INTRO

A mysterious stranger assumes an important role in the lives of 
the women of a remote town.  

HYSTERIA

Uncle Louie was my mother's older half-brother.  I had always 
been vaguely aware of him because he sent money on my birthday, 
lira, marks, yen and more obscure currencies, always wrapped in 
lightweight paper in an airmail envelope.  The envelopes had 
postmarks from Shanghai, Lisbon, Odessa, Tashkent and other 
destinations on the the Trans-Siberian railroad and the Orient 
Express.  Now, Louie had managed to get a Canadian visa and was 
planning to enter the United States and stay with us.  I was 10.  

My father was not happy about it.  He and my mother argued for 
days until my mother promised that Uncle Louie would only visit 
us for 2 weeks, after which he could move to a hotel or rent a 
room.  He could afford it.  Louie always seemed to have plenty of 
money.  

My father and I met him at the train station one freezing Sunday 
afternoon in February.  Even inside the terminal our breath came 
out as steam, and we had to blow on our hands to keep warm.  I 
don't know what I expected, but it was not the powerfully-built 
man of about 50 who descended the train.  Louie had broad 
features and curly, black shoulder-length hair that made him look 
almost biblical.  He was a large man.  He had a cane and walked 
with a rolling limp, but his movements were graceful and his 
animation and energy seemed to warm everything around him.  Louie 
clasped me in a bear hug.  "So...zis is ze young man I haff been 
waiting zo long to meet."  I nodded.  He spoke in an accent I 
couldn't place, deeper, thicker than my mother's.  

A porter soon arrived with a mountain of suitcases and packages 
and a large black trunk.  While my father loaded up the car, 
Louie and I walked over to the newsstand.  He bought every local 
newspaper and several bars of chocolate which we shared.  Then he 
peppered me with questions.  How many people lived in the town of 
L.?  Were they young or old?  How many families?  What were their 
nationalities?  His eyes roamed the station as he took in my 
answers.  

My father need not have worried about Uncle Louie.  By the end of 
the week he had rented rooms in the house of Mrs. P., an elderly 
widow for whom my father did occasional odd jobs.  Louie bought 
furniture and rugs, he printed up business cards and he placed an 
ad in the local paper announcing that Professor R., formerly on 
the faculty of the University of Vienna, offered electro-therapy 
for women and men of all ages wishing to restore vitality, 
circulation and youthful vigor to their lives.  

Uncle Louie was evidently some kind of physician.  Over the next 
week or two, I helped him set up his office and unpack his 
equipment.  He had a waiting room and a consulting room.  He 
furnished the waiting room with chairs, a magazine stand and some 
landscapes for the walls.  The consulting room was larger, and 
had a desk, some cabinets and a long examining table.  The table 
was covered with cushions and had a headrest.  There was a 
smaller table next to it with a number of electrical appliances 
of varying sizes and shapes that resembled hand drills or 
sanders, though their attachments were unlike any I had ever 
seen.  They were shaped like cups, tubes and disks.  Some 
attachments were flat while others were bumpy.  "What are these 
for, Uncle Louie?" I asked.  "Ze are for ze treatment," he 
replied.  

Uncle Louie hung a diploma on the wall from a Viennese 
university.  I hadn't realized that he was a fully-accredited 
doctor but my father dismissed him as a fraud.  When he really 
wanted to annoy my mother, he would flap his arms and make 
quacking sounds.  

But to everyone's surprise, Louie soon established a thriving 
practice.  Women mostly, but also a few men scheduled regular 
appointments for electro-therapy and seemed pleased with the 
results.  I overheard him being discussed down at the grocery and 
over at the pharmacy.  My famously moody piano teacher, Mrs. B., 
mentioned to my mother how grateful she was to Uncle Louie, and 
she did seem to be in better spirits.  

Since I was always looking for a way to earn a few dollars, I 
asked Uncle Louie if he needed an assistant.  "I'm not zo busy 
yet, but who knows, perhaps eventually I vill take an assistant."  
He chuckled.  "Ask me in a year or two."  "What kind of treatment 
do you give, Uncle Louie?"  "Zat," he frowned, "iss strictly 
confidential."  And that was that.  

Fortunately for me, Mrs. P., the elderly widow who rented Uncle 
Louie his rooms, was looking for help.  She was a lively and 
curious woman but she was nearly blind and hired me to read to 
her one day a week after school.  Mrs. P. enjoyed current events 
and wanted to hear the news from the local paper as well as 
articles from her various subscriptions which included the 
Scientific American and the New Statesman.  We would sit next to 
the window, decide on an article, and I would read – or rather 
declaim, since Mrs. P. was deaf as well as blind – until the 
article was finished or she got bored.  This went on for an hour 
or more.  Occasionally, Mrs. P. fell asleep.  Mrs. P.'s sitting 
room was located directly beneath Uncle Louie's office so I could 
see his patients arrive, clomp up the stairs, and then 45 or 50 
minutes later, clomp down the steps and leave.  

During one of my first sessions, I was reading an article about 
European monetary policy when I saw someone walking up the path.  
I glanced up and noticed the wife of our grocer, Mr. D.  Jane was 
a vigorous but somewhat chubby woman in her forties who worked 
the register.  Although she was childless, she enjoyed kids and 
would give me donuts and ask about my homework.  I heard the door 
close and her steps on the staircase.  I wondered what her 
complaint was.  

I returned to the article and forgot about Jane.  It was Spring 
and a mild breeze blew in the open window and distracted me.  The 
article was difficult and I struggled to make sense of it.  Mrs. 
P. must have been struggling too because her head bobbed up and 
down until she finally gave in and began to softly snore.  It was 
then I heard what sounded like the meowing of a cat.  

I was not aware that Mrs. P. kept a cat but perhaps this was a 
neighborhood stray.  The sound was rhythmic.  I put down the 
Manchester Guardian and looked out the window.  I couldn't see 
the cat, but the sound grew louder.  At some point I realized 
that it was coming from Uncle Louie's consulting room upstairs 
and was drifting in the open window.  

The meowing had become more insistent and more human.  I 
recognized it as a human cry, a kind of "Hunh, hnnh, hunh," with 
an occasional "ooh," or "Oh!" and I realized the cries must be 
coming from Jane.  They did sound a bit like her.  I hoped Uncle 
Louie was not hurting her.  And then the cries stopped.  

After a long while, perhaps several minutes, I heard Uncle 
Louie's footsteps, some conversation and then silence.  What was 
going on now?  I was very curious, and I did something I 
shouldn't have.  Although Uncle Louie's second floor apartment 
had its own outside entrance, I knew from having helped him set 
up that it was connected to the first floor by a staircase in 
Mrs. P.'s kitchen.  

I checked Mrs. P.  She was comfortably asleep.  I took off my 
shoes, tiptoed over to the staircase and crept up the stairs.  
Uncle Louie's rooms were shielded by a curtain.  I knelt at the 
top step, leaned over and parted the curtain.  

Jane was alone in the office.  She was seated in a chair next to 
the desk, buttoning the top button on her blouse and humming 
softly to herself.  After a minute, Uncle Louie came in.  He 
talked to her briefly, listened to something she said, and 
nodded, "Ya."  Uncle Louie opened a thin black leather book and 
flipped a page or two.  His fingers moved down to a place on one 
of the pages.  He looked up and asked Jane something that sounded 
like, "Next week?"  Jane nodded and he wrote something in the 
book.  Then Jane reached into her purse, took out a small piece 
of paper and handed it to Uncle Louie.  He put the piece of paper 
in his desk.  Then they both rose and Jane walked out the door.  

When the door slammed it startled me.  I scurried back from my 
hiding place, terrified that Mrs. P. was awake.  She was snoring 
peacefully and I had time to put on my shoes, find my place in 
the article and continue reading where I had left off, before 
stamping my foot several times.  Mrs. P. blinked awake.  "Oh 
dear, I must've fallen asleep.  Was I snoring?"  "No," I assured 
her.  "We'll have to finish the article next week," she said.  
"Tonight's my bridge night.  I'm afraid I have to get dinner 
started."  She tottered into the kitchen while I gathered my 
things and said goodbye.  

All that week, the mysterious sounds haunted me.  I wondered if 
Jane had been crying, laughing or something entirely different.  
I listened to the sounds over and over in my mind trying to 
understand them.  They were obviously connected to Uncle Louie's 
treatment, but how?  By the time I saw her sitting at the desk, 
Jane had completely recovered from it, but her condition 
evidently required additional treatments, like the one she had 
scheduled for next week.  I decided that I must not just overhear 
but actually observe that appointment to find out what was really 
going on.  

When the appointed time finally arrived, I dashed home from 
school and was early for my session with Mrs. P.  It was warm and 
muggy, and the air was still.  I suggested we tackle a piece in 
National Geographic on Inuit communal celebrations.  It was 
actually fascinating, but that afternoon, luck was on my side.   
Mrs. P. promptly fell into a deep, peaceful slumber.  Perhaps it 
was my reading.  

I had noticed Jane walk up the path to Uncle Louie's office and 
heard her climb the stairs.  I was anxious not to miss anything, 
so I quickly put down the magazine, crept up the stairs and knelt 
by the curtain.  I could hear the sound of a zipper being 
unzipped and clothes being removed, but I didn't know if Jane was 
facing the curtain so I waited.  Then the room grew quiet.  The 
only sound was Jane's breathing.  I parted the curtain.  

Jane stood in the center of the room dressed only in a girdle.  
The girdle has fallen out of fashion, but in its day enjoyed a 
wide popularity among women of all ages who wished to look 
thinner than they actually were.  Jane's girdle ended at the 
top of her thick upper thighs, and a curly mass of black hair 
poked out from between her legs.  The rest of her clothing lay 
neatly folded on a chair.  Jane unzipped the girdle and stepped 
out of it.  She stood there for a few moments and let her
body assume its natural dimensions.  

Jane was plump and wide-hipped but not yet fat.  The first thing 
I noticed about her was her breasts.  Jane's breasts were larger 
than any I had ever seen.  The women in my family tend to be 
small.  Jane's plump tits flowed practically down to her navel, 
her areolae huge brown ovals surrounding a prominent even darker 
brown nipple.  Her breasts looked positively alive, and looking 
at them made my heart pound in my chest.  I believe they may have 
even awed Jane.  She walked over to a mirror that stood against 
the wall and looked at herself, shaking out her long, brown hair.  
She pushed back her shoulders, stuck out her chest, and gazed at 
herself in the mirror, petting her nipples lightly and causing 
them to poke out.  

Up to this point I had been fascinated, but as I watched Jane 
admiring herself, I became aware of another feeling, a sensation 
of wanting that made me almost weak, though I was not sure what 
it was that I wanted.  Perhaps to hold Jane's breasts in my 
hands, perhaps to touch and squeeze her nipples.  Certainly to 
continue watching her.  But I also felt another feeling.  This 
feeling was distinctly physical and was located in my groin which 
felt hot and tingly.  My penis had become longer and thicker than 
normal and pressed up insistently against my pants.  

Jane walked over to the chair, picked up a white dressing gown 
that was slung over the back and slipped it on.  The gown hung 
down to her knees and tied in the back. She walked over to the 
table and hoisted herself up onto it. The table was covered with 
two sheets. Jane lay between the sheets and pulled the top sheet 
up to her shoulders.  She lay back down and exhaled.  

At this point my uncle came into the room.  He walked over to the 
table, put down his cane and said a few words.  Jane turned over 
on her stomach.  Uncle Louie pulled the top sheet down to her 
knees and untied her gown, uncovering Jane's legs and back.  
Uncle Louie began to knead her shoulders and arms, gently at 
first but then with increasing force.  I could see her skin 
turning pink. 

He worked on Jane's back for several minutes, and her body seemed 
to gradually relax into the bed.  Uncle Louie began to squeeze 
the fleshy cheeks of her bottom, and Jane sighed contentedly.  He 
pulled the remaining sheet off Jane's legs and lay it at the foot 
of the bed.  He rubbed her calves and worked his way up past her 
knees.  As he touched her upper thighs, Jane gasped, "Ooh," and 
shifted her body, parting her legs to give him access to this 
area.  For a few minutes, he lightly massaged it. 

Now Uncle Louie said something to Jane and pulled the sheet back 
up to her waist.  Jane turned over and lay on her back.  I could 
see her breasts rise and fall in time with her breathing.  Uncle 
Louie began to rub her arms and shoulders and the top part of her 
chest.  This caused Jane's breasts to be pulled upward and I 
noticed her breath quicken.  Uncle Louie lowered the sheet down 
past Jane's waist.  His hands moved under the sheet and appeared 
to be massaging her stomach.  He moved down lower on her stomach, 
and Jane's breathing became uneven.  The sheet slipped down her 
thighs, and I could make out Jane's expansive white belly and the 
mass of black hair below.  Beneath the sheet, her legs slowly 
opened and squeezed shut. 

Uncle Louie pulled the sheet down to the middle of Jane's thighs.  
His hands moved lower on her stomach and rested on the little 
mound covered by a mat of dark hair.  He let his hands rest there 
for a while, and then pressed the palms of his hands against the 
mound so that it was pushed upwards, exposing a fold of pink skin 
underneath.  Uncle Louie rotated his palms and the fold of skin 
opened into 2 flaps that were stretched outward toward Jane's 
thighs and then inward again, in a continuous circular movement.  
Open and closed, open and closed.  Jane's breath began to follow 
this rhythmic movement, accompanied by a kind of low moan, "ohh, 
ahh, ohh, ahh" and a liquid sound that came from between her 
thighs.  She moved her hips in time with Uncle Louie's hands.  

After a few minutes, Uncle Louie stopped and removed his hands.  
Jane raised her hips as if trying to recapture them.  Uncle Louie 
reached over to the table that stood next to the bed and selected 
a tool that looked like a small drill.  It was connected to the 
table by an electrical cord and had a handle about as thick as my 
wrist.  At the end of the cylindrical handle, and perpendicular 
to it, was an attachment that looked like a rubber thumb.  Uncle 
Louie flipped on a switch and the machine began to gently hum.  

Jane spread her legs apart, exposing the entire area between her 
thighs.  The two folds of skin stuck out prominently and were now 
a deep reddish pink.  They glistened with moisture.  Uncle Louie 
placed the rubber thumb just above the place where the folds 
joined and lightly touched the thumb down.  Jane rose to meet it  
and let out a low groan, "Ohh."  Uncle Louie moved the thumb 
around the whole area, to the top of the mound, below and along 
the folds.  At times he brought it in between Jane's thighs and 
it seemed to disappear inside of them.  

Uncle Louie now moved the thumb back and forth in between Jane's 
thighs, circling the area just below the dark hair and then 
plunging back down in a rhythm that gradually picked up speed.  
Now each time the thumb disappeared between her thighs, Jane 
lifted her hips off the table and squeezed her plump thighs 
together, trapping the thumb between them.  

I noticed that the insides of Jane's thighs were shiny and 
wondered if the rubber thumb might have sprayed out some liquid.  
Her legs stiffened and began to shake, and then without warning, 
she groaned and sat up straight.  I was afraid that Uncle Louie 
had injured her, but he seemed unconcerned, and Jane did not try 
to interfere with him.  She sat up on the table completely rigid 
with her eyes closed, her trembling legs pressed tightly together 
while Uncle Louie held the rubber thumb between her thighs.  Jane 
began to make those same strange sounds that I had heard the week 
before.  Her breasts seemed to have expanded and her nipples 
poked out stiffly.  Her cries got louder and Jane tossed her head 
from side to side.  She pushed the palms of her hands into her 
breasts, pressing them against her nipples.  Then she cried "Ohh, 
Ohh!, OHH!" and fell back onto the table, her feet drumming 
against it.  I could see the muscles of her stomach clench and 
unclench.  "Hunh!, hunh, hunnh!" she groaned.  It sounded like 
she was asking a question but couldn't quite form the words.  
This groaning went on for at least a minute.  The sheet beneath 
her thighs was drenched.  

And then Jane began to pray. "Oh God, oh God," she cried, "Oh 
God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, God, God, God, oh God, oh 
my God, Oh, Oh, OH!"  The "Oh's" and "Oh God's" continued for a 
while, building to a crescendo, them tapering off, then building 
again and then subsiding, over and over until Uncle Louie finally 
shut off the thumb.  Jane relaxed and slumped into the bed 
exhausted.  Uncle Louie rested his hand on Jane's cheek and 
gently stroked her hair, waiting for her to calm down.  

Gradually, Jane's breathing returned to normal and I noticed
another sound, like the cooing of a bird or the babbling of a 
young child.  She was weeping.  Her weeping continued for several
minutes until her shoulders shook with sobs.  Uncle Louie stayed 
by her side, stroking her face and hair. Up to this point I had 
observed the scene with a certain amount of detachment.  It 
amazed and delighted me, my penis ached and throbbed insistently 
in my pants, but it was too strange and shocking for me to really 
know what to feel.  Jane's tears changed all that; I knew what it 
was to cry.  As I listened to her sobs, I seemed to feel them in 
my groin.  But instead of sadness I felt a melting sweetness and 
heat that seemed to make my penis grow bigger than it ever had 
before, press up against my pants and ache ever so sweetly.  My 
heart pounded in my ears and I felt an overwhelming sensation of 
bliss in my legs and groin.  I had to struggle not to cry out 
loud.  The overwhelming feelings continued for a while and then 
gradually subsided.  I don't think I actually had a full blown 
orgasm but these feelings were stronger than any pleasure I had 
ever felt.  

When I recovered I crept downstairs without looking back.  I 
wondered if what I had felt was what Jane had been feeling.  No 
wonder she wanted more treatments.  The feeling was wonderful, 
but I had no idea how I could make it recur, except perhaps by 
observing another one of Uncle Louie's patients.

On Wednesday, I told Mrs. P. that I was now available to read on 
additional afternoons.  She seemed pleased.  "Whenever you want 
to come to me, dear."  And so I started to attend her 2, 
sometimes 3 days a week.  Since my plan would only work if Mrs. 
P. fell asleep, I was always on the lookout for long, boring 
articles, and thus formed a lifelong habit of reading the daily 
newspaper in its entirety whether or not there was anything in it 
to interest me.  I read Mrs. P. articles about abstruse issues of 
fiscal policy, contemporary trends in veterinary practice, 
highway construction in Utah.  I avoided anything that smacked of 
politics or real estate and I never even mentioned local 
marriages or deaths, which needlessly stimulated her.  There were 
days when Mrs. P. managed to fight off sleep for the entire hour, 
and there were times when I myself dozed off, but occasionally, 
the gods smiled on me and things went as planned.  What more can 
one ask?  

Unfortunately, there were no more patients during the next 3 
weeks, and I grew progressively more frantic.  I was afraid I 
would never experience those blissful feeings again.  And then 
one afternoon, when Mrs. P. went under rather quickly while I  
read her an account of weather conditions on Antarctica, I heard 
someone come in through the front door.  I prayed that it was 
Jane.  I slipped off my shoes and tip-toed up the stairs.  My 
penis was already hard and sticking almost straight out.  I crept 
to the edge of the curtain and peered through.

It was not Jane, and I practically groaned in disappointment.  
The patient turned out to be Mrs. Z., the wife of our family 
physician, Dr. Z.  Mrs. Z was a charmless woman, detested by one 
and all, including, no doubt, her husband.  She was also Dr. Z's 
receptionist and had managed to irritate everyone who had the 
misfortune to require medical attention.  She was loud, coarse 
and abusive, but my mother had always said she had beautiful 
skin.  I now saw that this was true.  Mrs. Z's skin was indeed 
flawless, smooth and pearly white.  Although she was thin, her 
legs were firm and muscled and her buttocks were suprisingly well 
rounded.  She had a small clump of very dark hair between her 
legs.  Otherwise, she was rather skinny and her chest was nearly 
flat.  

I saw all this as Mrs. Z climbed onto the padded table and 
settled herself under the sheets.  She did not bother to put on a 
gown.  She closed her eyes, lay back and relaxed. She might have 
been taking a nap. 

Soon Uncle Louie came in.  He walked right over to her and 
uncovered her feet.  She lay on her stomach with her eyes closed, 
breathing evenly.  Uncle Louie began to massage the soles of her 
feet.  He did this for some time and I noticed that after a while 
Mrs. Z's breath deepened.  Then he gradually worked his way up 
her legs until he reached her buttocks, which he began to knead, 
at first gently but then with increasing force and roughness.  
Soon, her behind was a deep pink and she began to gently moan 
into the cushion, a quiet "Oh, hoo, oh," with each squeeze.  

After a while Uncle Louie motioned for her to roll over and 
helped her turn onto her back.  Her eyes were still closed.  He 
placed his hands on the mound just above the place where her 
thighs met.  I realized that this must be a magical place, the 
place where these blissful feelings originated.  The mound was 
covered with a small blanket of very dark hair.  Uncle Louie 
massaged it and I began to hear a squishy sound.  

Without removing his hands, Uncle Louie switched on the machine 
with the rubber thumb.  He brought the thumb over to where his 
hand was.  While keeping his hand on her mound, Uncle Louie 
touched the thumb to the area just below it and moved the thumb 
around and back and forth, down between her thighs and then back 
up again.  

Mrs. Z. had begun to moan more loudly now, "Ooh," when he brought 
the thumb up, and "Ahh," when the thumb went between her thighs.  
Although the rest of her body lay still, her hips rocked back and 
forth in response.  This motion began to speed up until her hips 
moved up and down, up and down in almost a blur, and her moans 
ran together as a single sound.  I expected Mrs. Z. to launch 
into a crying and groaning fit like Jane, but she did not.  Her 
hips continued to rock back and forth against the thumb until she 
was out of breath and covered with sweat.  Finally, Uncle Louie 
withdrew the thumb and put it down.  Mrs. Z. lay on her back  
breathing heavily, her hips still moving in response to the thumb 
that had been removed.  

Uncle Louie reached under Mrs. Z.'s back and turned her onto her 
side, facing away from him.  He selected a second appliance from 
the table.  This was also connected to an electric cord, but its 
attachment was thinner and longer than the thumb, more like a 
narrow test tube.  Uncle Louie spread some vasoline on the narrow 
attachment and then switched on the machine.  He brought the tip 
of the tube to Mrs. Z.'s behind and placed it between her 
buttocks.  Mrs. Z. pressed back against it and it went a little 
ways in.  While Uncle Louie held the tube with one hand, he 
brought his other hand around to her front and placed it between 
her thighs.  I noticed Mrs. Z. was pushing back against the tube, 
trying to get more if it inside.  Uncle Louie worked it gradually 
in and soon the entire length of the tube was inserted in Mrs. 
Z.'s bottom.  She groaned loudly and seemed to be chewing on the 
inside of her mouth.  Uncle Louie replaced the hand between her 
thighs with the thumb.  Then he began to slowly move the tube in 
and out of her bottom.  

Mrs. Z. now began to grunt.  The sound was actually more of a low 
pitched, "Oh, oh, oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," 
as Mrs. Z. grew rigid and her legs began to shake.  By this time, 
my penis was so hard and throbbed so strongly that I wanted to 
grunt along with her, but I forced myself to remain silent and 
still.  Nonetheless, the pleasurable feelings in my groin were so 
intense that I was afraid that I would begin gasping or crying 
uncontrollably.  

"Shit, shit, oh shit!" Mrs. Z. cried, while Uncle Louie held both 
tubes in place.  Mrs. Z.'s cries stopped for a moment and she 
caught her breath.  Then she started up again.  This happened 6 
or 7 times.  At last, she began to howl, "ow, ow, ow ow OW!"  
Finally Uncle Louie switched off the machine and Mrs. Z. lay 
still.  

After a while, Uncle Louie gently removed the appliances from 
between Mrs. Z.'s legs.  She curled up in a fetal position with 
her hands between her legs, cupping the now very prominent folds 
of pink flesh below the mound.  She lay like that for several 
minutes, completely relaxed.  Every minute or so, her legs would 
shake and she would shudder briefly, but this gradually grew less 
frequent and finally, she rolled over on her back.  Her flawless 
skin was completely pink and she was covered in sweat.  

Uncle Louie said a few words to her and left the room.  I felt it 
was time for me to go too.  The feelings in my penis had calmed 
down.  I had left Mrs. P. alone for at least half an hour.  I 
crept back down to the sitting room where I found her fast asleep 
and picked up reading where I had left off.  

That night in bed I reviewed the amazing events of the day, 
trying to understand what had happened to Mrs. Z. and to me.  I 
never imagined that doing something that resembled having one's 
temperature taken with an oversized thermometer could bring on 
such intense and pleasurable feelings.  And Mrs. Z.'s feelings 
had been mirrored in me.  I knew that whatever those wonderful 
feeings were, my goal in life was to have more of them, and I 
quickly formed a resolution.  I would become a doctor like Uncle 
Louie and in the meantime, I would observe as many of Uncle 
Louie's treatments as possible.  

My next opportunity occurred 2 weeks later.  I climbed the stairs 
and found myself staring through the curtains at the completely 
nude figure of an unfamiliar middle-aged woman with straight dark 
hair.   Her clothes were piled on a chair.  She stood with one 
foot on the chair, smoking a cigarette.  She exhaled and watched 
the clouds of smoke drift across the room. 

The woman not especially attractive.  She was pale and fleshy and 
her legs and thighs were veiny, her shoulders slumped.  She   
looked tired. As she raised her cigarette to her mouth I noticed 
her long, delicate hands and I realized this woman was none other 
than my piano teacher, Mrs. B.

Uncle Louie came in and Mrs. B. took a last drag and stubbed out 
her cigarette.  She lay on the table face up, hands crossed
behind her head, staring directly up at Uncle Louie.  He gave her 
a brief little nod and went to work, vigorously massaging her 
legs, shoulders, neck and sides.  Then he concentrated on her 
thighs, which he rubbed in long strokes starting at the knees and 
going all the way to the tops of her legs. 

At this point Uncle Louie removed 2 straps from a shelf under the 
table and fastened them around the Mrs. B.'s legs, binding them 
firmly against the table.  This seemed to relax Mrs. B., and she 
closed her eyes and lay still.  Uncle Louie switched on the 
appliance with the thumb and held it suspended over her crotch 
for a few seconds.  Then he lowered it to the hairy spot between 
her legs, and, barely touching the skin, passed it over and just 
to the side of the slit in the middle.  I could tell when the 
thumb actually touched her skin because Mrs. B. gasped.  This 
continued for a while, as the folds between her legs grew puffy 
and reddish pink. 

Although Mrs. B. tried to get the thumb inside her legs, the 
straps held her in place and Uncle Louie kept it away from the 
exact spot that she wanted.  At one point she managed to push 
this spot against the thumb for just a second and cried "Oh!" 
whereupon Uncle Louie put the thumb down, turned back to Mrs. B. 
and massaged her face, her arms and shoulders and then her legs 
and tummy.  This seemed to calm her down.  Finally, he brought 
the thumb back between her legs.  This was repeated several 
times: the squirming until the she managed to work her crotch 
into contact with the thumb, her cry and Uncle Louie massage. 

Ultimately, this activity made Mrs. B. even more excited.  Her 
breath had speeded up, the folds between her thighs glowed a 
bright pink and stuck straight out, and her enlarged nipples 
poked straight out.  Uncle Louie reached his free hand down and 
rubbed the skin between her legs.  In fact, he actually seemed to 
be putting his fingers inside her because they disappeared 
between her legs and then reappeared in a kind of rhythm, which 
she punctuated with groans that sounded like "Oh, gaah, no."  
Uncle Louie now brought the thumb back down and held it between 
her thighs, and Mrs. B. began to cry "Noo, no, noo."  She lay 
rigidly still, her face locked in a grimace, barely breathing.  
Then she began to breathe loudly, more of a cry really, getting 
louder and louder until she cried out a final, "No, no, no," and 
finally, she sank back onto the table.  I saw that Uncle Louie 
had withdrawn his fingers although machine with the thumb still 
lay between her legs. 

Mrs. B.'s breathing speeded up and I saw her stomach moving up
and down.  Soon she pointed her legs and gripped the thumb 
between her thighs and now she exclaimed, "No, no, noooo."  Her 
groans continued for perhaps a full minute, and then she lay back 
and relaxed. 

Uncle Louie switched off the thumb and placed it back on the 
table.  He unbound Mrs. B.'s legs.  Her pale skin glowed a deep 
pink.  Uncle Louie took a white towel and dabbed her thighs and 
crotch.  He draped the towel over her middle and left the room. 

Mrs. B. rose and dabbed herself dry with the towel.  Her chest 
glistened with sweat and some other fluid was spread over her 
inner thighs.  Her skin still glowed, her dark red nipples stood 
out. 

Mrs. B. walked over to the side of the table and picked up the
appliance with the thumb.  She held it in her hand and examined 
it.  She rubbed her hands lightly over the tip, brought 2 of her 
fingers to her nose and sniffed them.  Then she smelled the 
thumb.  I heard the soft hum of the motor as she turned on the 
switch.  Mrs. B. cupped her breast in her hand and brought the 
thumb up to it, passing it lightly on the area above the nipple, 
circling around it, rubbing and squeezing her breast with the 
other hand.  The nipple grew even more response.  She switched 
hands and cupped the other breast, caressing and kneading it, 
keeping the thumb in gentle contact with the area around the 
hardened nipple. 

Now she moved the thumb down her chest and then lower down until
it rested on her tummy with its end pointing down, touching the 
area just above her triangle of dark hair. She kept it there for 
a while, and before long, her hips began to rock back and forth.  
This rocking motion brought the thumb between her thighs, where 
it brushed against those fleshy folds and then back up again.  
Her eyes were closed now, her mouth open, her entire 
concentration on the place where the thumb met her skin.  Her 
breasts, which were quite small, had enlarged, and their nipples 
jutted straight out.  My penis was harder than it had ever been, 
poking out against my pants.  My heart pounded in my ears and I 
struggled to breathe.  Mrs. B. stood completely still, the 
machine jammed between her legs, thighs locked together, and 
slowly, her heels rose off the floor until she stood on tip-toes, 
seemingly suspended on the thumb. 

By this time my penis was so hard that it hurt, my heart was 
beating wildly, and my whole body was coiled in a state of utter 
sexual tension.  Mrs. B. brought one hand to her breast and 
flicked a finger rapidly back and forth across the nipple.  When 
she began to gasp, "No, no, nooo," my orgasm began, deep 
wrenching spasms that made me rock back and forth as waves of 
blissful sensation passed over me.  I heard myself crying out 
"Oh, oh, oh," and then my penis began to pump uncontrollably 
until my underpants were drenched.  Mrs. B. staggered to her 
knees, removed the machine and shut it off.  I struggled to catch 
my breath.  Mrs. B. quickly got dressed while I made my way 
downstairs.  I was dazed and my legs shook, but I felt strangely 
at peace.  I knew that Mrs. B. had been satisfied too. 

I was not able to read to Mrs. P for the rest of the week.  Then, 
late one night, a terrible thing happened. Two men whom I did not 
recognize came to visit us.  I was sent to bed while they sat 
around the kitchen table and talked to my parents.  At first I
thought they must have come about me.  Someone had discovered my
spying and I was going to be punished.  But then I heard Uncle 
Louie's name spoken, and not in a friendly way.  I knew that the 
men were warning my parents about Uncle Louie and giving them 
some advice. 

After the men left my mother made a phone call, and later that
night, close to midnight, Uncle Louie came over.  Although I was 
supposed to be asleep, I was able to hear snatches of   
conversation.  Uncle Louie had done something to make the men 
angry, very angry, and for everyone's good he would have to go 
away as soon as possible.  I didn't realize how soon that was.  
The men had evidently thrown the fear of god into my parents, 
though I realize now that Uncle Louie was probably used to this 
kind of thing.  He stayed up that night packing and by morning he 
was gone.  He left an envelope for me with a 20 dollar bill, a 
fortune in those days.  The envelope was addressed "To my 
assistant."  

Uncle Louie's departure was a tragedy for me.  The thought that I 
might never see another woman writhing in ecstacy and crying out 
her pleasure, that I might never have another fit myself, plunged 
me in despair.  I craved that magical feeing, but I had no idea 
how conjure it up other than to return to Uncle Louie's office 
and watch Mrs. Z. or Jane or some other woman have another 
trembling and crying fit.  Even the memory of it made my heart 
race and my breath quicken.  It also made my penis hard, although 
I had no idea what to do about that, especially since I had been 
told that it was wrong to touch my penis unless I had a 
legitimate reason for doing so, like going to the bathroom or 
washing it in the tub, which gave me an idea.  

What if I took a bath and in the natural course of things 
happened to wash my penis, and while I was washing my penis, I 
happened to think about what had happened to Mrs. Z?  And what 
if, while I washed my penis imagining Mrs. B. standing in front 
of me on tip-toes suspended on the thumb, what if my penis got 
hard, and I continued to scrub it while thinking about Jane 
moaning and crying, even after my penis was clean?  I had an idea 
that it might make the blissful feelings return.  It was 
certainly worth a try.

So the next night, while my mom cleaned up after dinner and my
dad read the paper, I climbed into the tub.  After taking care of 
business, I lay back in the warm water and imagined Mrs. Z lying 
on the table in Uncle Louie's office.  I visualized her lean,  
muscular body, her fleshy buttocks and little pointed breasts and 
imagined the grunting sounds she made as she shook and trembled 
against Uncle Louie's machines.  Sure enough, my penis responded 
by growing bigger and longer, until it poked stiffly out of the 
water.  For the first time, I noticed its skin had turned a deep 
pink and the purple head at the end had grown alarmingly large, 
larger than I'd ever seen it.  All of this without my having 
touched it.  

I wondered if it was safe for me to wash it in this condition.  
What if it kept growing didn't stop? How would I explain it to my
parents?  To Dr. Z?  But an inner voice prompted me to continue. 
I had to find out if scrubbing my penis while it was poking out 
of the water would make those wonderful feelings return.  
Besides, I could always stop.  So I went on.  I applied soap to 
my hands and began to gently scrub the enlarged shaft.

As I rubbed up and down, it seemed to clench involuntarily and 
get, if anything, harder.  It was a pleasant feeling, not 
overwhelming like with Mrs. B., but definitely good enough to 
make me want to continue.  As I scrubbed in different places on 
the shaft, I noticed that my penis began to tingle and the purple 
head seemed pulse and expand.  With each pulse a delightful surge 
of feeling traveled up and down the shaft.  It was feeling very 
good now and I definitely didn't want to stop. 

I realized that I hadn't yet washed the purple head, and since I 
was supposed to be washing the entire organ, not just one part of 
it, I left off what I was doing and started to rub the knob on 
top. This  was a different feeling, delicious but almost too 
intense.  I could only do it for a few seconds and then I had to 
stop.  It made all the muscles in my stomach tense up and my 
penis clench inside too, and when I stopped I noticed  I was 
breathing hard.  But I wanted to do it again, it felt too good. 
And so I started rubbing the head again, for 3 or 4 seconds at a 
time and then stopping to catch my breath and let my muscles calm 
down. 

This building tension felt different from anything I knew.  It 
seemed as if something might break if I continued rubbing, but 
the rubbing begged to be continued, for each time I left off I 
found myself needing to rub some more.  I looked down at my 
penis.  It was very hard and very big.  It glowed a deep pink.  
It was also very clean.  

I applied myself to cleaning the engorged purple head and the
tension rose to an unbrearable level, my knees began to shake, I
couldn't stop the rubbing as my hands moved out of my control and
then something seemed to surge and the feeling inside my penis
exploded in a burst of incredible energy, and then the pumping
began, a strong muscular pump, pump, pump as my penis shot out
bursts of white liquid, a different feeling from peeing, opposite
almost, and infinitely more pleasant.  The pumping went on for 
some time and then gradually subsided.  My cock was still hot and 
every so often pumped another involuntary spurt until it 
gradually returned to its normal size and shape.  I sank back 
into the tub and found myself completely relaxed and filled with 
a sense of well-being and calm.  So that was it.  I had finally 
made myself come. 

Although Uncle Louie only stayed for a few months, his effect on 
the town of L. was profound.  Many of the formerly somnolent 
residents seemed to have revived and there was a burst of 
cultural and commercial activity.  New shops opened.  A community 
theatre started up.  Romances blossomed.  Even Mrs. Z. was a 
little nicer.  For a while, the town seemed vibrant.  But 
eventually, the effects of Uncle Louie's electro-therapy wore 
off.  Mrs. Z. began snapping at the patients, Mrs. B.'s moods 
returned and Jane became withdrawn.  She no longer gave me donuts 
or asked about my school work.  As time went on, she spent less 
time in the store.  Eight months after Uncle Louie's departure, 
she stopped coming in altogether.  

I saw her a few months after that.  My mother had sent me out to 
buy some groceries and Jane was at the register.  The change was
striking.  She was pale and drawn and stood slumped over, gazing 
dolefully as she rang up the items.  She handed me the change, 
and without meeting my eyes, murmured, "Do you ever hear from 
your Uncle Louis?"  At first I didn't know who she was talking 
about.  I had never heard him called Louis, only Louie, as well 
as a variety of derogatory terms.  But then I realized who she 
meant.  "Every so often," I lied.  "He writes about once a 
month."  As far as I knew he had never written.  "How is he?" she 
asked.  "Fine."  She was waiting for me to tell her more.  
Finally she asked, "Do you know his address?  I'd like to send 
him something."  I had no idea what his address was, but I knew 
from my mother that he had settled somewhere in South America.  
"He's in South America."  "South America?" She looked deflated.  
"Maybe you could call information," I suggested.  She stared at 
me dumbly, in no mood for wisecracks. 

After that, Jane dropped completely out of sight.  My mother said
she rarely left the house and sometimes remained in bed for days 
at a time.  I decided I wanted to do something nice for her. 

"Do you have Uncle Louie's address?" I asked my mother one
afternoon.  "Why?"  "I want to write him."  She looked at me 
skeptically.  "Maybe he'll send me something for my birthday."  
My birthday was a month away.  "I'll see if I can find it," she 
said, and sure enough, later that day she produced a small piece 
of paper with an address in Lima, Peru.  

That Saturday I walked over to Jane's house.  It was on the 
wealthier side of town, a 2-story colonial with a long curved
driveway.  It was incongruously grand for a grocer, especially 
one with no children.  Some dogs barked as I crunched up the 
gravel.  I rang the bell and waited.  More barking.  I rang 
again.  Nothing.  At last, footsteps and then the door opened.  
Although it was 4 in the afternoon Jane wore a rumpled house 
dress.  She looked like she had just gotten out of bed, but she 
invited me in and led me into the kitchen which looked out on the 
backyard.  Three large german shepherds romped in the yard.  

I handed her the paper with Uncle Louie's address, and Jane read 
it silently.  I visualized her in Uncle Louie's office, gown 
hiked up, feet drumming on the table, gasping and shuddering in 
ecstacy.  This made my penis very hard and it stuck out visibly 
in my pants.  Perhaps Jane read my mind or maybe just my crotch 
because when she looked up her from the paper, her face was 
flushed.  Jane was not wearing any undergarments.  I could make 
out the curves of her body underneath the house dress.  I also 
noticed the circles under her eyes and her yellowing teeth.  She 
smiled and mussed my hair.  I shuddered, my knees buckled and I 
almost came.  

Jane slipped the paper into the pocket of her house dress, walked 
to the refrigerator and took out a container of chocolate milk.  
She poured us each a glass.  We sat at the table and drank while 
my hard penis tingled and throbbed in my pants.  When we 
finsished our milk, I said goodbye and left.  

Later that year, Jane and her husband took a cruise to Peru.  
When they returned 3 months later, Jane was transformed.  
Whatever Uncle Louie did this time seemed to last, and for the 
next few years, when Jane and I met in the store, we would 
exchange a secret glance.


Dan Singer
singer@radiolink.net 



  
Hysteria