She had had no intention of taking the box of lemons, coffee cup or paper’s off me so that I could retrieve my shorts and cover up. I had not moved an inch as I watched her walk get back onto the deck then turn and settle into her deck chair. Kat looked at my cock and then looked up to my eyes and said she was quite impressed with the package, which looks even better close up than it does from this distance. “Are you going to stand there and grow tall?” as she had watched my cock go from just hanging to pointing upwards and outwards, and now it was twice its earlier girth “or are you going to come to the table and deliver the goods” My brain was confused with the innuendos and mixed messages it was receiving. Going from commando style to bare butt, and having a very sexually charged fuck able twenty-three year old in front of me, my body was telegraphing its own messages loud and clear. I could feel my cock thickening and stretching itself out as it began to strengthen and bend. Occasionally, a client would inquire as to why exactly this question was asked. Angela would explain its helpfulness by describing how the status could psychologically relate back to the patient’s clinical issue, which seemed to satisfy most. Personally, Paula didn’t totally understand the significance of the question herself, but she had been witnessing Angela’s practically flawless record for these four years, so she knew her employer must be doing something very right. What Paula didn’t know, however, was that for (not all but many of) these men, the Starr Treatment entailed just a bit more than the receptionist was privy to. On this day at 2:00 p.m., a new client was scheduled to come in for his first session. His name was Timothy. Angela had examined his form, giving it a quick once-over before tossing Paula the thumbs-up to send him in. ‘Timothy Jacobs?’ Paula called. A trim, lanky man in his early 30s stood up. Handing his insurance and identification cards back to him, Paula.
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