This part-truth, part-fiction story pretty much defines what I've been grappling with for most my life since puberty. 

I'm always trying to make my writing better. Feel free to email comments or suggestions to deadmoderate@gmail.com. Enjoy (I hope). 

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Dylan drummed his fingers before his computer late one night after his wife had gone to bed. What he was about to do was outside the bounds of acceptable. After five years of marriage he knew there were things in his past his wife would rather he leave behind. Maybe that was too much to ask of a 31 year-old man with memories of other women still just a few years old. And Dylan wasn't the forgetting type, either. He kept thinking about his old flames just because he couldn't stand the thought of them disappearing.  

There was one he had lost touch with, however, and she was the most significant. She was the reason he was at the computer. Her name was Connie, a Chinese-American he dated as a senior in high school and a couple years into college. That was a decade ago but she still frequented Dylan's dreams. She was his first date. His first girlfriend. His first kiss. His first lay. And it was she who started the long and strange saga he was on. Now he wanted her to end it. 

*** ***

Connie's parents had come to America in the 1970s, meaning that she was born and grew up in their little hometown and was as American as the rest of her primarily white classmates. Her parents followed the repressive attitudes of many Asian immigrants, however, and instead of the tight jeans and flashing belly button, she was most often covered up with baggy and shapeless clothing forced upon her by her mother. 

Still, while male teen hormones tended to flow toward the girls who showed the most skin, there were quite a few boys who had secret little crushes on her as they reached high school. She was smart and talented, with dark, pretty almond eyes and a contagious smile. She possessed a great sense of humor. Besides, those who were around her enough, say, in gym class, knew that under those baggy clothes of hers had developed a dynamite body. Dylan first saw her in full bloom their junior year when he took gym class with her. When it was time for the pool Dylan took one look at her and let out a little sigh. At 5'3, she was slim with bulging little breasts and this beautiful, smooth and olive skin. Her one piece suit was conservative but not enough to conceal her very feminine curves. Within seconds of her walking out of the lockerroom into the pool area Dylan resolved that one day he would ask her out. 

That would be a problem. Connie seldom dated. Her maniacal mother, fearful of her girl winding up pregnant, had hurled her into music with a vengeance so that what time she wasn't doing homework she was playing the piano, violin or flute. Guys would ask her out and she wouldn't ever have to tell them whether she liked them or not, because her schedule chased them off before anything ever started. 

She'd long harbored a thing for Dylan, however, which was somewhat odd because they ran in different circles. He wasn't a full-blown jock but he was more athlete than piano extraordinaire. But their paths did cross. She played in the pep band and watched his sturdy body while he ran about the basketball floor, and strange things happened between her legs. She'd go home and rub herself, imagining him coming through the door in that uniform. 

Then there was Dylan's silent type manner, and his piercing eyes. Something about the combination seared the young man into her mind. When Dylan finally did ask Connie out she was nonetheless surprised. He was shy and subtle, so what she had interpreted as indifference was really his ability to check things out without looking like he was checking them out. And he'd had his eyes on her for a long time.

Their dating caused somewhat of a silent uproar. All the band-type males who planned to ask her to homecoming saw her hanging onto Dylan between classes and shot daggers at him with their eyes. Meanwhile the cheerleaders, who tittered amongst themselves about how fine Dylan was, were pissed to see him finally go for this chick who'd never even shown so much as a thigh in the hallway. 

"There must be something wrong with him," concluded the captain of the cheerleading squad, who had a cucumber at home with Dylan's name on it. 

"He must have one helluva wang. Dammit," muttered the band crew. 

In reality the hot and steamy stuff didn't come until they reached college, almost a year after they started dating. They took their time in high school, partly out of fear of their parents.They drew the line at slipping their hands down each other's pants. The risks of being caught were just too great. If they were caught in bed Dylan's parents would be upset; Connie's parents might have shipped her back to Communist China to stitch soccer balls for the rest of her life. 

College, then, and particularly its dorm life, sparked a sexual revolution for both of them. They went to schools an hour apart and he'd take the bus to see her on weekends. At first he stayed with friends when he went to see her but then he began staying in her room. Without fear of discovery by their parents they began exploring each other's bodies. 

Dylan evolved from a frustrated guy who beat off too much to a self-assured man confident in his ability to turn a woman on fire. Dylan no longer had to whack off quietly under the sheets. Connie beat, stroked and sucked him until he was raw and came like a Las Vegas casino fountain. He planted his face for hours on her chest and between her legs, sucking her dark nipples to the back of this throat or darting his tongue into the vibrant folds of her pussy. 

Then there was the dry humping. At first it was kind of incidental, something they did while they reclined on each other, but then it became an exciting imitation of the real thing.  It involved fewer and fewer clothes until one day in October when they returned from a football game to find her roommate gone for the weekend. By the time he blew his wad an hour later the only article of clothing between them was her silken panties. Dylan was stealing occasional glances at a mirror across the room, and he could barely contain himself at the sight of his bare body straining against her toned, lithe shape. It was so sensuous that they decided the next time they'd dry hump with no clothes on. 

"But you can't go inside me," Connie said, with a familiar line. "I'm not ready yet." 

"I know," he said. But they didn't know. 

He didn't have class on Monday so he stayed Sunday evening at her dorm. Her roommate had class until the afternoon, so they decided to get naked with each other after Connie got back from her 8 a.m. class. 

When she returned he pretended he was sleeping, but in reality he awoke when she left for class and couldn't fall back asleep for the excitement. She came into the room, locked the door, dropped her bag and sat on the floor, her back to the bed, and began to read something. He let her know he was awake by running a hand over her shoulder. She tilted her cheek into his hand and turned around. They kissed deeply. Connie got up and turned on the stereo. She thought for a moment and, with a smile, turned it up a bit. 

They stripped quickly as they kissed. There was little foreplay required as the thought of being naked together had both their hormones raging all morning. He looked down at her bare body, complete with perky little breasts, and dwelled on the fact that they were fully naked together for the first time. He saw the little muff of hair where her legs met. His cock swelled so quickly that it ached. 

"Come here," she whispered, pulling him to her as she fell to her back on the bed. Her knee dropped down, allowing him to position his penis above her, and then he settled his midsection between her legs. He glanced at the mirror, froze the image of their contrasting bodies in his mind, and then he kissed her. Slowly he shifted so that his penis rolled along her smooth thigh and came to rest on her mound. 

They both knew in seconds that they were going all the way, despite what they'd said. His hot penis against her wet vagina simply felt too good to resist, and as the bed creaked with their dry humping they came to silent assent. After a few probes she guided him with her hand and aligned the swollen head of his penis. She bit her lip and nodded.

"Are you sure?" He said. 

"Yes," she said, brushing his twitching cock with her fingertips. "I'm ready." 

He looked down and saw his pulsing penis inches from her pussy. He pushed forward, his eager cock drilling into the folds of her vagina. She cried out. Too hard, too hard. He backed off, and he tried it again, slower. Her compact and curved little hips rocked and rocked into his, and then, with a series of moans and cries from them both, he penetrated, his penis filling her moistening pussy inch by exquisite inch seemingly all the way to her belly button. She had heard that the pain disappeared only with more sex, so she kept rocking and rocking her hips and her pussy, oh sweet baby, her tight, wet pussy, it squeezed his cock like it was trying to skin it. She felt his penis banging around inside her, stirring around, and it felt better than anything else they'd done. 

Dylan heard her moan like he'd never heard her. He was inundated with all kinds of senses he hadn't felt before. The sighs (Ohhh Dylan, you fit so WELL, baby, it's a perfect FIT), his cock embedded between her hips, the way their linked bodies moved together, her thighs on either side of him, the way she clenched her eyes shut, the creaking bedsprings, the way his cock stretched and flexed inside her, the very idea of getting laid -- it all propelled him toward a lightning climax. 

He made the mistake of glancing at the mirror and he saw their bodies meshed together. Her arms hooked around his armpits and her hands clutched his back. Her feet dragged along his ass. Her breasts were squashed into little bubbles against his chest. Her spine arched into him. Her ass, driven by his hips, chafed along the pink sheets. 

It was too much. He pulled out just in time and came all over her chest and belly. It had lasted all of about 30 seconds, hardly the morning-long marathon they had envisioned. 

"I'm sorry," he said, sagging to the sweaty sheets. "It's my first time... I'll get better!" 

She laughed and reassured him, but he could see the disappointment in her eyes. 

His fears came true and things didn't get better in that department. A little, but not much. After a couple more tries he could make it past 30 seconds, but if it made it to 60 seconds it was cause for celebration, and past 90 was unheard of. She started getting frustrated. 

"I have never come this way. Never," she said irritably one night after a 40-second episode. "I don't want to sound shallow but you're having a much better time than I am. If we're going to risk pregnancy and all that I want it to happen during mind-blowing sex. Not... this." 

"Don't you like it at all?" 

"It's great for 30 seconds! But I can't come that fast!" 

"I can make you come other ways," he said. 

"It's not the same. Don't you want to come together? Wouldn't it be nice to come together when we're making love? Other people do! Jesus," she said. "My friends whisper about the screaming sex they had last weekend and I can only DREAM of what that's like." 

Dylan tried thinking about his toughest courses -- physics, biology, etc. He tried thinking about ugly women, and, when that didn't work, he, being completely straight, even thought about men, and then ugly and fat men. But his mind inevitably switched over to the matter at hand, and the instant it did he felt his semen come surging like a bunch of over-eager Civil War troops. 

They tried layering two condoms on his cock to cut the sensation. Not only did this dull both their pleasure but it didn't work. After all, it wasn't just the nerves in his penis making him come; it was the entire experience. Every time his cock slipped into Connie's pumping vagina the cumulative excitement simply overcame him. 

It was a long-standing mystery, and one that outlasted their relationship. His next girlfriend, an Italian girl, did not experience this problem with Dylan. She was built like a supermodel, at 5'9 and slim. She'd noticed him soon after he broke up with Connie. He went swimming one day at the pool and the Italian saw something under the tight fabric of his Speedo swimsuit that she liked. She hardly had to waggle a finger at him and they were screaming in the sack. 

The sex was fantastic. At their peak they did it multiple times a day and she almost flunked out of school because she was so enthralled with him. Their favorite spot to do it was his roommate's futon. He could lay her down on that thing, hook her knees around his shoulders, grab hold off her breasts and bump and grind away for 15 or 30 minutes straight, making her come two or three times, and then time his orgasm so they came together. In a few minutes he could roll on top of her and do it all over again. She'd walk around dreamy eyed the rest of the day. 

He was confused why that hadn't happened with Connie. He talked with his friend, Rick, a psychology major, but Rick was early in his course work and only drew a blank. His confusion deepened near the end of his relationship with the Italian. He was at a house party one night and a Korean-American girl from one of his classes caught his eye. She was about 5'6, with a cute baby face and a woman's body firmed by tennis practice. 

He got her a drink and they talked. At first she tried to ward him off by dropping the boyfriend bomb -- apparently he went to school at state, an hour away. But Dylan detected some interest, and, indeed, as his arresting eyes went to work on her, she found herself volunteering that her boyfriend could sometimes be a jerk. Dylan persisted, and finally something behind her dark eyes gave way and she concluded that yes, she WAS still mad at her boyfriend for forgetting their anniversary three months ago, and yes, she WAS perfectly justified getting back at him by letting Dylan ride her bareback in his friend's Chevy van. 

Dylan drove her to a spot he'd discovered with the Italian outside town. It was a parking-space sized spot under an old tree out of sight of a remote road, overlooking a calm river. He left the music playing and they climbed in the back to begin the paces to where they wanted to be. The deep kisses. The groping. The gradual strip. The naked embrace. The enthusiastic suckling of her bouncy breasts. He was almost bursting out of his shorts by the time she yanked his boxers down, and her eyes widened in excitement at his heft. 

"Tremendous," she said, and reached down to grasp his penis and stroked it a few times. A low moan accumulated in his throat and she felt the last of the muscles in his cock contract so he was hard as a rock. Then she went down and took his penis full in her mouth and sucked it like a popsicle until he was about to come. 

He volunteered to eat out her pussy but she didn't want to wait any longer. She'd been thinking how good his penis would feel inside her, and she wanted it NOW. Her pussy was literally dripping with excitement. They reclined the back seat, forming a flat, soft area that was big enough for what they wanted to do. She pulled him to her in the moonlight.

"I want you inside me," she whispered. Which was an understatement. Her swollen vagina throbbed in anticipation of the new visitor. Dylan was bigger than she'd ever experienced and all she could think about was how she was going to absolutely lose control of herself. She was nervous but exuberant. 

As he leaned over her hips bounced eagerly into his, making it hard for him to guide his cock home. 

"Easy, girl," he whispered, and finally he had to steady her hips with one hand. His penis pressed firmly against her soaking pussy and then gradually sunk beneath her mound into her moist interior. 

"Ohhhh YES," she moaned, feeling a hot stiffness creeping up her vaginal canal. It stung so nicely. 

"Holy hot fucking shit this is AWESOME..." She moaned, gripping his shoulders. She knew he was dating the Italian -- she'd noticed him hanging around her -- and the thought of taking him from under her stuck-up little nose, fucking her prize boyfriend in a van somewhere, made her squeal. Her firm legs squeezed him, hard. She grabbed the door handle for leverage to thrust against him. The van shook. Then, just as he ran a hand across her ample breasts, the troops, to his shock and dismay, came full force down his shaft. He hardly could pull out in time before he shot his semen all over her breasts and stomach. She laughed. 

"The clock on the dashboard hasn't even changed one minute!" She said, pointing to the front. "You're kidding, right?" 

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's a... problem I have." 

She stared at him for a moment, waiting for the joke, and when it didn't come she grabbed angrily for the Kleenex box. "Well, that's just great," she said mopping up his semen. "The first time I try something like this and I find the guy with an ejaculation problem." 

"Do you want to try again?" 

She looked at him coldly. "Look, since you got what YOU wanted, do me a favor and don't mention this to anyone. I've made a mistake and I don't want my fiance finding out about it. It would be a shame to cancel the wedding over... this." 

"Jesus!" He said. "I didn't know you were engaged!" 

"I slipped off the ring when you weren't looking," she said, fumbling for it in her jeans pocket. "Big fucking mistake." 

They drove back in silence. Without mentioning her name Dylan brought it up with Rick the next day at lunch. By then they were into the second semester of their sophomore year and Rick had taken a course on sexuality. He listened to Dylan's story and nodded. 

"You have yellow fever," Rick said. 

"What?" 

"Yellow fever. You've got a thing for Asian chicks." 

"Isn't that a disease?" 

"Yes, but it's also slang for having an Asian fetish," Rick said. 

"Come on. I've got a thing for all good-looking chicks, not just Asians." 

"But Asians are different to you, aren't they."

"I don't know." 

"I see. You haven't come to terms with it yet," Rick said, between bites of his salad. "Let's think about it. The Italian chick, you had no premature ejaculation problems with her, right?" 

Dylan saw a gaggle of freshman sitting behind Rick perk up when they overheard his sentence. A couple giggled. Dylan swore quietly and ground his teeth. 

"Absolutely not," he said.  

"And you agree that your problem is somehow related to how hot the sex is, right?"

"Well, isn't it always?" 

"Let's think about it," Rick said. "Was the Italian hotter than Connie?" 

"I'd say they're about the same." 

"Okay, what about the Korean girl last night?" 

"She was cute, but the Italian was definitely hotter." 

"So how come you can do a marathon with the Italian but with the not-so-hot chick you blow it like Old Faithful on speed?" 

Dylan snorted. "Maybe it was the booze?" 

"Not the booze, moron. Stop deluding yourself. It's the girl. She's Asian. You've got a thing for them," Rick said. "I'll bet you came harder for this near-stranger than you did for the Italian, didn't you."  

"Hmph." 

"Blew it past her ears, didn't you." 

A chorus of giggles behind them. Dylan shook his head. 

"Pretty much," he admitted.  

"You, my friend," Rick said, "have got the fever. Don't worry. You're not the only one. But I'd watch yourself. Some people say yellow fever has links to pedophilia and the sort." 

"What?" 

"You like small and hairless females." 

"I don't like hair in the armpits or legs, but I don't have a thing for kids, you bastard," Dylan said. 

"Good. Let's keep it that way," Rick said, gathering his tray. "Just don't think about it too much. Who knows what you'll find out about yourself." 

"You're full of shit. I don't know why I asked you. You're an under-educated quack." 

"I see," Rick said, gazing at him clinically. "You're in denial." 

"There's nothing to--"

"Let's do a little experiment," Rick said. "I propose this because I've seen women look at you and I know you have seductive powers I could never understand. Seduce another Asian chick and then a white chick. Compare the experiences and get back to me." 

"You're crazy." 

"You need a control." 

"This experiment isn't exactly approved by the American Shrink Association, is it," Dylan said. 

"That's the good thing about being a student," Rick said. "I can run any experiment I want without losing my license, because I've got no license." 

Dylan rolled his eyes but of course he liked the idea. He set out to complete it before the school year ended. The results were as expected. He met two girls -- Gennifer, from Iowa, and Miyoko, from Japan. Gennifer trembled as she held him in the aftermath of a two-hour sex marathon. It was with particular excitement, then, that he met Miyoko.

The first difference to note between Gennifer and Miyoko was that he met Gennifer in a singles bar, where people go looking for sex. But with Miyoko the sex came looking for him. She was visiting his church and they met during the part where everyone greets each other in the sanctuary during the service. 

"Peace be with you," Dylan said, giving her the once-over. She was his type; slim, with well-proportioned breasts, pleasant curves, and a really cute and round face. 

"Peace be you," she said, with a happy little smile. "Do you come here often?" 

"It depends on who I meet," he said.

"Will you come next week?" 

"Will you?" 

And they were off. A week later they weren't in church but in her fluffy dorm room bed. They'd spent the week getting to know each other, eating lunch and the sort, and on Thursday he asked if she wanted to go to a party with him. On Saturday he met her -- she was dressed in a skimpy black dress -- and at the end of it he walked her home. It was 3 a.m. and her roommate was there, but she told him he could sleep on the floor. 

In the morning her roommate got up for church, caste a disapproving glance at Dylan on the rug, and left. Miyoko snorted with laughter. He laughed, too. When they quieted she looked at him warmly. 

"You very sweet," she said. "I worry about American guys. But you, you very nice." 

He shrugged. She smiled at him. 

"Come here," she said, beckoning with her finger. He walked over to her. She rolled her eyes and pulled him down to her bed. They kissed. Her hands began to caress him. He responded in kind. Pretty soon their hands had found their way past each other's clothing and were rubbing various sweet spots.  

"You like sex in the morning?" Miyoko asked. 

"I have a feeling that I'd like it anytime with you." 

She unbuttoned her pajama tops and allowed him to suck her hard and magnificent nipples. As he massaged her clit she brought his penis to full attention with firm strokes of her hand. They caste aside the last, pesky articles of clothing and her legs parted, her deep purple slit exposed. She moaned pleasantly as Dylan mounted her, and then she grabbed his cock. She couldn't wait any more. In a moment his penis was swimming in her juices and banging around between her hips. She did the splits and pulled him to her, desiring as much skin contact as possible. Her Asian face screwed up in ecstasy.

"Dylan..." she moaned. For just a second he thought he had broken the curse, and he'd be able to bang her all morning, sweet Jesus he could marry this girl, but then her hand descended with a clap onto his ass and gripped it. With surprising strength she drew him to her and his penis plunged deep into her until its slide was halted by his testicles. That was it. The troops came over the hill, charging. 

"Oh my goodness," Miyoko said, in the hasty aftermath. "Oh my." 

"Are you okay?" He said, wiping off his dripping penis.

"I... I make mistake," she said, crestfallen. "Please don't let my fiance finds out. This must be over, you and me." 

"What? You're engaged? What the hell..." He rubbed his forehead. "Sorry. Another girl told me that not long ago too." 

"I sorry," she said. "Was she... Asian?" 

"Huh? Yeah, she was. How did you know?" 

She smiled and patted him. She'd regained some composure. "You got look, Dylan," she said. "You got look that Asian girl like very much. Very hard to explain. Every Asian culture have word for white men like you. You hit nerve in eastern women that very basic. Very... primal? Only thing that more basic is stuff like, maybe motherhood." 

"Holy shit." 

"Yes," she said. "You lucky man. No shortage of Asian pussy. But sorry, you very, very disappointing. I learn something important." 

"I can get better!" 

"Maybe, maybe not," she said. "Please leave now." 

Dylan sat down to think before he reported his findings to Rick. Despite the disappointment of Miyoko he felt he had opened a crack through which he could see his soul. He had never mulled over his sexual preferences. He hadn't even thought about it the day his Vietnam veteran uncle met Connie and burned holes in him with his eyes. He wanted to know why Dylan would date an Asian. Dylan didn't give an answer. He didn't even acknowledge the question. He just dismissed his uncle as old-fashioned and racist. 

But now he saw that his thing for Asians went way back. The first time he remembered feeling the attraction was back in puberty, when he was noticing girls for the first time. He was watching a Spearmint commercial when two Asian girls, twins and, of course, hot, came on and cried out some advertising slogan. How he waited for that damn ad. He'd hear the commercial start and find a reason to make it to the room just in time to see the girls. The first time he masturbated he did it thinking about those girls. The years passed and he learned more about women, but the sentiment remained the same. He wanted to fuck Asians. There was no one reason for the compulsion that he could put a finger on. Perhaps, he thought, it emerged out of something more complicated than words could describe.

"It's not just that Asians are small and hairless," Dylan said, during his follow-up meeting with Rick in the cafeteria. "It's their skin color. Their brown eyes. Almost black. They're beautiful. You know the moment that makes me come? It's the moment I look down and see her body under mine, and I see that my penis is inside her. The contrast of her skin on mine. It makes me, yeah, just thinking about it."

"Interesting," Rick said, eating a pile of spaghetti. "I think that you have the fever is indisputable."

"I agree," Dylan said. "You were right. I'm sorry I called you a quack."  

"But the reason remains a mystery," Rick said. "As does the mystery of why they seem to feel the same draw toward you. I wish I knew. Hell, I wish I had the same ability. You lucky bastard." 

Dylan was grateful for his talk with Rick and would harbor that knowledge about himself as the years passed. When it came time for him to get serious about someone it was with a native Korean. Dylan knew that for his sake if he was going to live with one pussy the rest of his life it better be an Asian one. 

Incidentally, his wife, Soo-jung was conservative and wanted to wait for sex until they were married. He had no problem with that as he thought she might not marry him at all if they had disastrous sex beforehand.  And the sex did start poorly, but Soo-jung, unlike Connie, wouldn't leave him. Still, it was frustrating. He didn't tell her about his yellow fever. She thought it was a thing he had for women and sex in general. 

"Maybe I should see a therapist," he said. She didn't respondd but that night, when he got home from work, he saw the new phone book spread out on the kitchen table to the counseling section. The part of the phone book for sex therapy was circled in red. 

Dylan scanned the listings. One caught his eye. 'Make a fresh start with Alice Choi!' the advertisement read, with a picture of Ms. Choi below. She looked young and ridiculously hot. 

He brought it up with his wife. He proposed that Dr. Choi treat him. 

"I don't know," Soo-jung said skeptically, looking at the advertisement. "She doesn't look very experienced."

"Hell," Dylan said. "What I like is she's fresh. She's up on the latest. Besides, she's new, and she's trying to build a practice, so she'll be cheap. Times are tight." 

Soo-jung thought about it and nodded. "I guess you're right," she said. 

With a guilty little thrill he called the office. 

"We need you to come down and fill out an application," the secretary said.  

"Application? You need to apply?" 

"Look," the secretary said. "Ever since we ran that ad every creep in the city wants a session with Dr. Choi. We need to separate the guys who really need help from the ones who live off this myth that sex therapists have sex with her clients." 

"What? I never heard of such a thing--"

"Yeah, well, she doesn't. But you still have to apply." 

The next day Dylan stopped by Dr. Choi's office. It was a neat and tidy downtown suite with all sorts of sensuous paintings mounted on the wall. Light music played barely audibly over the speakers. Plants sat in the corners. Incandescent bulbs lit the room warmly. Dylan was handed an application and told to fill it out in the waiting room. 

As he was doing so movement caught the corner of his eye. He looked up and saw a lithe, smartly dressed Asian woman pass through the office. Her youthful, pretty face was a creamy white, contrasted by her stunning black eyes and sleek hair. The secretary said something and the woman -- Dr. Choi, he had surmised -- looked up at him. Dylan flashed a smile and she reflexively smiled back. Then, embarrassed at herself, she ducked back to her private office. 

On the way home Dylan's cell phone rang. It was the secretary. Her voice dripped with suspicion. 

"I don't know what problem you've got, but Dr. Choi has agreed to take you on as a client," she said. "She never makes a decision that fast. Anyway, can you see her next week?" 

The next week Dylan showed up early for his appointment. He dressed smartly. Before he left Soo-jung asked him if he'd like her to come along. 

"Better not," he said. "They told me they only want to see me." 

Dr. Choi must not have been busy, either, because as soon as he arrived the secretary sent him back. He went into Dr. Choi's office, decorated with dark paneling and Asian art on the walls. She smiled warmly at him and shook his hand lightly. Then she motioned him to a large couch that sat near her wide desk. She pulled her chair up next to the couch. 

She started by telling him about herself. She had grown up on the west coast and eventually went to school at Stanford, where she went on to earn an advanced degree in psychology. She had just graduated last year. She came to Dylan's city to "see more of the world," she said. 

"Now," she said, recrossing her shapely legs, "tell me what brings you here." 

Dylan's eyes flicked up and down her body despite himself. Her black knee-length skirt clung tightly to her thighs and hips. She wore a black top over a white collared one. Her features were fine and delightfully Asian. Indeed, close up he could see better that she had the creamy Asian skin that he liked because it stood in such contrast to her dark eyes and hair. It made both aspects appear more beautiful.  

Dylan put those thoughts aside and told her about himself and his sex problem. By the time he was done talking the hour was almost up. 

"Well," she said. "I know this is a dire problem for a marriage. I would suggest a return visit. Do you agree?" 

"I do," he said. "I need to do something." 

The next week he returned. This time she wore only her white top, and the top two buttons were undone. Her whole appearance was somehow more relaxed and sensuous. Again he did most the talking, although she prodded him along with questions. With about 15 minutes left in the session she looked him up and down and set her note pad aside. 

"I'm going to suggest something for you, and I want you to think about it very hard," she said. "It's a somewhat... controversial manner of sex therapy, but I see myself in a good position to help you through your problem. I think you and I should develop a clinical sexual relationship." 

"A clinical sexual relationship?" 

"Yes," she said. "It will give me a chance to see where the problem points are and also to measure your progress." 

"Measure my progress?" 

"Yes," she repeated, curtly. "You say your sexual intercourse with your wife lasts 30 to 45 seconds. I need to gauge if my therapy is increasing the time span." 

"I see," Dylan said. "You want to film me having sex with my wife. Wow, I don't know. She's pretty conservative--"

"No," Dr. Choi said, shifting in her seat. "She cannot be involved. You need a control, a factor in the study that is neutral and unchanging. Your problem is with the general idea of sex, Dylan, so you need to be able to experience it without the usual strings attached between a man and his wife." 

"So what should I do?" 

"Well," she said, running her hands along her skirt, "some therapists disagree with this method, but I think the best way to diagnose and treat your problem is for you to have sex with me. That is if you are willing." 

Dylan's head roared. His eyes widened. 

"Of course," she said, "many people have problems with this. They view it as cheating. Or maybe their wives or husbands do. But if they can get beyond that and see it for what it is, which is treatment, then it has marvelous results." 

"I thought sex therapists didn't do that. That's what your secretary said," he said. 

She waved a hand. "That's what we tell people on the phone to fend off the weirdos. Now that I can see that your problem is genuine I can offer all of my services." 

"And this is considered treatment? Really? It's successful?" 

"Yes," she said. "It's kept rather hush-hush by therapists. It preserves our reputation to be discrete about it." 

At this point Dylan's only problem was to not appear too eager. He put his hand on his chin and walked to the window, looked around, and asked a few more pointless questions. 

"Okay," he said, finally. "I'll do it. But how long does this go on?" 

"As long as you need," she said. 

Dylan said nothing of it to his wife except to say Dr. Choi was dedicated to her profession and really made sense. The following week the appointment was for two hours -- the standard, Dr. Choi said, for such meetings. All the way to the office, however, Dylan still doubted the arrangement. It was simply too good to be true. It was the stuff you saw on the porno channel. He suspected that their "relationship" would be beset by all kinds of clinical bullshit and talk, and they wouldn't get past a kiss, at most, before she declared that he had already learned enough to cure his problem. 

But when he arrived at her private office things had changed drastically. Harp music played. The couch was rolled out to a bed. The covers were turned back. The lights were dim. Dr. Choi stood by her desk in a red and white silken bathrobe. 

"Holy crap," Dylan said. 

"Let's get started, shall we?" She said, untying her robe and revealing a long slit of creamy skin.

"This... this... so soon?" Dylan said. 

She paused. "Have you changed your mind?" 

"No! Not at all, no," Dylan stammered. "I just didn't expect..." 

"I know it's awfully fast," Dr. Choi said. "But I need to understand your problem before we can move forward. We need to do this test as soon as possible." 

She let the robe drop off her shoulder into a little pile at her feet. She stood there in glorious nakedness, her slim body blessed with wonderful curves and without a blemish. Her breasts hung perfectly, her nipples standing out. Her pubic hair was shaved closely so it was little more than a dark spot above her pussy. His penis twinged beneath his khakis, seeming to leap at her. 

Dr. Choi walked to the bed and reclined on the sheets. Flowery aromas filled his nose and he walked to her.

'Is this ... you want me to get in?" He said. 

"Come," she said. "This is the way appointments work. We have intercourse first and then talk about it." 

Dylan quaked with excitement as he undressed. Dr. Choi watched him impassively, making a few notes, but he thought he saw her eyebrows jump just a bit when he pulled off his briefs and his cock unwound itself. 

"Some men need help being aroused. Others don't," she said. 'Do you?" 

"I don't, not really, not now," he said. She moved over in the bed and he laid next to her. He leaned in to kiss her and she frowned. 

"No," she said. "This is about intercourse. Not foreplay. Let's get down to it." 

She reached over and grabbed a bottle of lubricant. "Would you like me to put this on?"

He nodded. His head was roaring like the damn ocean. She squirted a handful of the stuff into her hands, rubbed her palms briskly together, and then applied it expertly to his cock. 

"I should mention that I have no problem with hand jobs, blow jobs or dry-humping, or anything else," he said. "You could do those to me for hours and I wouldn't come." 

"I see," she said. "That's interesting. Maybe I should take a look." 

She proceeded to stroke his cock. Her small hand danced up and down the wide shaft, squeezing it periodically. 

"What are you thinking about right now?" She said, clinically. 

"Oh, jeez," he said. "I'm thinking how beautiful you look." 

"Okay, so you're focusing on me," she said, professionally. "Tell me right before you are about to come." 

Ten minutes later he warned her. 

"Okay," she said. "Now! Penetrate me." 

Her knees parted and he assumed his position between them. Dylan lowered his hips to his therapist's. She grasped his cock in her hands and pressed it to her pussy. He couldn't tell if she was naturally lubricated, since he was covered with stuff from the tube, but as he squeezed his penis into her tight vagina he thought he heard her let out a little moan. 

Dylan dug his knees into the mattress and began to plunge his throbbing dick into his therapist's pussy. Then he saw it, for sure. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she bit her bottom lip, hard. "MMMMmmm," she said. And that was all his troops needed to let out their battle cry come charging down the chute. He started to pull out but her eyes flew open and pulled his hips back into hers. 

"Stay! Stay!" She hissed, and, given the green light, his penis exploded, releasing gobs of hot semen into her pussy.  

When his cock began to shrink she pushed him gently away. 

"Is that okay?" He said, looking at her narrow slit, leaking cum. "Can I come inside you?" 

"I had my tubes tied," she said, sitting up and adjusting her hair. "Part of the job."

"I see," he said, nodding. "Well, what do you think?" 

She glanced at the clock and grabbed her robe. "Well, that lasted about 40 seconds. And you were aroused to a normal point when we performed penetration. So I'd say we definitely have a problem."

She donned her robe, returned to her desk and began filling out paperwork. 

"So what now?" He said. "Can you help me out?" 

She looked up. "You have a definite problem, and it's one I feel particularly strong about. Premature ejaculation ruins many relationships. So yes, I will help you out. It may take a few sessions."

During the next few weeks she conducted strange card games and other exercises that she said would improve his mental focus. She asked him who his favorite female movie stars were -- anyone other than an Asian star -- and gave him magazine articles about them and pictures of them. The idea, she said, was to sear their images in his head so that during sex he would think of them instead of the Asian he was screwing. 

And, as always, the sessions started with sex. She measured the length of it with a stopwatch. As weeks passed they saw results. The length of their intercourse went to 45 seconds, to 60, to 90, to two minutes and beyond. 

Seven weeks into his therapy his wife brought up the cost of the sessions. Dylan responded by taking her to bed and riding her for a solid two minutes before he came inside her. 

"It's helping," he said, of the therapy, as they rested on the pillows. "Don't you think I should keep it up?" Soo-jung nodded. 

"So what does she do at those sessions, anyway?" She asked. 

"Oh, card games and other mental focus stuff," he said, incompletely. Then he lied outrageously: "They're meant to help me focus on something other than the sex act in general." 

It was about that time that he noticed a difference in Dr. Choi, too. During the eighth week Dylan was on top of her, grinding away, into his record-breaking fifth minute, thinking about Winona Ryder, when he heard Dr. Choi mumble something. He thought she said, "Rock that pussy." 

Was that something they teached at Stanford? He thought. Then she reached a hand around and grabbed his balls with his hand. Was that at Stanford, too? He thought. It broke his concentration. He came like a race horse in rut but he'd lasted six minutes. 

"I heard what you said," he said, as they dressed. "I didn't realize you talked like that to clients." 

She looked at him and combed her hair. Something flashed in her eyes. "I need to make it as close to the real thing as possible. This won't work if I act like a robot." 

"This IS the real thing," he said. "Don't you think?" 

"I'm a therapist, and you're a paying client," she said, her eyes suddenly afire, and, he thought, defensive. "This is NOT the real thing." 

That six-minute screw, however, was an ice-breaker. The next time he lasted to 10 minutes, and, unmistakably, he heard her moan his name. The time after that he was into his 15th minute of screwing Dr. Choi when her eyes flew open. 

"Look at me," she hissed, and he opened his eyes. "Think about me, not those movie stars, think about ME, dammit!" She commanded.

"Alright, baby, alright," he said, gazing deeply into her dark eyes. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him to her. Her tongue darted into his mouth, searching around. She grabbed his hand and pulled it to her breast. He kneaded it as they rocked the bed. 

"Fuck ME, Dylan," she moaned. "Think about ME... good God, I'm not just a fucking ROBOT... I need you..." 

He thrust his hips into hers and drove himself as far as he could go, until his balls squeezed against her ass cheeks and he saw stars. Dr. Choi moaned and clutched at him. Her silky white body writhed and contracted beneath him. Then a moan grew in her throat and he felt a feeling he hadn't felt from her before: Her pussy was contracting in orgasm. She cried out, loud. 

The intercom came on. "Dr. Choi," the secretary called, "are you alright?" 

"Never, ever interrupt me during a patient meeting," she screamed, her eyes flashing at the intercom. The intercom clicked off. 

"Finish it, Dylan," she moaned. "Oh, finish it inside me... come on, come on." 

The troops came in a mighty charge, but by that time the clock read an astounding 28 minutes. His penis spasmed as the river of semen burst forth, and Dr. Choi's eyes rolled back and her jaw went slack as he rocked and rocked until he felt his balls had blown themselves dry. 

They laid there in silence for several minutes. Finally Dr. Choi sat up and walked liltingly across the room. She put a hand on her desk for balance. Cum ran down her legs. She grabbed a tissue and wiped it away. 

"I think," she said, "You can stop paying me for these sessions." 

"We're finished?" 

"You just fucked me for half an hour," she said. "You fucked ME, not some fantasy in your head. You've learned to focus on the specific, not the general implications of the act itself. I think your problem is cured." 

"Do I need to come back?" 

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. "You had better not come back. I feel my professionalism has been... compromised."

Dylan drove home and told his wife that the sessions were finished. They made love that night for 45 minutes before he brought Soo-jung to a screaming climax. The next day he was sitting there, thinking of Dr. Choi, when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was the therapist. 

"I forgot we need to schedule a follow-up visit," she said. "Just to be sure everything is going well." 

A month later he showed up for the follow-up. He went in, unsure of what he'd see, and he saw the bed was out. Dr. Choi was in her bathrobe. 

"This appointment," she said. "Is free of charge." 

He lasted an hour. When he left she had tears in her eyes. 

A few months later he came home from work when his wife set the paper down. 

"Did you hear about that sex therapist you used to see?" She said. 

"No. What?" Dylan said, his ears perking. The last he'd heard of Dr. Choi was a month ago, when she called him at her office. She'd thanked him tearfully for being her patient -- for "making her see the light," she said -- but then said she had to move on. And that was that.  

"She got shut down," Dylan's wife said. "Turns out she didn't even have a license. She was screwing one of her clients. Her secretary blew the whistle on her to the licensing board." 

"Ha!" Dylan said, fighting to stay calm. "Who was she screwing?" 

"She wouldn't say," Soo-jung said. "But does it matter? It's so unprofessional." 

"Hmm," he said. "Well, she sure helped us, didn't she?" 

Soo-jung looked at him suspiciously. Dylan read her thoughts. 

"Come here," he said, and drew her close. "I love you, you know that?" 

She frowned, and then evidently reflected on the results of the therapy. She pushed the suspicious thoughts aside, and they retreated upstairs. In a short time she would be pregnant. 

But he kept thinking about Dr. Choi, and the strides he'd made with her. Dylan found himself wishing he'd possessed that kind of mental control when he'd made love to Connie. 

Ah, Connie. As his first love faded in the rearview mirror the one thing he concluded time and again was that she was a nice catch. She was passionate and put up with his over-zealous libido longer than most horny freshman would because she loved him. He could only wish that he had a chance to redeem himself. 

And, as life would have it, he had his chance. Two years after he was married he got an invitation to his 10-year high school reunion. His wife had just had their baby and her mother was over visiting from Korea, and everyone was getting under each other's skin. At the last minute he decided to take off for the reunion. Everyone welcomed his decision.  

As he approached his old high school classmates at the beach his trained eye naturally caught sight of an Asian in the midst. His heart skipped a beat. He got closer. He hadn't seen Connie in years. Could it be? How did they even find her? He'd lost touch with her. As he got closer the woman turned and his head began to roar. It was her. They made eye contact and both their first reactions was to smile. 

They were within arm's reach of each other for the rest of the time, so happy were they. To hell with what the others thought, they thought. They were both married, but they had both come alone. When the old classmates took a boat cruise that evening, they perched themselves on the railing and talked the evening away. 

They talked and talked, laughing like kids again, and finally the matter of their breakup came up. After all, when they broke up they had never really talked about it. 

"Are you still mad at me?" Connie said. 

"I was for a long time," he said. "But I got over it. You know what's funny? I remember the good times we had together more than the breakup. You'd think it would be the other way around, the way that it happened." 

"That's good," she said. "But maybe we should talk about it. I don't know. I never felt like things were settled between us." 

Dylan nodded. They began to recall what had happened during those last days of their relationship. Things had been on a downhill slide for months because of the substandard sex. It seemed like a shallow reason but it was true. Dylan was in denial of the slide until the day he came in on the bus for a surprise visit to honor their dating anniversary. 

He found that not only had Connie forgotten it entirely, but when he finally tracked her down at a house party she was in a very compromising position. At first her friend, Tasha, didn't want to tell Dylan where she was. Finally she gave in and pointed reluctantly upstairs. 

Dylan went room to room, finding in each a groups of partiers who looked at him strangely. Then he found a closed door. He expected it to be locked, but, ignoring the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door, he tested the knob. It turned. He went in. 

The room was dimly lit by several lava lamps. Frank Sinatra was playing, loud, so the occupants didn't realize he was there. There were only two. It took him a second to register the scene. The clothes on the floor. The Hello Kitty panties that he knew so well, hung on the bed post. The black hair splayed on the pillow. The blankets were pushed to the foot of the bed, so he saw the full sight of a man mounted on Connie. Her legs were planted on his ass, her knees jutted outward. Her hands clung to his shoulders and her little breasts bounced. His hands dug rivets in the sheets as their hips and bellies slapped together, his eel-like wang plunging into her pussy.  

"OhhhHHH Pete!" She moaned, rubbing her hands on his chest as their bodies ground together. "How can you go so LONG..." 

Then Dylan recognized the guy. It was another violin player in the amateur orchestra she had joined. They sat next to each other and when Dylan attended their concerts he saw they had a good old time chatting, Pete had come up in their phone conversations enough lately that finally Dylan asked her if she had a thing for him. 

"Pete?" She said. "No, not Pete. Come on. Pete. He's just a friend." 

Well, apparently they were quite good friends. Connie squirmed and arched beneath him, rubbing her hands amorously into his back and ass, urging him on. Pete was getting so enthused by it that their flat bellies began to slap sharply together. A book fell off the end table and the couple laughed. 

Dylan watched for a minute before his shadow caught Pete's eye and he looked over. 

"Hey!" Pete shouted over the music. "Get the hell out! Can't you see we're in the middle of something?" 

"You're in the middle of fucking my girlfriend!" Dylan roared. Connie's eyes widened and she pushed Pete off her. His swollen cock popped out with a wet smacking sound.  

"Dylan!" Connie said. "It's not what it looks like..." 

Dylan managed a bitter laugh. "What the fuck IS it, then?" 

She couldn't say anything. Pete looked warily from Dylan to Connie. For the first time Dylan considered hitting someone, but instead he left and slammed the door shut behind him. 

He and Connie didn't talk for two months. She called but he ignored the messages. Finally, when the semester was ending, he called her. 

"So did you yell at Tasha?" He said when she picked up the phone. "She's the one who told me you were upstairs at that party." 

Connie knew what he was talking about instantly. "I was mad at first," she said. "But it was for the best." 

"Looks like Pete had a Grade 'A' cock," he said. "Is that what you mean?" 

"Dylan," she sighed. "I know it sounds shallow. But the physical stuff is very important. It was getting so I felt there was a wall between us. Everything else was so good. But it was a very significant wall."

"I can't explain what the problem is." 

"I know."

"Are you still with Pete?" 

"No," she said. "He was missing what you had." 

"Maybe you could combine us. Make a kind of Frankenstein." 

She laughed. "There's no one like you, Dylan."

"Women suck."

"Dylan." 

"What." 

"I need some closure. Can you come see me?" 

Dylan laughed. "I had all the closure I needed when I walked in on you and Pete." 

He hung up. And that was the last they spoke. Her family had moved after her graduation so he never saw her during the summers home. She basically vanished from his life, but he never stopped thinking about her. 

As they stood on the boat, watching the sunset, he told her as much. 

"That's what happens when you've got no closure," she said, moving toward him as there was a cool wind. What the hell, he thought. He put an arm around her shoulders. 

"But you know what," he said, "in a way it's nice to leave things open. It leaves the sense that some chapters haven't been written yet." 

"Even with stuff from the past," she said, looking at him. 

"Even with things from the past. Relationships from the past," he said. 

The damn boat couldn't dock soon enough after that. Something unsaid passed between them, and when they finally did get back he mentioned that he was staying alone at his parent's house, since they were out of town, and if she wanted to save money on a hotel room--

"Sure," she said, and followed him home in her rental car. 

They embraced as soon as the door shut behind them. They did a couple of test kisses, which grew longer and deeper, and things spiraled out of control. In a few minutes they crashed to his old bed, surrounded by much the same scene as when they had the house to themselves a decade before. 

"I think I've been here before," she said, between kisses. 

"I think you have too," he said. 

Her eyes narrowed. "But let's see if things can turn out a little differently, hm?" 

He knew what she meant. They had never gotten past second base in this bed. Now, as they tore each other's clothes off, his cock throbbed for more. She yanked down his briefs and smiled at the sight of his penis popping out. 

"I never told you how magnificent this is," she said, suddenly grabbing his penis. "I just never knew. You were my first." 

"I've missed you, Connie," he said.

"Touch me." 

He lowered his face to her pussy and his tongue searched its way up her vagina. Connie moaned sweetly, pulling at his hair again for the first time in years. The bed creaked as her hips rocked into his face. Finally she moaned in the way that let him know she was ready to progress, and he kissed his way up to her neck. Her hand found his ass and pressed it down, and he allowed his penis to lower to her pussy. 

"Are you still..." She said, skeptically. 

"I'm cured, baby," he said. "I'm going to show you what you missed out on all those years ago." 

"Oh, Dylan," she sighed. Then: "Oh, DYLAN," as his cock wormed its way into her vagina.  He began to thrust and her legs flew up in the air, ushering him inside her as far as his cock would allow. She felt his immense stiffness probe her deeply, and she let out a lusty moan. 

It was to Dylan's horror, then, when, 30 seconds into it, he felt the troops on the move. Desperately he fixated on Julia Roberts, then Dr. Choi, and then he thought of her weird card games. But Connie was humping him so eagerly that he couldn't hold it. He pulled out just as he exploded, showering Connie with hot cum. 

"Oh Dylan," she moaned, laughing and disappointed. "I thought--"

"What happened?" He groaned. "This... it hasn't... I was fucking cured!" 

The lust faded from Connie's eyes. They laid together for a few minutes but then she announced she had to go to the motel. Dylan didn't argue. She left, and that was the last he saw of her for a while. 

It wasn't until almost his fifth wedding anniversary that Dylan began having visions. They were mundane things for the most part, but they were always of his home town. An old street corner, a stretch of road, the old ice rink where he played hockey, a former classroom. They recurred when he did certain things, like washing dishes. And when he brushed his teeth he inevitably thought of Connie. 

One memory was both wonderful and horrible. It was from his freshman year. He and Connie had made a surprise visit. His roommate fortunately grew up not far from the college and he respectfully went home for the weekend. 

The first evening of her arrival they got carried away on the couch. It was after they had begun having sex. They stripped to their underwear -- she in silk panties and he in boxers -- and dry-humped on the couch, feeling each other's genitalia rub against the other. Then they moved to the bed. 

She stripped naked and laid down on top of his blue comforter. They turned up the television and turned off the lights. With her big toe she pushed his boxers down. He leaned over her and they kissed. Her fingertips ran over his skin. 

"Let's try it," she whispered. He nodded enthusiastically and she immediately took his penis in her hands. She stroked him until he was raging hard. 

"If you could last this long inside me I'd marry you next weekend," Connie joked. His fingers found her clit expertly and went to work, kneading away at the flesh around her pussy, tracing the folds, making her moan fiercely. 

"Come on, Dylan," she whispered into his ear. And this is the scene he always remembered. He looked down and saw his hips settling onto hers, her knees thrust out to the side, their skin contrasted by each other his soft blue comforter. He saw his ass planted along the pleasant curve between her upturned hip and her thigh. She guided his cock home, they arched, and his penis eased deep into her pussy. She let out a little grunt and moan as she arched her back into him so their chests pressed together. 

"Oh-oh Dylan," she moaned, grasping the edges of the bed. He felt the floodgates begin to open and his mind searched for some boring event that he could concentrate on. 

"Ahh!" She cried, approximately 15 seconds into it, tearing his mind away from astronomy class. "Doin' good, baby, doin' good..." 

Thirty seconds. He had to pull out or he was going to erupt. She let out a little gasp when he did. 

"Sorry," he said. "Just give me a minute." 

She smiled, her heartrate coming back down. She ran a hand on his cheek. When he felt himself calming down, he leaned over her again, and once more she grabbed his cock forcefully and stuffed it in her vagina. Once more the bed began to rock. 

"It's risky now," she mentioned as they started the second time. Meaning, of course, that she was at that time of month when getting pregnant was a possibility. It meant he had to pull out early for sure. 

And that's what did it. Some hormone in his body went crazy at the thought of coming inside her pussy, and he felt the wave of troops before he could do anything to stop it. He let out a shuddering moan and spewed jets of hot semen full into her pussy. He pulled out hastily, still shooting the stuff. 

"Oh, Dylan, you didn't..." she groaned, at the brevity of it. Then her eyes flew open in a panic when she felt his semen oozing out. "You didn't!" 

"Sorry, I tried not to..."

"Oh no!" She moaned, crossing her legs and rolling on her side. "This isn't good! This isn't good!" She got up and rushed to the shower to wash out as much cum as she could. Still, he spent the next month or so talking to her about "what if" and mulling the disaster a pregnancy would be. When she finally had her period he sighed with relief into the phone. 

But that was the beginning of the end. She was spooked enough that they didn't have sex for three or four visits after that, and then, he figured, she decided she wasn't missing it much. She began to be "tired" when he asked, or just "not into it tonight." He hated himself for it but he began eyeing other women. He made a couple friends -- friends with potential -- and realized Connie wasn't the only fish in the sea. The night he found her with Pete was at the end of a long slide. 

But the visions, 10 years later, were recurring so much that he got on the phone one night and called Rick, now a practicing psychologist in Pennsylvania. Rick listened to what Rick said and told him he'd get back to him. A week later Rick called back. 

"We know you have yellow fever," Rick said. "But I think these visions have helped us solve the mystery of why. You had a good childhood, didn't you." 

"Huh?" Dylan said. "Yeah, I guess so. No major worries."

"Yeah, well, here's what I'm thinking. I think that and these visions may be the clue I needed. Plus," he said, dropping his voice, "this might even give you the pieces you need to make it so you don't have to think about Julia Roberts when you screw your wife." 

"Jennifer Anniston. Go on." 

"So look, Dylan, you're missing your childhood," Rick said, "and right now you're in a tough personal situation, with a kid of your own, bad job prospects. Lots of stress. All you want is freedom from responsibility. When was the last time you had that?" 

"I... don't know," Dylan said. 

"When you were a kid!" Rick cried. "Deep down you want to be a kid again. That's impossible, of course, but your mind keeps throwing these visions from your childhood at you. Call it involuntary wishful thinking." 

"So what does that have to do with my sex life?" 

"I'm getting there. The last time you had this much stress, I'm guessing, is when you turned your world upside down and went to college. Suddenly you had to do your own laundry, eat right on your own, clean, etcetera. You wanted to go back, and couldn't. But there was Connie, who grew up with you, giving you that link." 

"Okay..."
 
"So when you had sex with her it was pretty intense," Rick said. "It involved all sorts of conscious and subconscious elements and implications. You were screwing her with every fiber of your being. Makes for a pretty quick orgasm." 

"Holy shit," Dylan said. 

"Yeah. So I think that's why you can't get her out of your mind. She's your link to a happier time. Plus she was your first screw. That just compounds it." 

"But how does that explain the others? Like the Korean in the van? And Miyoko?" 

"Good point. And one I've thought about. You can't have Connie back so you're filling her void as best you can. Some base part of your mind has decided that Asians are a step in the right direction. They might not be Connie, but they trigger that same reaction, at least in bed." 

"Shit," Dylan said. "This is probably not something I want to talk about with my wife." 

'Probably not, but it's good to know." 

"There's another thing," Dylan said. "I saw a sex therapist. I thought she cured the problem but then..."

"Then what?" 

"Well, I met Connie at our high school reunion..." 

"Oh no." 

"And we got carried away. Only I was the 30-second man all over again." 

Rick sighed. "Your cock will get you into more trouble..." 

"So what can I do?" 

"Meet with Connie," Rick said, without hesitation.  

"Ha! Look what happened last time." 

"Well, that's you've got this image of her in your mind from back when you were both carefree and happy," Rick said, "and what did you do? You basically put yourself back in high school, surrounded yourselves with old faces and 90s music. Of course you hooked up. But you wait and see. Meet her under normal circumstances and you'll see how she's gained weight and gotten all cynical, and you'll decide she's not worth holding out for anymore. Then you can finally get on with your life, and concentrate on your wife, for Pete's sake. She's beautiful. You heard my professional opinion. Here's my unprofessional one. You've got too many damn choices when it comes to women." 

"Yeah, okay," Dylan said. He'd heard Rick say that before. "But back to meeting Connie. What if--" 

"You won't," Rick said. "Your brain was still underdeveloped when you dated her. You're going to wonder what the hell you ever saw in her in the first place. She'll be out of your life for good."

Dylan wasn't so sure Rick was right. But he followed his suggestion. 

***

Thus Dylan sat in front of the computer, watching the icon blink on his email. In the address box was every email address for Connie that he had. He hoped she was still checking one of them. 

The hand on the clock crawled around. Finally his fingers began to type and lay the groundwork. 

"Hi Connie," he wrote. "Still checking any of these addresses? I hope so. It's been a long time since I heard from you so I just thought I'd drop a line." 

He filled her in with some details of his personal life and then wrapped it up. 

"Here's hoping that this message finds you happy and well. Write when you get a chance! -Dylan."

For a week there was no response. Well Rick, he thought to himself, time for Plan B. Any more bright ideas?

Then suddenly email arrived from Connie. His stomach did a flip and he clicked on the bold type.  She had been away from a computer on a trip, she explained, and then gave a summary of her life. Still married. Working in a town only two hours from him. He could hardly believe it. Here they were, 700 miles from where they grew up, towed around the world by various forces since they broke up, and now they were within two hours of each other. 

What's more, she made the next move before he had to. 

"Let me know when you're in town!" She signed off. "We'll grab a bite for lunch!" 

He found a reason to be in town. He told his wife he had a road assignment and, a month later, headed out in the morning with lunch plans with Connie. Along the way he pushed his speedometer needle to 85. 

They met in a little downtown diner. She was on her lunch break. He was supposedly just passing through. He got there early and waited anxiously. She said her husband was coming too. When she was two minutes late he began to worry. He thought maybe she decided she didn't want to send the wrong message. Maybe she was prevented from coming by an insanely jealous husband. Maybe she had just lost interest... Then she walked in the door. She was wearing a black business suit. Their eyes met instantly and they smiled. She was alone.

She looked the same. Aside from a new, more stylish hair-do and clothing, her proportions hadn't changed, and she hadn't gained an ounce. So much for that Rick's assumption on that count, he thought. In fact, she looked stunning. 
 
They hugged hello and he pulled out a seat for her. 

"I thought Joe was coming," Dylan said. 

"Oh, something came up," she said. "He couldn't make it." She was lying. He could still tell. She never could help half-smiling when she lied, and that hadn't changed at all. Why would she lie about that? He pushed it aside. 

"You look the same," she told him. 

"I have glasses now." 

"Yeah, so? You had contacts before. That's not what's important. The important thing is you're still in good shape." 

"Yeah, well I worked out like a madman since we agreed to meet," he said, smiling. She smiled back, but there was something there that said, be careful. You're playing with fire. 

It started awkwardly. Dylan knew his nerves came partly from the guilt of not telling his wife about the meeting. He wondered what Connie's reasons were. Maybe she didn't tell her husband either. Whatever the reason, it diminished as the hour passed. He found his dead-pan humor could still make her laugh, and she found that he still giggled happily when she smiled at him. By the end of lunch they both felt time had passed too quickly. 

"I guess it's time to go," he said, wishing it weren't. He cursed silently. If anything, he thought, this damn meeting was going to make it harder for him to forget her. 

"Yes, time to go," she said, and got up. Dylan paid for both of them over her protests and they went out onto the street. He looked up and down the street, trying to remember where his car was, and then he looked at Connie to say goodbye. He was surprised to see her wiping away a tear. 

'What's the matter?" He said, instinctively reaching out. He felt her shoulder. It was familiar. She leaned in and hugged him. 

"I wish we could see each other more than twice every ten years," she said. 

"Why can't we?" He said, wishing he hadn't said it, but glad that he had. 

"Well," she said, "confession time. I didn't tell my husband about this. He's a little jealous." 

Dylan smiled. "That's alright," he said. "I didn't tell my wife either. Same problem." 

They both realized at the same time that they were still hugging. They parted somewhat guiltily. 

"Well..." she said. "I guess things worked out okay today. Maybe we can do it again sometime? Just like this?" 

"Definitely," Dylan said. He looked at her until her cute little brow furled in question. 

"You look the same, too," he said, finally. "Except that there's something new in your eyes. I can't place it yet." 

She smiled and pecked him on the cheek. "Well then," she whispered, "that gives you another reason to come see me again, right?" 

And he did. Dylan told himself that he was just following Rick's advice and trying to find the chink in her armor, the thing that would turn him off forever. A month later he took another trip to the diner. A month after that she met him in his town. After that they spent an afternoon at a little tourist town. Then they met for an afternoon in Chicago. He kept waiting for the flaw, but it never presented itself. In fact he was feeling some more spring in his step. He ate better. She played on his mind.  

In May they met at a festival a couple hours from both of them. It was a big step. They were to spend the night. It went unsaid that they rented separate hotel rooms; their relationship was in a gray area but they hadn't ventured into anything physical, not even holding hands or putting an arm around each other. They were just enjoying each other's company, and enjoying watching the clock until the next meeting. 

That night they sat at dinner. They both remarked how it reminded them of an old restaurant they used to visit when they were dating back home. Before he knew it he saw a tear in Connie's eye.

"What's the matter?" He said. "Did I say something?" 

"Oh Dylan," she said. "You dummy. Come sit next to me. What are we doing?" 

He scooted around the table. She leaned her head on his shoulder. 

"We need to make a decision," she said. "These meetings with you are tearing me apart." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Are you so blind? I'm confused! I met with you at the diner a few months ago thinking that you'd be fat and cynical and I could forget you. But you're in good shape and you still make me laugh and, dammit, now I think about you even MORE. I'm not exactly in a happy relationship, in case you haven't noticed, and it's worse now because when he pisses me off I just shut him out, taking solace in knowing that at least I'll be seeing YOU soon... but I don't know how YOU feel!" 

"Connie," he said, tilting her face up to his by the chin. They kissed. Tentative at first, then fuller. In a moment she let out a happy little chuckle. 

"So," she said. "Is that your answer?" 

"That's always been my answer." 

The waiter came by. "Ah!" He said. "The happy couple! What, are you here on an anniversary?" 

They looked at each other. "I guess you could say that," Dylan said. 

They lingered at the restaurant, drinking wine, and then headed back to their roadside hotel. They sauntered through the warm night to their side-by-side rooms. They paused outside her door. She flipped her key card in her hands. 

"Goodnight, then?" She said. He said nothing but looked steadily at her. 

"Dylan," she said, reading something in his eyes and laughing pleasantly. "Come on... we can't..."

"Can't what? What's going on in that mind of yours?" 

She laughed and slapped his shoulder. He said nothing and looked at her. 

'Well," she said, "I'm going inside my room." 

"Fine." He said. She paused, stepped to him, went on her tiptoes and kissed him. 

"Good night," she said. She unlocked her door and opened it. She looked at him and stepped through the opening, swishing her tail at him. The door swung shut, but at the last second he put out his hand, stopping it from clicking shut. She jerked the door open and pulled him inside.

Connie leaped into his arms and wrapped her legs around him. They kissed deeply and he walked to the bed, where they crashed down with a fit of laughs. It evolved into a series of kisses. Her hand ran along his side experimentally, and, finding no resistance, did it again, more passionately. He responded in kind, running a hand on her back. The curves of her body came back to him. He mixed her up with his wife. He kissed her ear, then recalled that it wasn't her ear she wanted kissed but her neck. She still loved it. 

She did the same. At one moment she kissed his collarbone and when he looked at her strangely she laughed and apologized, then kissed his ear. They were getting familiar with each other again. 

Her eyebrows raised questioningly -- he nodded -- and she tugged at his shirt. It came untucked and then came off, landing on the floor. Then his teeshirt came off and she rolled him over, running her hand over his bare chest. 

"Still very nice, I see," she said. They kissed. His hand ran down her back onto her ass, then her hamstring, then back. An old move. They used to call it a--

"Warm-up lap," she murmured, and they laughed happily together. They pressed their foreheads together, drinking in each other's eyes, and kissed again. His hand went up under her shirt to the warm skin on her back. In a moment she was unbuttoning her shirt, and then she took it off, revealing her black bra. 

"Oh my," Dylan said, and rolled her to her back. He ran his hand over her chest and belly. She moaned assent. His hand swept under her ass again, squeezed. She smiled demurely at him. He recognized the look. They were entering a new stage. 

They embraced, feeling each their chests and bellies press. He felt her heartbeat against his chest. Her hand found his ass, toyed with his waistline, and then her fingers probed down, under his underwear, and he felt her hot palm on his butt cheek. 

"Still nice and round, I see," she murmured. "And firm." He did the same to her. He reached past her silk panties. 

'Ditto," he said. 

'Let's take a look," she said, and unbuckled his belt. "I have to see it to believe it." She pulled out his belt, then unzipped him. She pushed his pants down, and he removed them all the way, taking off his socks with them. Then he was in only his underwear. She pushed him onto his belly and eyed his covered ass. 

"Yes, it's true," she said, and delivered it a little slap. "It's still fine." 

"Your turn," he said, springing up on her. She laughed and put up a mock protest as he unbuttoned her pants. She arched her hips so he could take them off. He took off her socks, running his thumbs along the arch of his foot as he knew she liked. Her little desires were coming back to him in a rush now. 

"Oh Dylan," she said, that demure look in her eye again. "I haven't been touched like this in so long." 

They kissed. Their hands rested on each other's asses. Then she arched her eyebrow, that single arch he knew, and he nodded. She reached behind her back and unsnapped the bra. It went loose on her shoulders and fell off. He looked at her perky breasts for one instant before taking one full in his mouth, chewing lightly at the nipple. She let out a gasp then. Another stage. She clutched his head and he moved to the next breast, his saliva making both breasts gleam in the dim light. He kissed down her belly, lingered on her belly button, then looked up at her. She looked down and nodded with bated breath. 

He wrapped his hands around her panties strap and pulled them down. Again she arched her hips to help him. She grabbed the panties out of his hand and hung them on the bed post like she always had. He used to consider it a big turn on to see the last barrier to her pussy hanging on the bed post. He still did, and as his mouth found her pussy she cried out and pulled at his hair and ears. His cock responded to her moans as his tongue ran along the rim of her vagina. Then it darted deep into her already wet pussy. She began to shudder at his touch.

'Come here," she said, after couple minutes. He went up to kiss her and felt her hands pawing at his cock underneath the underwear. She used her fingers to peel the underwear off. 

'Wow," she said, as his penis flopped out. "My memory wasn't mistaken." 

She grabbed his penis and began to stroke it firmly, turning it from chubby to hard to steel-like. He settled next to her and his right hand found her vagina. In a moment they were both moaning and writhing against each other. She clamped his legs on his hand so he was trapped; he thrust his cock into her hands. He kissed at her neck. 

"Oh, Dylan," she said. She pulled his penis toward her, that familiar signal, and wriggled her left foot beneath his legs so he could easily roll on top of her. He did so. She kept rubbing his penis and shifted her hips into position. He put his hands on either side of her and suckled her breasts. It was close now, and a disturbing thought occurred to him. What if...

"Don't worry," she whispered into his ear, reading his mind. "I love you. I always have. If we stopped now I'd be happy." 

"You want me to stop?" 

"Hell no," she said, and they laughed. 

"Good," he said. "They have to hook me up to a pickup truck to drag me off you now." 

"I'm just saying," she said, squeezing his cock, "that if for some reason we stopped now, or you couldn't keep going, I wouldn't... leave you. I've learned that much." 

"Oh, Connie," he said. 

"Maybe that's what you saw in my eyes," she said. 

"I think so." 

"Come here." 

She arched her hips and his cock slid along her inner thigh toward her pussy. As it drew closer her breathing quickened. He paused when his swollen penis head touched her clit, and she let out a little moan. Then he pushed gently, and her wet pussy welcomed him. He slipped in an inch, kissed her, then went in another. She squeezed his ass and he surged forward. Her tight pussy seemed to draw him in. Her knees squeezed his sides and her fingers dug into his shoulders. She felt a tremendous swelling inside her, felt his balls wedge between her thighs as he plunged full inside her, and she cried out. 

"Oh-oh-oh Dylan, DYLAN," she moaned. "It's been so long... Let's make this bed ROCK... sweet... let's live it UP..." 

As he surged forward her words kept ringing in his head. She won't leave me. She won't leave me. His penis slipped in again and again, until his balls wouldn't let it bury itself between her hips any further. They alternated so one moment their midsections slapped together, then they ground together, his penis pushing hard against her pussy wall. The bed, never worked so hard, squeaked in protest. 

"Are we bad?" She said, smiling devilishly at him as he rocked into her. 

"Just a couple old lovers," he said. "Getting carried away." 

"Oh, yeah, baby," she said, fucking him back. "We made a mistake... we made a BIG mistake..."
 
"Mmm-hmmm," he moaned. "The reason, baby, reason..." 

"Hmm?" She said, not breaking the rhythm. 

"The reason I never could.... do this long..." 

"Hmm?" 

"Is I loved you... so much..." 

"Oh, Dylan," she sighed, and her body moved like a wave against him. Something cracked deep in the bed and they chuckled to each other but resumed the fucking. Whatever it was could wait.  

He was vaguely aware of the passage of time as they banged each other enthusiastically. The clock on the bedside table, behind their wedding rings, ticked one minute, then another, then five, then 10. 

"Oh, yeah, baby, yeah!" She moaned, her head whipping back and forth. "Keep it up, baby, keep it UP... oh, Dylan, oh, OHHHhhh...." 

Then something funny happened. She bit her lip determinedly and pushed him away. He raised himself and she wriggled her hips so his penis slipped out of her vagina. It hung there, gleaming wet and pulsing, as if saying, What the hell is going on?

'What's the matter?" He said. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, baby, I love it," Connie said, and ran her hand along his arm. "But I need you thinking clearly for a moment." 

He looked quizzically at her and she rose up on one elbow to speak again. 

"Here's the deal," she said. "You might have wondered why I insisted on doing something this weekend rather than the next one." 

"Well, yeah, I guess," he said. Indeed, he had to tell his wife that something "unexpected" had come up and plans changed. It ruined the family's planned trip to see the St. Louis arch but Connie insisted on it, so he insisted on it.  

Connie sighed, still breathing hard from the early round of fucking. "Tomorrow I'm going to go home and Joe is going to make me spread my legs for his dirty little cheating dick. He says he wants a baby but what he really wants is to tie me down. He's been trying for a solid year now but he can't accept that there's something wrong with his dick. I went to the gynecologist, hoping they'd find something wrong and I could tell Joe that sex is pointless, but the doctor told me I'm fertile as the Garden of Eden. He used those words too." 

Dylan shrugged. "Why can't you just tell Joe something's wrong with you? You know, lie about it." 

"Because the bastard rifled through my files and saw the test results," Connie said. "He thinks that I'm on the pill and won't tell him. The truth is I won't touch the pill with a pole because I'm afraid it'll hurt my chances to get pregnant and finally stop having sex with the asshole." 

Dylan looked at her, not knowing what to say. Suddenly she smiled warmly at him and rubbed the back of her hand affectionately across his cheek.   

"He's going to keep trying and trying but it's never going to work," she said. "The only way it's going to stop," she said, biting her lip, "is if you... when you come... you keep your penis inside me." 

"Connie," he said, his eyes widening. His head began to roar. 

"Yours works. You have a little boy as proof. And It's a good time of the month for me. It might work," she said. "And then Joe will get off me and you and I will be linked forever." 

Dylan contemplated it. 

"Could you live with that?" Connie said, running her fingertips over his skin, as she knew he liked. "I've thought about you so long. I don't want our relationship to be just a sneaky little weekend thing. I want it to mean something. I want you always by my side even though we can't."

"We could--"

"No," she said. "We can't divorce. This is the best way. You have a child, and a wife who loves and needs you. They need a stable home. Someday maybe you could see your other -- our -- child. Maybe. We'll just have to wait and see."

He nodded. The thought of her forever looking at her child and seeing a bit of him, well, it brought tears to his eyes. 

"I like that," he said, finally, a smile spreading across his face. "I'd love that." 

Her eyes darted down to his penis. "Well then," she said. "Shall we?" 

He nodded. She reached down and ran a hand over his penis. It sprung back to life and Connie smiled.  

"Now come here," she said. "Let's feel each other." 

Her knees rose and he settled in between them again. His penis found its tight little groove, and they moaned passionately as his penis probed deep and touched her deep inside. 

"I like it skin to skin," she whispered, using an old term they'd once used to urge each other on. Dylan revved to life and he began to thrust again. The intensity of it grew and grew. Her back slid along the bed and her knees flopped to the bed in an attempt to accomodate him as much as possible. Her head plowed into the pillows. 

"Oh, FUCK YES DYLAN!" Connie cried, finally, after some 15 more minutes of grinding sex. Her feet planted on his ass. "I'm... GONNA... COME..." 

And then her body began to shake, and quake, and her fingers dug into his scalp, and he felt something he had never felt: Her pussy coming with his penis inside her. Her vagina walls contracted and fluttered, squeezing his cock so hard that it squished. She clung to him passionately.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh," she moaned as the orgasm throbbed through her body. He paused. She looked at him. "Did you..." 

"No," he said. "I was just enjoying yours."  

Her eyes widened. "You're kidding. You haven't come yet?" 

"No." 

She smiled and her eyes fell shut. "Wonderful. Oh, baby, that's wonderful," And her hips began to rock gently into his again. He closed his eyes and rocked back. He grabbed her ass and pulled her to him, feeling his bare penis fill her entirely. She emitted an animal-like grunt. 

"God bless the multiple orgasm!" She cried, as his penis zig-zagged around inside her. "Oh, fucking YES! God BLESS it! DYLAN! DAMMIT! You're... you're so GODDAM... COME!" She cried. "Come INSIDE me, baby, JESUS, why don't you COME..." 

"Oh CONNIE!" He gasped. The troops were on the march, but they were taking their time. General Lee was in charge and he knew what he was doing. He swayed his hips in mighty thrusts, seeing a bulge moving around beneath her skin. 

"Oh, fuck, Dylan, FUCK!" She wheezed, the bed creaking and banging. 'Oh sweet BABY yes yes YES..." 

"CONNIE!" 

"DYLAN! Are you--" 

He ground his teeth together as it felt like his cock exploded. Stars and all kinds of colors erupted in front of his eyes and every muscle in his body clenched. He penis throbbed madly as he released flowing jets of semen into the deep reaches of Connie's pussy. It felt like it extended all the way from under her belly button, to his testicles, and into his gut. 

Connie felt him extended deep inside her and she moaned as she felt his hot cum splashing around inside her. It just kept coming and coming and coming.... 

"Get it in there!" She cried, pulling at his ass as he cried out, releasing years of frustration into her womb. "Just keep coming, baby, keep coming, oh I want your baby, keep coming, keep COMING..." 

Finally he couldn't do it any longer. His balls, bled dry, screamed in agony and his arms gave out. Dylan crashed in a heap on top of her and rolled off. She gasped as his penis slid out of her, and cum oozed out onto the sheets. No matter, she thought. There was enough semen in her to fill a glass. She went wearily on her side and gazed at his face. 

"It's like a visit to an alternate reality," Connie said. "Like it would have been if we hadn't broken up." 

He smiled weakly and turned to her, and they kissed. "It's the stuff of dreams, baby." 

"Do you regret us breaking up?" 

"Every day," he said. "But... we're doing the best we can now, aren't we?"

"Yes," she agreed. She reclined on her back, her nipples pointed at the ceiling. 

She rolled back and kissed him gently. "So what do you think was the difference? Ten years ago this would have ended an hour ago." 

He smiled. "I did a little soul-searching," he said. 

"Oh?" 

"I think the real difference is perspective," he said. "Sex is wonderful, and essential, but it's only indicative of something deeper." 

He looked at her and continued. 

"At some point I came to understand that," he said. "And when you said you wouldn't leave me, I realized that you finally understood it, too. Sex isn't the goal, but an expression of love. When I thought of it as my expression of love for you, well, you saw what happened." 

"Oh, Dylan," she said, nuzzling him. "I really, really love you." 

He kissed her forehead. "I've never stopped." 

She hugged him close. "If this doesn't work, you know, as far as a baby," she said, "I think we should keep trying." 

"Yes, we will," he said. "I want you to have my baby."  

"When I used to say forever," Connie said, "I meant it." 

He didn't hear from her for a long time. Then one day he got an email with a photo attached. There were no words in the entire email except for five, below a picture of Connie in a hospital gown holding a baby boy. Joe sat on the bed next to her with a grimy grin. But he'd eventually cut Joe out of the photo and store it in a box in his basement. 

Two of the words said, "Joseph Dylan." Dylan smirked, wondering how she explained that she wanted the boy to have an old boyfriend's name. She could be very convincing if she had to be, he knew. 

The next three said, "See you soon." Yes, he thought. They'd conceive a family.