Chapter 6
I took part in many fashionable receptions as belle of the ball. There were week-end parties, garden parties, all sorts of parties and all society spoiled me and sort of fought over me, the pretty young wife of the famous doctor Rodney Peters.
And I did admire my husband very much.
This affectionate man, gentle, amiable, considerate, was to me like a genius, a really great man.
He was really one in his profession.
I've seen poor creatures, plunged in darkness for years, come out of his hands cured, and seeing at last the sun, flowers, light and life.
I've seen my husband succeed where other doctors had failed.
I've seen him carry out successfully the hazards of a delicate operation.
I've heard exclamations of joy and gratefulness from patients. I've seen mothers try to kiss his hands to thank him for giving back to their offspring the most precious gift their lives.
I've seen but it would be too long to tell.
So, at the age of twenty, I, the young wife of a rich and famous man, had for my husband a boundless admiration and a really great affection for all the happiness he was giving me.
But there was another side.
Alone, very often, I've cried, yes, I, the woman envied for her luck and happiness, I've wept.
Why? Because I felt that I wasn't giving this man I adored all the physical joys I would have liked to give him during the sex act.
He was too much of a gentleman to tell me a-bout it or let me guess it.
But I saw in his eyes his expression of surprise, the same I had seen in the eyes of Marie and those of my two male lovers. All had been astonished to see me react so little to hot prick penetration and to see that I, a young and very pretty woman, endowed with indisputable sex appeal, remained cold under the most daring caresses. My husband was enslaved by my young body. He even went down on my cunny in an attempt to make me come . . .
Yet, I assure you, it was a joy for me to fuck with my doting husband.
Never had a man attracted me more, even physically speaking, and I wanted to please him sexually.
When, even the first time, I found myself alone with him, I had got undressed with passionate haste.
In a trice I was naked.
And he had been just as quick getting undressed.
He was a handsome man when naked. Even very handsome, I must say. He was well proportioned and his genitals were big. His chest was broad without excess, his stomach flat and his thighs muscled. Nobody could have guessed that he was nearly twice my age.
I admired that masculine nudity that only his shorts interrupted with a white spot hardly whiter than his skin.
He did not keep them on long, and soon appeared to me in his stark nudity, his large penis a credit to his manhood. I clung against him.
The contact of his chest on my bare breasts and of his stomach against mine made me shudder with a nervous twitch. I felt his balls, lovingly cupping and rubbing them together which excited his cock to surging, stiff erection.
At last, I said to myself, I was going to feel with him that thrill I was longing for so much. He carried me on to the large bed and, with his mouth stuck on mine, he took me with slow care, gentle and deft. His hot, throbbing prick scorched up my box to the balls. His desire for me was violent and he could not hold back for long. He stiffened with an ecstatic groan and his burning sperm jetted against my wet vaginal walls.
But, with terror, I realized that nothing in me had vibrated. It had been a pleasant moment, nothing more. He filled my vagina with his creamy load, but that was all. When he pulled out his dripping, glistening rod dripping milky sperm, I had not 'come.'
My satisfaction had been nearly only cerebral. And yet, that man, I really loved him.
After a few unsuccessful attempts I made a decision. I could not go on like that. I felt I had as much right to the famous pleasure of the fuck as the flower seller at Piccadilly or the next-door laundress or any other woman.
It goes without saying that the majority of our friends and acquaintances were doctors, surgeons or specialists, in other words, members of the medical world.
I received them often at my table, together with their wives legal or not.
Among them I noticed particularly a certain Philip Seabury, who was the doctor at Buckingham Palace. I went to consult him one day about my sex problem.
There was a queue of people waiting their turn in the waiting-room, but, of course, he saw me before all the others.
He welcomed me with warmth.
"Dear Mrs. Peters, how are you? I'm very pleased to see you. How's Rodney?"
"Very well, thank you. By the way, he doesn't know about my coming here."
He looked surprised.
"I take it, my dear Phillip," I went on, "that you're under the seal of professional secrecy even towards my husband, even though he is for you a fellow-doctor and a friend."
"But of course, Rochelle, towards him as well as anybody else, even Her Majesty."
"Good. Well, I'll tell you what my trouble is."
I told him everything in one breath, as it were. I recounted to him all my fruitless attempts to capture that voluptuousness which kept eluding me for all my efforts to pin it down.
"I'm afraid I must be frigid, I finished. He had listened with patience, not interrupting me once.
He was no longer the warm and friendly guest whom I received frequently at our home. He was now only a doctor, desirous of finding the remedy to my physical misery, or deficiency.
"Will you please undress," he asked.
A short while later, I stood naked and exposed completely before him.
"Lie down here and draw your legs wide apart for me, please."
He took a speculum and shoved it between my pussy lips.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, looking at my face.
"No," I said.
He widened the two branches of the speculum and asked again, as he probed deeper into my vagina.
"And now?"
"Just a little, but it's all right."
"Good. Now, relax a little."
I lay at ease and breathed deeply.
He took out an intra-vaginal probe with a small electrical bulb at the end. He sterilized the instrument and asked me again to draw my legs apart.
He pushed in the probe and I hardly felt it as it entered my hole. He examined the inner passage attentively, for a long time.
Then he said:
"Thank you, you can get dressed now."
This man, when he was my guest or I was his, had given me to understand that laying with me would be very much to his liking.
While dancing with me, he had felt me up and I had noticed that I had a great power of seduction over him -he had gotten the usual terrific hard-on.
Well, now I was alone with him and entirely naked, but he did not even have a flattering glance at my body, except for the inside of my cunt in a medical manner.
Such was the professional deformation and conscientiousness of some doctors.
He sat down at his desk and, when I had got dressed again, he told me, still speaking in a calm, unruffled tone:
"Your vagina is beautifully normal. Your other genital organs are perfectly normal and in good state. I'm only a doctor, unfortunately, and so, Rochelle, I can do nothing for you."
I looked at him with sadness in my eyes.
He saw it and became at once more friendly and less professional in his attitude.
"Oh, you shouldn't give up and despair, you know. I can do nothing for you, but I can give you the name of a good psychiatrist who might help you."
"Be frank with me. Am I frigid?"
"Not physically so. But you're not without knowing that in sexual relationship, the brain plays as important a part as the body. I'm not qualified for mental trouble; that's why I advise you to see a psycho-analyst."
"So you're giving me up."
"Not one bit."
He became more friendly and intimate.
"My dear Rochelle, you oughtn't to dramatize, you know. There are thousands of women who feel nothing when they are fucked.
Frigidity is unfortunately as frequent in men as in women.
It can have a physical cause, such as a displaced urethra or diseased clitoris, etc.
In that case, I can cure it. But if frigidity is due to a mental block I am completely incompetent and only a psycho-analyst can diagnose for certain and cure."
"You're saying the whole truth, are you?" I asked anxiously.
"Yes, Rochelle. I've seen women in your case, after a special treatment, obtain a total cure, I assure you."
"I believe you Phillip. So, please give me the name and address of the psycho-analyst you recommend."
"He's an Austrian. His name is Dr. Luftmann and he lives in Innsbruck."
"I've heard his name mentioned several times, " I said.
"He's famous a real ace," he said, "I'm going to write an introductory note for him, for he doesn't receive anybody, you know."
He wrote down a few words on his visiting card and gave it to me.
"There you are, Rochelle."
He then became his normal self, that is, a charming and audacious guest, and kissed my hand longer than necessary, saying:
"I do wish that your beautiful body will soon come and experience the voluptuous thrill you deserve."
I smiled, thinking:
"Oh, you hypocrite. You examined my naked twat a while ago and yet you remained quite impassive. You really deserve a good mark for your magnificent cock control. I know you would have like to have shoved it up my twat as I lay with my legs spread on the examining table."
I wondered how I could tell Rodney of my "mental cunt-coldness."
That was a delicate question.
On the very evening I had consulted the doctor, we fucked.
I couldn't help thinking it was really sad that with this man I loved and valued so much I was obliged to play the part of a whore.
I mean that, in order to please him, I had to pretend my pussy was feeling a voluptuousness I was not actually feeling.
Just like a strumpet who, having been handsomely paid in advance, wants to make her customer believe that she's feeling a great thrill and coming when in reality she's as cool as a marble slab at the morgue.
Yes, I was reduced to that.
And I wondered whether my husband did not see through me.
Remember that he was a specialist, a great one at that. So, he probably was no dupe, but, out of kindness and politeness, he pretended to believe in my voluptuousness. Did he realize that I moved my buttocks, not because of a loving reflex, but because my will-power had willed it so? That I never had an orgasm.
The next morning, for all those reasons, I had made up my mind to keep mom.
A few days later, having mapped out a plan, I told Rodney:
"Darling, I feel like going to see my father."
"Well, do, darling," he answered. "Yes, I would like to go and kiss my parents and stay a few days with them."
He kissed me gently and said, as charmingly as ever:
"Go, my love. Enjoy yourself and come back soon to your old hubby."
He acted like my father but I adored him, "old man."
I left for Switzerland.
It felt good to see again my parents, my friends, and all the familiar places of my childhood.
For one week I steeped myself in the warm, intimate atmosphere.
To my parents I said I was going on a trip with a girl-friend.
At 7:17, at the station I took the train for Innsbruck and Dr. Luftmann.
I took a room at a hotel and, at 5 p.m. I rang at the door of a superb modern building the residence of the famous Doctor Luftmann.
A maid, who looked as if she had stepped right out of a Rembrandt picture opened the door.
Half in French and half in German I managed to explain that I wanted to see the doctor and I showed her the introductory card that had been given to me by Dr. Seaburg.
She said, "Yes, madam," and told me to wait in the waiting-room.
Soon afterwards a nurse entered, and she looked like a Greuze picture thin, blonde and very delicate of feature.
In a halting, but correct French, she told me:
"Very honored Mrs. Peters, I shall transmit the card from Dr. Seaburg to the Herr Doktor and he will soon receive you."
In fact, she soon came back and, opening for me a heavy padded door, ushered me into the psychoanalyst's office.
He came to greet me and I thought I had a hallucination for he looked strikingly like someone I knew.
I thought it was him at first, but, looking at him more attentively, I noticed he was taller and thinner. Anyway, the resemblance was astounding same face, same military manner.
When he spoke, I noticed similarity in the voice also hard and guttural.
He bowed very stiffly and introduced himself and I could nearly hear his heels click.
"Professor Doktor Luftmann. Delighted, Madam, to make the acquaintance of the wife of the famous specialist Peters and the daughter of the likewise famous Doctor Delac."
Please be seated."
I sat down, and, without wasting any time, outlined the purpose of my visit.
He listened to me attentively and not one muscle of his face moved.
When I had finished, he said:
"Have you told me everything, Madam?"
"I believe I have."
"Good. Now I shall ask you a few questions. How old are you."
"Twenty two."
"How long have you been married."
"About two years."
"How old were you when, for the first time, your friend Marie touched your breasts and fondled your vagina?"
"Twelve or thirteen."
"And you were sixteen or seventeen, I believe you told me, when you had sex with a male for the first time, is that so?"
"That's right."
"So, to sum up, you feel only a slight pleasant sensation when a man or a woman caresses your sexual genitals. You have never reached a total sensation a complete orgasmic spasm?"
"Never."
"When do you feel a stronger sensation when a woman caresses your vagina or when a man makes love with his sex organ?"
"There's no difference, although, with my two lovers and my husband, the sensation lasts longer."
"Good. So you're not a Lesbian."
Then he motioned me to a couch and told me to undress completely.
I complied.
When I was naked he rang a bell, and the pretty nurse came in.
In a polite but curt tone he ordered: "Please take notes, Miss."
"Stethoscope: normal.
Sphygmomanometer: 10.6 normal but slightly weak.
Opeculum, please.
Thanks. Now madam, please draw your legs apart. Good.
Vaginal probe, Miss. Thanks."
His examination of my pussy was very thorough. I practically felt his eyeballs on my clitoris.
At last, he told me:
"Now, madam, relax completely and forget you are in a consultation office with a psychoanalyst and try to have erotic thoughts.
For instance, suppose your husband is going to sexually take you, or that a woman is caressing your breasts and vagina, anything you like, provided you put yourself in a voluptuous, carnal atmosphere."
Well, really, I ask you. As if what he asked me was easy to do.
But, well, I would try.
I started recalling the naked body of my husband when he was about to shove his erected cock into me.
I thought of my two lovers and the erotic and complicated positions they made me take.
I also thought of Marie in the cabin and of how she had bared to me her two milky-white breasts and her exciting buttocks and how we had played with each others cunts, how we had sucked and tongued each other.
I heard the professor say rapidly a few words in a low voice to the nurse. I could not catch what he said, for my knowledge of Austrian is not too bright.
But I saw the nurse smile and then she started slowly and gently to knead my naked teats and to caress my thighs where the skin is at its softest, then my stomach, my hips and she ended up with a precise and prolonged caress of my bush.
I must say it was far from unpleasant, her fingers opening the lips of my pussy and stroking the moist, inner folds.
I sighed a little, as her fingers stiffened my clitoris.
"That will do, miss," the professor ordered.
Then to me:
"You can get dressed, now, madam." He sat himself at his desk. I got dressed and sat opposite him in an armchair.
He offered me a cigarette, lit it for me and, in a friendly tone, although still in his guttural accent, he told me:
"Madame, you're a doctor's wife and a doctor's daughter and you've come here to know the truth, I suppose?"
"The whole truth however hard it may be," I answered firmly.
"I thought so. So I shall be brief and blunt."
I felt my heart beat faster when he said that. He went on:
"You're normally constituted ovaries, womb, vagina, etc., everything is in a perfect state. Physically you are in excellent health. Unfortunately."
"Why unfortunately?"
"Yes, I insist, unfortunately. If it were only a disease or a physical deformation, it could be put right with a simple surgical operation. But that is not your case.
Your case is purely psychological, and, alas, frequent.
You're normal in everything, but your subconscious does not react as it should in sexual matters.
You respond to an intimate feminine caress of your privates. I realized it from the experiment made by my nurse but orgasm, the total feeling, does not come off."
"Is it incurable?"
"Cerebrally speaking, no. A nervous shock can trigger off that voluptuousness to which you rightly aspire."
"What sort of a shock?"
"I can't tell you precisely. But perhaps anew sex partner, or the atmosphere in which the love-making will take place, the climate, the place, any of those things might induce there-flex in your brain that will trigger off orgasm.
And once you have achieved the first orgasm, your nervous system will once for all remain normal and you will be cured."
"In other words, you're advising me to experiment with lovers?"
"Madam, I'm not afraid of words. You've come to consult me and I've indicated to you a way that might lead to a cure. It's up to you to follow it or not. That is your responsibility. I must say that it won't be sufficient just to have lovers. You will have to travel, to change your habits, climate and way of life.
In short, you must try new variations of places, penises and, well.. . .lovers."
"And you think I'll be successful?"
"I sincerely believe so. I've been blunt, madam, but I've told you the truth. You can and you must get well."
He rose from his seat, as a signal that the consultation was over.
I gave him an envelope, saying:
"For you, Professor."
He gently put out a refusing hand and said: "Madam, I can accept no fees from the wife of a distinguished, Dr. Peters."
"Then perhaps you will accept the contents of this envelope for one of your deserving cases or for charity, Herr Doktor."
He hesitated a moment, then took the envelope.
Then he transformed himself.
He was now no longer the psychoanalyst. He became again the officer, soldier of the last war.
Stiffer than ever, he stared at me and whispered:
"Madam, I accept your gift for the unfortunate who were blinded in the last war. Some people say I am a brute, madam, and it's true, but you see, my elder brother was a lieutenant. In an advance he charged at the head of his regiment. He was hit by a bullet and became blind. He lived for ten years in total darkness. So.. . . , you understand?"
"Certainly, Herr Doktor, certainly."
He took my hand and kissed it, bowing very low and with his heels together.
"Good bye, madam, and good luck in your shock for "orgasmus."
The heavy padded door closed behind me.
I returned to my folks first, then to England.
There, I found my husband, nicer and more affectionate than ever.
In spite of my youth, I was an energetic woman. I did not hesitate to talk to him without waiting:
On the very evening of my arrival, when I was fucking in bed with him, I said:
"My darling, I had a wonderful stay in Switzerland but, unfortunately, I have bad news for you."
He looked fixedly at me with anxious eyes.
"Don't get frightened, darling, it's not so bad. It's like this.
I didn't want to trouble you, so I didn't tell you, but the fact is that, for the last few weeks in London, I wasn't feeling very well. So I went to consult a doctor, a friend of my father's."
"And?"
"And he told me that the state of my health is not excellent. The climate of Britain, is no good to me. What I need is a trip in warmer climates, and particularly in drier countries. I must go away from the London fog for some time.
He advised me to take a cruise to one of the countries where there is a lot of sunlight, where the sky is blue and bright, in short, far away from these gray northern lands."
My husband squeezed my tits, in his hands and with his tender voice, which was one of his most charming assets, he told me:
"My darling, you can imagine how sad it will be for me to see you go away for a length of time. But there's no question about it. Your health is at stake, so you should go as soon as possible and remain away as long as it is necessary."
Brave Rodney. I thought he would answer just as he did, and I'd been right.
Some people might tell me I was deliberately deceiving him.
It's always easy to criticize.
My aim was laudable and would result in eventual greater hump-pleasure for him.
Thank God, I have a sufficiently enlightened mind not to worry about the ways and means long as I reach my goal.
So, I was deliberately planning to have extramarital fuckings, and all the while I was swearing I loved my husband.
That's right.
My future humpers were going to be for me only subjects for experiments like guinea-pigs, they would serve me to get a cure. I would look upon their stiff cocks like medicine to help me find a cure.
I felt, that I would be deceiving my husband less than the overwhelming majority of certain women who claim to be perfectly honest, and yet who cast suggestive looks towards handsome fellows on beaches. Who, when they fuck with their husbands, close their eyes, and imagine it is the handsome fellows in place of their husbands.
Those women have no lovers and despise women who have one, but they practically come when they hear the latest heartthrob crooner sing on the radio, and they have erotic dreams during which some handsome screen actors shove it up their deprived twats with very daring caresses.
I left England a fortnight later.
When my husband accompanied me to the airport I felt uneasy and sad. I had a kind of emotion that hurt me a little inside my chest.
He held me for a moment in his arms and told me in his beautiful grave voice which I loved so much:
"Darling, I hadn't told you about it, but I had noticed that lately you seemed to have a few melancholy moments which are contrary to your normal gay character.
That's why I'm sure your trip will be good for you and that my darling wife will come back to me gay and full of joie de vivre, and more beautiful than ever."
I squeezed him against me and said tenderly and with perfect sincerity:
"Darling, I adore you," and every thought and action I do will be for us. I meant that. In spite of my plans to offer my pussy to every variety of strange prick, I was doing it for Rodney.
Before I started my search for the big magic prick that would unlock the joys of my orgasm, I decided to see my family first. After a visit of a few days, I left for the south of France.