NOTE: This is a follow-on to my prior post, ‘A Course on Human Sexuality.’ I suggest you read that first, as you’ll know the players better. But the story below is a stand-alone; you can read it without having read the prior one. Hope you enjoy.
I’ve previously written about my college’s psychology department, and its creative, interactive approach to teaching. Nowhere was it more creative — or interactive– than in the Human Sexuality program. What I haven’t mentioned before — until now — was the clinic.
We first learned of it when our professor addressed the Human Sexuality 101 class.
“You’ve all done very well in confronting your own sexuality, and becoming comfortable with displaying your bodies in healthy and appropriate settings. You’re now ready for the next step.”
Hard to imagine what more could be coming. We’d been naked with each other and discussed sexual experiences openly — and once created those experiences.
“We have a clinic, a workshop, on the campus. Where people can come to seek resolution of sexual issues. Are you unsure if your oral sex techniques are generating the most pleasure for your partner? Women, do you wonder if there is a difference in how you handle a circumcised penis versus one that is uncut? Men, do you wonder what parts of a woman’s body are the most sensitive? Whatever the concern, counsellors made up of graduate students will fully instruct you.”
I spoke up. ‘Professor, I’m unclear. What do you mean by instruction? Like, a class on sex techniques?”
“Carl, an instructor might critique your technique and make suggestions on how to improve. But we never discuss the details of what takes place; everything within the clinic is confidential.”
We were agog. We were trying to imagine what might take place. Film clips? Written instructions? Or would we literally “practice” the new techniques? If so, practice on whom? Was he suggesting that we would engage in sex acts there?
“I know this may sound radical, but the clinic is a natural outgrowth of the work we’ve done here in class. It’s very hard to experiment when you have a romantic partner. The emotions and the needs of your partner normally don’t allow for that. And it can be embarrassing to display or confess your inexperience. A romantic encounter is not a tutorial. At the clinic, instruction and exploration is its whole raison d’etre.”
The discussion went on, but the point was that there might be a facility on campus where we could go to explore sex — in the name of academic knowledge, of course.
After class, the clinic was all we could talk about. We broke into our study groups, the groups having been selected at the start of the semester. Each group composed of two guys and two girls.
“Would you have the nerve to go to the clinic?” asked Dawn.
“No way; I think I’d die being instructed in sexual techniques,” replied Jennifer. “Unless the guy was really cute,” she added with a laugh.
“I’m sort of intrigued,” said Brad. “I really want to please my partners. Yet even when I ask, ‘what else shall I do,’ women will always block the question. ‘You’re doing great,” she’ll say. I think my girlfriends are embarrassed to state how they should be pleasured.”
“There is truth to that,” said Jennifer. “I’ve never told a lover exactly what to do — even when he’s fumbling around. I guess I don’t want to risk wounding the male ego by suggesting he isn’t a great lover.”
“And for sure it’s a guy thing to want to go somewhere if there is a chance for free sex,” said Dawn, as we all laughed.
The mystery of the clinic was a lure that we couldn’t put aside.
“We should all go together,” I suggested. “We’ll make it a class project. Sort of like a field trip.”
“Sure, we can pack a lunch, bring some party favors, make a day of it,” said Jennifer. She wasn’t serious of course; it was just a way of making light of something that enticed us — and frightened us at the same time. We broke for the day without reaching a decision. Just food for thought. And food we chewed on all night.
The next morning, Dawn sent a text, addressed to the three of us.
“We’ll regret it our whole lives if we don’t try this. When would we ever again get an offer like this?” it read.
All of us independently came to the same conclusion. Go there at least once, see what it was about. After all, we had taken the Human Sexuality class for a reason. We couldn’t chicken out on this unique exploration of sexuality.
But how to do it? What would we ask? Go into each session as a group, or individually? Would we be instructed together? We’d already seen each other naked, but this could be humiliating. Did we have the self-confidence?
We decided to go in as couples. Dawn and me first; then Brad and Jennifer. Dawn would say she was having trouble reaching orgasm, and ask for help. Brad and Jennifer would say that they weren’t comfortable with oral sex, and hoped to overcome that.
The next day, Dawn and I approached the intake person at the clinic.
“Hi, we’re part of the Human Sexuality class. We’d like to speak with a counsellor about an issue we’re having.”
“Of course,” the lady replied. “First, I need you to sign some paperwork,”
There followed a raft of papers that confirmed the terms of the clinic — complete confidentiality, but also a commitment to in good faith try their solutions. We signed.
“What seems to be the issue?” the intake clinician asked.
Dawn spoke. “I am not being satisfied during love making. I rarely reach an orgasm.”
“I see. This is a common complaint with the women we see. I know we’ll be able to help you. Is this your sexual partner?” She was referring to me.
I nodded yes, feeling a little humiliated at being labeled an inadequate lover.
“You’ll be interviewed by Carlos, one of our counsellors. Right this way, please,” as we were escorted into a room. It had a medical examination table, covered with clean white paper. But it also had a large bed, with just the bottom sheet on it. No covers.
Carlos came to meet us. He asked us multiple questions, eliciting information on the type of sexual activity we engaged in, how often, for how long, exactly what was the sequence of love making. It was quite intrusive. And all of it was made up. While Dawn and I had had sex once, at the culmination of one of the professor’s more interesting exercises, we were not lovers. And for sure I was not an inadequate lover. This was just an exercise to scope out what the clinic was all about.
But the exercise turned out to be more than we bargained for.
Carlos spoke. “Okay Dawn, our first step will be a physical exam, to see if there is any physiological reason for your not having orgasms. Please remove your clothes and lie on the examination table.
Dawn froze. “Is that necessary?” she asked tentatively.
“Yes, this is standard. Are you concerned? Do you want your partner to wait outside while we do the exam?” he asked.
Dawn looked at me. To answer yes would seem strange — we were supposedly lovers, here for help. We were used to being naked together, supposedly. I smiled at her and said, “Won’t be anything I don’t see all the time.”
She glared at me, recognizing the lie, but also recognizing that it was an appropriate role-playing lie. She felt trapped.
“No, it’s fine if he stays. But I think he should be naked too,” she said. “To add to the authenticity of what we’re doing.”
Damn her. But that was only fair. And I really would enjoy observing her naked body.
“Ok by me,” I said.
We both removed our clothes. Dawn has a petite body, small breasts although well formed, with broad areola and prominent nipples. She has abundant, curly brown pubic hair and a firm athlete’s body. I hungrily watched her climb onto her back on the table.
Carlos applied some electrodes to her neck, to her breasts, and her middle. Pressure cuffs went around her arm and chest, checking pulse and respiration. He took some medical devices and did a quick review of her sex organs, looking for any abnormalities. Then he took an electric vibrator, and placed it on her chest.
“This device is much more efficient than a normal male would be, but it lets us check on whether with optimal stimulation, you can reach an orgasm.”
Carlos moved the vibrator slowly around the breasts, then down to her stomach, to her abdomen. He checked the read-outs for her pulse and respiration. He moved the vibrator to her vulva, near the clitoris. Dawn began to moan softly. Carlos moved the vibrator back and forth, rocking on the pelvic bone, touching the clitoris then backing off. On and off, on and off. At the same time, his hand kneaded a nipple. Then he pressed the vibrator against the clitoris and held it there. That sent her over the edge. Her body tensed, and as the pelvis thrust out, a wave of sensation spread through her middle. She let out a cry and an orgasm swept over her.
Carlos withdrew the vibrator. Dawn fell back against the table. “Well, your response seems perfectly normal. You are easily capable of achieving an orgasm. The problem must lie with your partner’s technique.”
I stood there transfixed. Without realizing it, my penis had risen to an erection, as I observed Dawn’s reaction.
Carlos spoke. “And I see your partner is capable of a normal erection. We’ll have to analyze his technique. Carl, please lie with Dawn on the bed.”
What? Suddenly this wasn’t as much fun. I love having sex, but the reality that we would do this while a clinician observed, taking notes, hit home. This would be weird. And Dawn and I were not lovers. One time doesn’t count. I did not know her ways, what pleased her, her desires. I’d look like a fool.
Carlos spoke to me: “As you and Dawn lie on the bed, I’ll dim the lights and put on some soft music. Let me observe your love-making. Here is a condom; it’s clinic policy that it must be worn.”
The attempt at creating atmosphere went nowhere. Dawn looked distressed. She was as uncomfortable as I was with having sex while a stranger watched, taking notes.
“Do you want to leave?” I whispered to her.
“No, God damn it,” she whispered back to me. “It was my dumb idea that we do this, so I’ll stick with it.”
We got onto the bed, her on her back, me lying next to her. I began by rubbing her breasts, then clumsily tried to insert a finger into her. She tensed, not yet ready. I lay on top of her, my erection pressing onto her pelvis.
Dawn squirmed uncomfortably. I tried to penetrate her but she was tight. I persisted but could only partially enter her. She was very unhappy, and it was becoming a disaster.
“OK,” said Carlos. “I’ve seen enough. You should stop.”
We were both relieved. And then Carlos addressed me. “The immediate problem is that you rush through foreplay, not allowing sexual tension to build. A man can achieve an erection with a look. Women are different. They need their arousal to build. Please observe carefully as I demonstrate.”
What?! Both Dawn and I drew back with a stunned silence. Carlos was going to demonstrate? In truth, we half thought something like this might happen, but now that it was real, it was a shock. A stranger was going to grope her? Would she allow it?
Carlos pulled off his shirt and his trousers. Clad only in underwear, he slid onto the bed next to Dawn, where I had been a minute ago. He placed his hand onto her cheek. He slowly massaged the cheek, then the neck, light caressing touches. Then he went to the shoulders, kneading the skin. He never approached any sexual zones, just letting her feel his hands on her skin.
Dawn began to relax. It was soothing, soft and gentle. She smiled at him, and he continued slow massages. Carefully avoiding the breasts, he stroked the sides of her body, then crossed over onto the stomach, making gentle, feather-like, circles. Dawn made small appreciative sounds. Carlos moved to the breasts, cupping them in his hands, massaging them but not yet touching the nipples.
Dawn looked at him with doe-like eyes. She was enjoying this. I was getting annoyed, maybe a little jealous, even though Dawn and I were not lovers.
He spoke quietly to me. “Do you see how I’m building up the sexual tension? Notice that I’ve not touched the nipples or even ventured below the waist.”
I didn’t say a word. I thought about punching him.
“Now I’ll begin turning this sensuous exercise into an erotic one,” he said. And he pulled the nipples into his mouth. Dawn responded with little moans. I wondered if I should leave them alone — although she had just met Carlos moments ago and this wasn’t romance — it was a demonstration. But for sure Dawn wasn’t treating it as a clinical demonstration. She, perhaps unconsciously, slightly opened her legs to offer Carlos unfettered access. He reached down with a hand, circled the vagina, brushing against the clitoris. He continued this for a long time, teasing her. First touching sensitive skin, then running his hands down her legs. Then returning to her vagina, to the clitoris.
Finally, he thrust two fingers inside her. She was completely moist now and entry was easy. He moved his fingers back and forth, slowly then faster, until she uttered a small cry and climaxed.
“If you’ll take your time, slowly build up the sexual tension, you’ll find that your girlfriend will routinely have an orgasm,” he said to me. “Would you like to try?”
There was no way I was going to put on a show for him.
“No thanks. We can do this at home,” I said, although there was no “home” here. We were not really a couple.
“No problem,” Carlos said. “As a clinic client now, you’re welcome to return anytime for a refresher course or if some other issue arises.”
Fat chance, I thought.
We got dressed and left. Dawn and I did not speak much as I drove to her apartment. That was my doing; she tried to engage me in conversation but I was sullen.
“I don’t know why you are angry,” she finally said. “We wanted to find out what went on in the clinic, and now we know. And besides, he had a lot of good advice. He sure knows women,”
“I’m good with women too,” I said a little too defiantly. “The circumstances weren’t realistic. I felt intimidated touching you with him watching. It would have been different if we were lovers under normal circumstances.”
Dawn smiled at me. “Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much,” she said, snarkily appropriating the famous line from Hamlet.
“I’m just as good as that Mexican Don Juan,” I said, although I had no idea if Carlos was Mexican or from Ohio, or wherever. I was just angry.
“Well, why don’t you come up and show me?” Dawn said quietly. “Aren’t you as turned on by today as I am?”
I was. I had spent half an hour with an erection that never got satisfied. I was happy she took the initiative.
When we got to her apartment, we tore each other’s clothes off. I’m a little embarrassed to mention it, but I used all of Carlos’ teasing techniques. Maybe as a result, Dawn was on fire. And she teased me too, rubbing alongside my groin without directly touching the genitals. Then almost by accident, she’d casually brush against the testicles or the penis. She built up the sexual tension, until I was ready to burst. I grabbed her hand and placed it on the penis.
“Please,” I said. And she knew what to do. She stroked me, slowly, then more rapidly, as I writhed beneath her hand. I ejaculated onto my stomach. She kept stroking me, milking the penis of remaining semen. I lay back spent. After a little time, allowing me to recover, we had intercourse and I came for a second time, inside her. It was the best sex of my life.
The next day, Brad and Jennifer called, wanting to know how it went.
We told them the clinic was marvelous and we highly recommended it. Dawn told Jennifer to be sure to request Carlos by name. I didn’t disagree. He sure knows women.