this frontier, is to this battlefield, that
hopefully I will send my newest crop of healers and
nurturers to tend to the wounded, to heal the sexually sick
and injured, to make if not the world then a handful of
individual lives better, to bring rays of healing and
goodness to the world...now, that said, I'm an old man, and
really must go let that coffee I've been sipping on
out..." Dr. Chaim concluded as he walked from the dais
towards the men's room, all of us students standing and
giving him am impromptu round of sincere, heart-felt
applause.
We got up and mingled a bit around the buffet table. I got
into a conversation with Gwen and Suruwan, Margot was
talking with Nick and Flo and Maddy. One of the guy
instructors fired up the VCR and tv, putting a tape in but
not beginning to play it yet. The rest of the staff huddled
around the desk, intently studying something atop it, some
papers or such. Dr. Chaim walked back in from the bathroom,
and we all took our seats without being told to do so, as
he resumed his seat atop the stool behind the podium.
"I think....I truly believe that we have one of our very best classes
ever...ever....and I'm not just saying
that to flatter you people...let me give you some
interesting facts about this group as a group..."
"...your average age is 28, ranging from 18 to 43..."
"...each and everyone one of you has a formalized medical background of
one sort or the other, from EMT to massage therapist to physical
therapist to medic to alternative
medical provider to Native American healer to LPN to RN to
medical school student, and you all were recruited from a
current job in the medical profession..."
"...more than half of you have bad credit, but you've all been paying
your bills on time for the past twelve
months..."
"...your average educational level is one and a half years
beyond high school..."
"...your average IQ is 112..."

"...each one of you comes from a normal, stable, two-parent
family..."
"...six of you are single and never have been married, Gwen
has been married to her husband for over twenty years,
Maddy married last year, both husbands know and approve of
this new career path they've chosen..."
"...none of you have psychological problems, in fact, your
pre-employment tests you took have all shown you all to be
very empathetic, strong healers in personality..."
"....none of you has a history of illegal drug use, and none
of you have been in jail, ever...in fact, no one here has
had anything worse than a speeding ticket...none of you are
smokers, or have ever been drunk more than once or twice in
your life..."
"....and, lastly, the average number of paired sexual
partners as in dating you've had is approximately twenty
over the course of your respective lives..."
"...oh, that reminds me...before we actually begin class, a
note...each of you has been thoroughly checked, and no one
here has any contagious disease of any sort, not sexual or
otherwise, and every one here is protected by a form of
birth control, men as well as women...so, when we get into
the contact phase of your training, safer sex precautions
are not needed and will not be used, except in and for
clinical demonstrations, but that will all be explained
more thoroughly shortly..."
Dr. Chaim waved his hand in a "come here" motion to the
back of the room, and the waiter at the buffet table
brought him a fresh cup of coffee in a new cup, Doc
slightly bowing his head, looking intently at a point of infinity atop
the lecturn, then spoke once again.
"Before we get to the very first act of your instruction, a
tape you'll see shortly, some clean-up business..."
"...this floor of this hotel will be your home for the next
nine days, treat it as such..."
"...you're free to come and go, as I mentioned, but because
of time constraints, only so many days to do so much, you
must tell the security guard at the desk between the
elevators where you're going when you leave the ninth floor
and when you expect to be back, and call the front desk and
leave a message if you are delayed in coming back at time
stated or have problems otherwise..."
"...there's an in-house health club adjacent to the lobby for hotel
guests only, feel free to use it during your
breaks...there's also some jogging trails on the property
and down to the marina, but I think only Nick is a
jogger...feel free to walk them or whatever if you wish..."
"...tomorrow you all will be nude for most of your classes,
and for the rest of the week...this floor is my private
floor, Mrs. Chaim and I live in an apartment at the far end
of the hall, but never knock on our door for any
reason...if you have problems, see an instructor, staff
member, or the security guard at the elevator
desk...anyway, lost my train of thought, sorry...since
you'll be nude around each other soon for the rest of the
week, nudity in the halls is not only permitted but
encouraged as well, we have total privacy up here, but of
course, please dress before leaving the floor...also, since
privacy will be minimal anyway soon, you're encouraged but
not mandated to leave your room doors open at all times, to
further promote social interaction between yourselves and
your classmates..."
"...anything you want or need to make your time here more comfortable or
satisfying, ask, ask any staff member or
instructor...as long as it's not outrageous, it will be
provided, this is a full-service hotel, and your employers
have paid small fortunes to send you here, you will be
pampered and treated like honored guests as well as my
favored students...any questions?..."

"...good...now, the drill is this...you have forgotten
everything you have ever learned about sex and human
sexuality...therefor, it's our job to teach you from
scratch...once that is done, then we begin your polykinetic
bodywork training in earnest...take a five minute break if
you need it, your first instruction, a tape about the
basics of human sexuality, begins in approximately five
minutes..."
Coming back from my whizz, the tape was really boring. It
was about as basic and non-explicit as something that would
be shown in high school. Two hours of dreech. After that,
menu cards for lunch were passed around, a staff member
explaining that most days lunch would be brought in, some
days we could leave to eat in the hotel restaurant or bar
or even a local joint, but most days because of time
constraints lunch would be brought up. Next, flesh-colored
half-section and full-section models of female and male
genitalia were distributed to us.
A lot of what we had just
seen on the tape was repeated, except that we were to touch
and play with and hold and poke and prod and look at this
or that aspect of the model organs as our instructors did
the same and directed us to mimic them. Then, using
overhead transparencies, more of the same info was repeated
again, in conjunction with touching of these models. Things
were becoming pretty damn boring. Like school children, we
all had to manipulate and verbally call out the names for
the various anatomical parts of the models we were
touching, like every one of us didn't already know all that
and more. Then, like being Mrs. Hump's third grade class,
different instructors would fire out questions at random to
different students, Surawan and Keiko for some reason
especially seeming to catch the brunt of some of the
questions, which they looked as bored as I felt answering.
Then from back of the room the sound of silverware and
china clanging was heard, with a gaggle of hotel employees
pushing carts and carrying trays, one of them yelling
"Lunch, everyone!"

Our instructors retreated from the room, scooting
somewhere, not speaking to any of us. Mrs. Chaim stuck her
head in the room for a second, then left. We all pulled our
mini-conference tables around to make circle, and shared our lunchtime
together. Keiko said in a California not
Japanese accent that she felt especially singled out during
the instructors' questioning free-for-all, and we all
agreed with her, same with Surawan. "A clit is a clit is a
clit, damn them, and I have one and know what's it for and
what do with it, so I should know!" she fussed, we laughing
with her, not at her. Gwen and Keiko snuggled together a little, heads
nudging sweetly together, light kisses
exchanged. Then Flo and Maddy. Then Nick and Surawan, then
Margot and me. What the hell, right? We all were going to
be having sex with each other soon anyway, right?
I asked Gwen about her marriage and husband, what was his
name, how did they meet, etc.. She knew what I was really
asking. She replied that had met through a mutual friend when she was
20, had gotten married three months later, and
that she had been totally faithful to her Bob, who also was
an RCMP officer, during the twenty-three years of their
marriage. I didn't understand that, and my puzzlement must
have shown.

"Yes, Bob knows I will be having sex with strangers for
money, Eric, men and women, but he also knows how important
this is to me, that it's an extension of my basic healing
and nurturing and caring and healing natures, just like you
have, Eric, just like we all have, or we wouldn't be
here..."

The group focused on our conversation.

"I noticed you kissing Keiko just then...did you make love
to Keiko last night, and was that your first lesbian
experience, Gwen, ma' pal?"

"Yes, to both, Eric, my Southern charmer"

"I'm...I'm bi!" Flo blurted out.

We all without thinking blurted out if we were bi, gay or
straight. Only Flo was bi, everyone else proclaimed they were straight.

"I have masturbated select male clients off as favors in my
massage therapy practice, but since doing so is such a
cardinal violation of professional ethics, I never made a
habit of it, it was always a favor to them, and actually I
masturbated more women clients by request than male ones.." I admitted
to the group, maybe trying to re-establish my non-homo-is-ness a little.

"Guys have chased me all me life, but since I'm a-hundred
hetero, I'd'a always decline the offer" Nick chirped in.

"My husband and I have done some threesomes with other men
and other women while dating and since we've been married,
we both enjoy the variety, and while I did have some
woman-to-woman contact in those situations, I've never
considered myself to be anything other than straight" Maddy
added.

"In high school, a best friend and I would feel each other
up and kiss sometimes, but never thought much about
it...I've never felt what you'd call lesbian feelings for
another woman" Margot spoke up.

"My parents raised me strict Hindu...what's in the Manual
Of Therapeutic Bodywork, what we're talking about now, all
this is new to me...I was a virgin until a few months ago" Surawan
mentioned.

"How did you find your way to this time and place?"
Gwen asked Surawan.

"Just lucky, I guess..." polite laughter from us all "...I
was an LPN in a group practice in my hometown that does a
little bit of everything, it's a small town east of LA, my
parents moved there from India when I was twelve, the group
does ob-gyn, general medical practice, family therapy, and
sex therapy, though they don't put that in their Yellow
Pages ad...until one of the partners was introduced to the
concept last year by a psychiatrist friend of his, their sex therapy was
all talk-therapy or pharma-based...I'm
going to be their first full-time bodyworker therapist,
though they did say I'd have to help grow the practice, I'd
still have LPN and receptionist work to do between seeing
clients...anyway, to answer your question, one day the
senior partner just called me into his office, told me
about polykinetic bodywork, and asked if I'd be interested
in being trained in it...after he mentioned the potential
compensation possible, I said 'yes'", polite laughter of recognition
being lauded by us all.

Dr. Chaim came back in, standing near our circle of desks.

"Your main instructors for the day and the rest of the
course haven't been introduced to you yet, I'll do that
shortly. Please keep in mind that in my or Mrs. Chaim's
absence, they are in charge, you need to follow their
instructions to the letter. If a student has a problem, one
of them will come get the Mrs. or myself. Hopefully, there
won't be any problems. This course is not pass-fail, any exams are to
help you spot your strengths and weaknesses and work on strengthening
them both, but you need to know,
that in many past classes, one or more students have
dropped out or were forced out, because they come to a
stumbling block in the instructional modality and can't or
won't go around or under it. But, I don't think that will
happen with this class. Everyone here, each of you
students, is exceptional, you all have great potential to
be excellent polykinetic bodyworkers. Now, let me introduce
you to my core faculty."
I have to admit, I hadn't been up until then and still
wasn't particularly impressed by them. They all projected
an attitude of indifferent smugness, of old money core
rudeness, of Ivy League privilege. In other words, as
physically attractive as a group as they were, all
lily-white with tanning-booth tans and perfect haircuts and
unblemished skin, even in their knee-length labcoats they
looked like a bunch of aging young Republican Club members.
But I and the group were going to be under them for the
rest of the week evidently, so I wanted to give them the benefit of the
doubt. Dr. Chaim made a wave of his hand, and in unison as they stood in
a line behind him facing us,
they dropped their labcoats simultaneously, and were all naked
underneath. O-kee. Perhaps not unexpectedly so.
"This is Jerry..." Dr. Chaim said, the first guy instructor
bowing at the waist to us, to indicate who he was "...and
this is Courtney..." the decent-looking brunette with
pointy breasts and large nipples bowing to us "...and
Hollis...", "...and Ferrum...", "...and lastly but not
leastly, Libby, who will always be here in class with you
even when some of the other instructors won't and who has
the title of Senior Instructor, she's to be your go-to-girl
for problems and concerns, especially if another instructor
and yourselves have a problem...understood?", Libby