Vivian’s mouth did the same for his cock and balls.
He wished he could watch. Maybe next time.
He didn’t care about the cold, wet spot under his buttocks.
John was drained. Speechless.
As were the women, each slowly tending to the tidying of his body, wiping him of fluids, his and theirs.
“I’ll show you another variation next time,” said the doctor.
“Hmmm?” said Vivian, busy licking up his spending.
“There’s a different way to use your hand when riding John,” the doctor said.
While the women recapped the session John thought about the Spring he’d sensed coming, slowly relaxing, still blinded by the swim goggles. In a way his blindness was a winter, a darkness, a potential not yet realized. Would he actually see Vivian next time? How many variations would they try? Would Dr. Wright be more hands-on?
With the blindfold on John hadn’t felt a need to bring his stud persona to the room – he was just himself, kind and gentle and horny. In the therapeutic environment Vivian needed a real ‘real’ man, not the fantasy character he usually tailored to each of his cougars. He felt a deeper empathy for Vivian than he had for the other women. And she showed a sort of compassion for him that made him feel seen. It touched parts of him that had been in a long hibernation. Strangely, hardly knowing her, not even knowing exactly what she looked like, John longed to know her better. His heart was engaged in a way it hadn’t been before.
This Spring and this new sex therapist role might be an awakening. On the cusp of thirty he might be at the beginning of something exciting and a little scary.