For those who enjoyed Ownership Part I, I have published Part II.
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/ownership---part-ii---woodland-park/16640261
The third and final part will be available in June.
Enjoy
CB
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Stroking the Male - Segment V
Saturday evening, Susan types a polite email, thanking Mrs. Breckenridge for her visit, relieved that before departing, the ruler firmly tapped away at Randy’s bare buttocks, making him reveal the location of his entire stash of porn... behind some storage boxes in the basement. Quite the collection! And all turned over to Mrs. Breckenridge. Her large over the shoulder bag became stuffed.
In observing Mrs. Breckenridge so deftly handle Randy, she has agreed to further therapy. Most serendipitously, it seems Mrs. Breckenridge lives within walking distance of Randy’s school. And thus Susan’s next task is to inform school administration that he will not be riding the school bus home on Tuesday and Friday afternoons. He’ll instead be visiting Ms. Breckenridge for dire therapy.
Susan hits ‘send’ then sits back, enjoying a cup of tea. Despite her many years of biological study, she had not before so attentively witnessed the process of male ejaculation. She feels now informed... amused... and relieved.
Informed in better understanding the abundance to be so forcefully excreted by the fecund teenaged male. In finishing the deed, Mrs. Breckenridge proved to be quite adroit having Randy explode, emptying himself into the yellow dog’s bowl on the floor between his feet... then ‘milking him’... Mrs. Breckenridge’s words for post eruption massage of the prostate gland while slowly drawing her fingers down a rapidly softening penis shaft. Susan was surprised to see Randy slowly drool even more gooey effluent.
So clinical... so thorough... and indeed so neat. Not a drop spilled.! And the collected mass was impressive.
Amused as a spent Randy, entering a notable stupor of post ejaculation repose, was pushed from Mrs. Breckendridge’s lap and commanded to take the bowl to the kitchen and clean it. His look was comically sheepish... normally leaving the mess on bed sheets for big sister Susan to launder.
Relieved that soiled sheets and reams of nasty sadomasochistic depictions are no longer in the house, Susan finds the requested fifty dollars to be more than reasonable. There remains some concern over Randy’s penis. Still, Mrs. Breckenridge’s distinctive tactic for handling male masturbation addiction has always worked... and the harm relatively minor.
And seeing the look on Randy’s face as he was forced to discharge was priceless.
Susan’s thoughts are interrupted as brother Randy, pajamas suggesting bedtime, saunters into the den... his earlier sheepishness transforming to quiet shyness.
“How is your penis?” Susan bluntly inquires... as advised by Mrs. Breckenridge.
“Sore.”
“It will heal... in a day or so. No touching,” Susan offering a knowing smile with her maternal advice.
“Did she have to do it... like that?”
“It is best for you. It’s the beginning of your cure. That was quite the repository you had in the basement. Wherever did such urges come from?” Susan well supposing the answer to her own question.
Yes, she has been forced to step into the shoes of a maternal figure. And without a father, Randy needs a stern one. Is it her attentive but exacting care that is the catalyst?
It matters not, Susan supposes. Help is on its way.
“Let me see your penis. You’ve kept it moist?”
“Yes, sis,” a glum Randy responds, pulling downward on the elastic waist band of his pajamas.
Susan extends her left hand and gently palms the penis tip, lifting for better viewing. The fingers of the right then quickly press back the foreskin exposing a well chafed penis tip. Susan, having so often performed the chore of cleansing smegma from her adolescent brother, is equally adept in handling the male organ... her talent acquired differently from that of Mrs. Breckenridge.
“It’s fine. It will be ready for more counseling on Tuesday,” Susan pleasantly suggests with a grin. “Do apply more ointment... then go to bed.”
Randy rights his pajama bottoms and departs, Susan amused that his penis is now objectified... no longer an organ for male gratification... instead to become an object for female care... proper care... sans the stimulus of deviant pornography.
Susan takes another sip of tea and marvels. Mrs. Breckenridge’s timing, no doubt acquired over many years of masturbating addicted boys, was exquisite. Her bacon greased right hand slowly stroked as Susan displayed page after page of leather clad women and well restrained males, bringing young Randy into a frothy plateau of sexual stimulation. Then in sensing pending climax, Mrs. Breckenridge reached for that one object requested in her email that Susan could not fully understand... a wad of steel wool. Its usefulness came to light as she first palmed then most irritatingly continued her stroking, pointing Randy’s erection downward to forestall ejaculation. After several moments abrading the shaft with the steel wool, she next firmly rubbed the super sensitive engorged penis tip to bring it to painful rawness.
It was only then that Mrs. Breckenridge offered the proper angle, shifting so that Randy’s chafed and raw penis pointed to the bowl and, penetrating fingers evidently pressing the prostate, finally permitted an eruption... a painful and most aggravating one.
And all while viewing his favorite stimulus.
Susan sips again, now understanding Mrs. Breckenridge’s effective therapeutic methods... immersion into what addicts... and while bearing pain not pleasure.
Yes, Randy howled in agony... while his stiffness was forced to explode into the dog’s bowl. Normally a deed of great male ecstasy was transformed. It seems that to Mrs. Breckenridge’s lubricating concoction has been added salt. With the penile flesh chafed open, it greatly augmented the irritating stinging of the otherwise harmless bacon fat.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
To augment your reading
F/Y/I, Dr. Rylie has developed a new product Monkey Milk Personal Lube.
Samples available at www.rnrtantra.com
Product available at monkeymilkr_r on eBay
Could be quite handy while reading the blog, etc.
Samples available at www.rnrtantra.com
Product available at monkeymilkr_r on eBay
Could be quite handy while reading the blog, etc.
Stroking the Male - Segment IV
Susan is both aghast and amused as she hears muffled shouts, brother Randy apparently protesting in being gruffly drawn from deep sleep. Then she hears a door open, more blubbering and the sound of a thwack... on naked skin!
Down the stairs, Mrs. Breckenridge leads brother Randy, thumb and index finger firmly grasping an ear, ruler offering correcting taps to the buttocks.
His hands grasping a magazine, Randy is otherwise naked! And Mrs. Breckenridge is far from nonplussed.
“Yes, it’s typical of boys with this bent,” Mrs. Breckenridge’s voice becoming admirably stern. “They sleep completely naked so they can frottage against the sheets well into the night... and mornings as well...”
Indeed. Though Randy is trying to shield his pubes with the magazine, Susan shifts, her eyes noting that though he is not erect, his lengthy uncircumised manhood is not flaccid either. And it may be her imagination, but Mrs. Breckenridge’s brusque handling seems to be fostering a further degree of swelling.
“Caught him! Look at this filth!” the ruler pointing to the pornographic publication in Randy’s hands.
“Who is this, Sis?” Randy’s voice most distraught.
Susan smiles, the introduction apropos.
“It’s the visitor I told you I was expecting... Mrs. Breckenridge. She offers therapy... for boys with a particular problem. What is that you’re reading Randy? Would you like to share it with us?”
An imposing Mrs. Breckenridge, well aware of Randy’s stash of lurid porn, has evidently raided the nest, coercing Randy to expose what he has otherwise thought to be a furtive habit. Sister Susan’s questions thus distract Randy from further protestation. As Susan looks on smugly, Randy better grasps his standing... naked before two women... semi erect and engorging... arousing filth in hand. He turns to silence, feeling his heart pound, his flesh burning as his blushing brings pink turning to crimson.
Finally Mrs. Breckenridge steps into the breech of embarrassed silence.
“I’ve examined your bed sheets Randy. Seems you’re aptly named,” further tugging on the lad’s ear to bring him to the sofa where the stain laden once white bedding lies well displayed. “What’s all this discoloration? Seems you have no concerns about having your sister clean up after your male mess.”
“I... I...” a humiliated Randy searches for words not to come.
“Nothing to say? Well I think you need to be taught cleanliness... and more deference to a woman’s kind attentiveness. Give that obscene magazine to your sister. Then we’ll sit and have a talk.”
Randy remorsefully hands over what he appears to treat as a treasure. Mrs. Breckenridge smirks as she again tugs... to the straight backed chair occupying a place of prominence in the center of the livingroom. There she finally releases Randy’s ear, places the ruler aside, hikes up her skirt and sits. Susan is surprised to see well shaped, firm thighs on the woman of maturity.
“Face your sister, straddle my thighs and sit... you young scamp!” the tone most commanding.
As Randy obeys, he feels his penis further harden. What is happening? Then he hears the snap of rubber as Mrs. Breckenridge finishes rummaging about the assembled items requested in her email and dons latex gloves.
“This is your bowl, Randy. I understand it was once utilized by the family dog. Seems most appropriate that you should now use it,” Mrs. Breckenridge dropping the yellow plastic saucer to the floor between Randy’s feet.
Next Mrs. Breckenridge reaches for her large bag and extracts a jar.
“My own concoction, Susan. Bacon fat. In time the scent brings them all to harden for me just in opening the jar.”
The lid is removed. The room air indeed wafts with the fragrance of bacon and Mrs. Breckenridge first coats her gloves, then smears Randy’s gluteal cleft, cackling in seeing him lurch with the unexpected invasion.
“Now sit... slowly. Relax that tight little sphincter of yours. You’ll sense some discomfort... at first. In time all you rascals come to enjoy it... a woman taking command of that useless little gland.”
Susan immediately understands the anal assault... Mrs. Breckenridge well aware of the prostate and the quirky male affinity for manipulation there. There is quick and distant regret. What mental anguish has she brought to brother Randy? But the sense of reluctance quickly fades as Susan looks to the soiled sheets, then to her hands... holding the disgusting female dominant portrayals Randy so guiltily covets.
Susan looks up as she hears Randy gasp. The knowing fingers of Mrs. Breckenridge’s left hand have evidently penetrated, slipping past the well lubricated purse string muscle. There comes another cackle as Randy again lurches, becoming a puppet on a string.
“Now, since you’re so wont to spray about your male seed... and do so while glaring at photographic filth... I’ve found it best for boys like you do to so neatly... and under feminine supervision. Susan, would you please entertain your brother with some of his favorite porn. Stand before him and slowly thumb through a few of the disgusting pages.”
Susan pauses to see the look of Randy... there is fright... but there is a well cloaked joy... his penis now raging as Mrs. Breckenridge no doubt works her fingers well within.
Ah, such comeuppance, Susan realizes... appropriate comeuppance... Randy forced to share his deep secret... while stripped naked... before two women... his bare thighs so sensually abrading she who is very much in control of his manliness. Despite the ignominy, Randy’s right hand cannot resist. The impressive hard on beckons.
“No, no, Randy... that’s now a woman’s task,” pushing aside the beseeching hand. “We do it so much neater. I’m going to jerk you off into your bowl... and you’re going to thank me for it.”
Down the stairs, Mrs. Breckenridge leads brother Randy, thumb and index finger firmly grasping an ear, ruler offering correcting taps to the buttocks.
His hands grasping a magazine, Randy is otherwise naked! And Mrs. Breckenridge is far from nonplussed.
“Yes, it’s typical of boys with this bent,” Mrs. Breckenridge’s voice becoming admirably stern. “They sleep completely naked so they can frottage against the sheets well into the night... and mornings as well...”
Indeed. Though Randy is trying to shield his pubes with the magazine, Susan shifts, her eyes noting that though he is not erect, his lengthy uncircumised manhood is not flaccid either. And it may be her imagination, but Mrs. Breckenridge’s brusque handling seems to be fostering a further degree of swelling.
“Caught him! Look at this filth!” the ruler pointing to the pornographic publication in Randy’s hands.
“Who is this, Sis?” Randy’s voice most distraught.
Susan smiles, the introduction apropos.
“It’s the visitor I told you I was expecting... Mrs. Breckenridge. She offers therapy... for boys with a particular problem. What is that you’re reading Randy? Would you like to share it with us?”
An imposing Mrs. Breckenridge, well aware of Randy’s stash of lurid porn, has evidently raided the nest, coercing Randy to expose what he has otherwise thought to be a furtive habit. Sister Susan’s questions thus distract Randy from further protestation. As Susan looks on smugly, Randy better grasps his standing... naked before two women... semi erect and engorging... arousing filth in hand. He turns to silence, feeling his heart pound, his flesh burning as his blushing brings pink turning to crimson.
Finally Mrs. Breckenridge steps into the breech of embarrassed silence.
“I’ve examined your bed sheets Randy. Seems you’re aptly named,” further tugging on the lad’s ear to bring him to the sofa where the stain laden once white bedding lies well displayed. “What’s all this discoloration? Seems you have no concerns about having your sister clean up after your male mess.”
“I... I...” a humiliated Randy searches for words not to come.
“Nothing to say? Well I think you need to be taught cleanliness... and more deference to a woman’s kind attentiveness. Give that obscene magazine to your sister. Then we’ll sit and have a talk.”
Randy remorsefully hands over what he appears to treat as a treasure. Mrs. Breckenridge smirks as she again tugs... to the straight backed chair occupying a place of prominence in the center of the livingroom. There she finally releases Randy’s ear, places the ruler aside, hikes up her skirt and sits. Susan is surprised to see well shaped, firm thighs on the woman of maturity.
“Face your sister, straddle my thighs and sit... you young scamp!” the tone most commanding.
As Randy obeys, he feels his penis further harden. What is happening? Then he hears the snap of rubber as Mrs. Breckenridge finishes rummaging about the assembled items requested in her email and dons latex gloves.
“This is your bowl, Randy. I understand it was once utilized by the family dog. Seems most appropriate that you should now use it,” Mrs. Breckenridge dropping the yellow plastic saucer to the floor between Randy’s feet.
Next Mrs. Breckenridge reaches for her large bag and extracts a jar.
“My own concoction, Susan. Bacon fat. In time the scent brings them all to harden for me just in opening the jar.”
The lid is removed. The room air indeed wafts with the fragrance of bacon and Mrs. Breckenridge first coats her gloves, then smears Randy’s gluteal cleft, cackling in seeing him lurch with the unexpected invasion.
“Now sit... slowly. Relax that tight little sphincter of yours. You’ll sense some discomfort... at first. In time all you rascals come to enjoy it... a woman taking command of that useless little gland.”
Susan immediately understands the anal assault... Mrs. Breckenridge well aware of the prostate and the quirky male affinity for manipulation there. There is quick and distant regret. What mental anguish has she brought to brother Randy? But the sense of reluctance quickly fades as Susan looks to the soiled sheets, then to her hands... holding the disgusting female dominant portrayals Randy so guiltily covets.
Susan looks up as she hears Randy gasp. The knowing fingers of Mrs. Breckenridge’s left hand have evidently penetrated, slipping past the well lubricated purse string muscle. There comes another cackle as Randy again lurches, becoming a puppet on a string.
“Now, since you’re so wont to spray about your male seed... and do so while glaring at photographic filth... I’ve found it best for boys like you do to so neatly... and under feminine supervision. Susan, would you please entertain your brother with some of his favorite porn. Stand before him and slowly thumb through a few of the disgusting pages.”
Susan pauses to see the look of Randy... there is fright... but there is a well cloaked joy... his penis now raging as Mrs. Breckenridge no doubt works her fingers well within.
Ah, such comeuppance, Susan realizes... appropriate comeuppance... Randy forced to share his deep secret... while stripped naked... before two women... his bare thighs so sensually abrading she who is very much in control of his manliness. Despite the ignominy, Randy’s right hand cannot resist. The impressive hard on beckons.
“No, no, Randy... that’s now a woman’s task,” pushing aside the beseeching hand. “We do it so much neater. I’m going to jerk you off into your bowl... and you’re going to thank me for it.”
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Important note for purchasers of 'Stroking the Male'
It has come to my attention that in the Lulu edition of 'Stroking the Male', I neglected to set the time line (as has been properly reflected on the blog). The story begins in March 2005. I have since corrected the Lulu version and hopefully readers will not be confused or upset by my oversight.
CB
CB
Stroking the Male - Segment III
Saturday morning, Susan rereads the email of Mrs. Breckenridge. Items mostly already about the house are to be at the ready. She supposes not everyone has a straight backed wooden chair available, one with narrow seat. But it so happens the dining room furniture precisely fits Mrs. Breckenridge’s need. She thus moves a chair into the middle of the livingroom, pushing aside a sofa and coffee table, following Mrs. Breckenridge’s instructions.
In completing the task, Melanie descends from her bedroom. A trip to the mall is planned with friends. With the hour of ten approaching, Melanie’s timed departure is perfect, lifting an element of concern.
After Melanie bids adieu, the final item on Mrs. Breckenridge’s list can be procured. Susan steps to the basement and retrieves the stained sheet stripped the morning before from Randy’s bed. When she returns to the bright sunlit livingroom, for the first time she examines the evidence of Randy’s self pleasure with specificity. Beige and yellowish splotch’s abound, his fomenting virility bringing masturbation to a nightly undertaking.
With Susan’s extensive biological instruction, she is fully aware of the male’s awakening needs. But the catalyst for the many eruptions... that is of concern. A newly acquired glossy publication of smut was yesterday found. More bondage. More leather clad women. Wherever does he procure it?
It is no wonder he sleeps late, is lethargic in his studies and his sporting efforts are found to be less than energetic.
The doorbell rings. It is precisely ten a.m. How would she expect the likes of Mrs. Breckenridge to be less than punctilious?
“Mrs. Breckenridge, I presume,” Susan beaming in greeting pleasantly. “I didn’t hear your car.”
“I walked.”
As the plainly dressed woman nods and returns the salutation, Susan visually inspects.
Mrs. Breckenridge totes a sizable over the shoulder bag and appears as her voice and choice of words would suggest. Hair of grey, short, limited make up, no visible jewelry, her initial smile rapidly fades, the effort to return the pleasantry appearing to be a strain.
There is no doubt the woman is a disciplinarian, the handsome face weathered, projecting what appears to be a permanent frown.
“Is your brother about?” Mrs. Breckridge quite focused.
“Upstairs. He sleeps late on Saturdays. I told him I was expecting a visitor...”
“And his younger sister?”
“Just left... for most of the day.”
Susan advises as she leads the dour woman into the livingroom. Mrs. Breckenridge immediately steps to the couch where lies the evidence... bedding encrusted with male seed.
“Tsk, tsk, your brother has been active... hasn’t he?” Mrs. Breckenridge inspecting with like precision. “Has trouble getting out of bed does he? Late for school?”
“Why, yes. Barely has time for breakfast.”
“We can change that. After I offer a sampling of my... my behavior modification... we’ll talk. I’m nearby. I can see Randy once a week. Though in counting the many deposits here twice per week may be best.”
“Well, we’re living on a limited budget...”
“So I understand. But this shouldn’t be allowed to continue,” Mrs. Breckenridge bluntly pointing to a particularly large circular stain of light yellow. “He’ll be more obedient... and certainly less frisky with some... ah... term it discipline. $50 per week... it’s as reasonable as I can be.”
“Well, there has been money put aside for music lessons... with no interest expressed to date.”
“Good. You don’t have a problem with male nudity?”
Susan laughs, recalling the many classes of anatomy, one curious session in which she examined an unclothed male volunteer quite intimately.
“No. I used to change Randy’s diapers... many years ago.”
“Then you’ll have no problem watching. For Randy it is best. And I see you’ve been quite attentive to my email,” a surprisingly strong hand gesturing to the assemblage of items resting on a proximate coffee table. “The bowl will become quite symbolic for him. I trust you’ll not need it for other uses.”
“No. The dog is long gone.”
“Good. Then it’s time we begin.”
“I’ll awaken him.”
“No. Point to his room. I’ll bring him down,” Mrs. Breckenridge zipping open her bag.
With that she brings into the room light a flat wooden stick, appearing to be a ruler, yet with numbers well worn. In brandishing it, Mrs. Breckenridge smiles. Despite the brevity of the introductory moments, Susan has come to understand such is rare.
In completing the task, Melanie descends from her bedroom. A trip to the mall is planned with friends. With the hour of ten approaching, Melanie’s timed departure is perfect, lifting an element of concern.
After Melanie bids adieu, the final item on Mrs. Breckenridge’s list can be procured. Susan steps to the basement and retrieves the stained sheet stripped the morning before from Randy’s bed. When she returns to the bright sunlit livingroom, for the first time she examines the evidence of Randy’s self pleasure with specificity. Beige and yellowish splotch’s abound, his fomenting virility bringing masturbation to a nightly undertaking.
With Susan’s extensive biological instruction, she is fully aware of the male’s awakening needs. But the catalyst for the many eruptions... that is of concern. A newly acquired glossy publication of smut was yesterday found. More bondage. More leather clad women. Wherever does he procure it?
It is no wonder he sleeps late, is lethargic in his studies and his sporting efforts are found to be less than energetic.
The doorbell rings. It is precisely ten a.m. How would she expect the likes of Mrs. Breckenridge to be less than punctilious?
“Mrs. Breckenridge, I presume,” Susan beaming in greeting pleasantly. “I didn’t hear your car.”
“I walked.”
As the plainly dressed woman nods and returns the salutation, Susan visually inspects.
Mrs. Breckenridge totes a sizable over the shoulder bag and appears as her voice and choice of words would suggest. Hair of grey, short, limited make up, no visible jewelry, her initial smile rapidly fades, the effort to return the pleasantry appearing to be a strain.
There is no doubt the woman is a disciplinarian, the handsome face weathered, projecting what appears to be a permanent frown.
“Is your brother about?” Mrs. Breckridge quite focused.
“Upstairs. He sleeps late on Saturdays. I told him I was expecting a visitor...”
“And his younger sister?”
“Just left... for most of the day.”
Susan advises as she leads the dour woman into the livingroom. Mrs. Breckenridge immediately steps to the couch where lies the evidence... bedding encrusted with male seed.
“Tsk, tsk, your brother has been active... hasn’t he?” Mrs. Breckenridge inspecting with like precision. “Has trouble getting out of bed does he? Late for school?”
“Why, yes. Barely has time for breakfast.”
“We can change that. After I offer a sampling of my... my behavior modification... we’ll talk. I’m nearby. I can see Randy once a week. Though in counting the many deposits here twice per week may be best.”
“Well, we’re living on a limited budget...”
“So I understand. But this shouldn’t be allowed to continue,” Mrs. Breckenridge bluntly pointing to a particularly large circular stain of light yellow. “He’ll be more obedient... and certainly less frisky with some... ah... term it discipline. $50 per week... it’s as reasonable as I can be.”
“Well, there has been money put aside for music lessons... with no interest expressed to date.”
“Good. You don’t have a problem with male nudity?”
Susan laughs, recalling the many classes of anatomy, one curious session in which she examined an unclothed male volunteer quite intimately.
“No. I used to change Randy’s diapers... many years ago.”
“Then you’ll have no problem watching. For Randy it is best. And I see you’ve been quite attentive to my email,” a surprisingly strong hand gesturing to the assemblage of items resting on a proximate coffee table. “The bowl will become quite symbolic for him. I trust you’ll not need it for other uses.”
“No. The dog is long gone.”
“Good. Then it’s time we begin.”
“I’ll awaken him.”
“No. Point to his room. I’ll bring him down,” Mrs. Breckenridge zipping open her bag.
With that she brings into the room light a flat wooden stick, appearing to be a ruler, yet with numbers well worn. In brandishing it, Mrs. Breckenridge smiles. Despite the brevity of the introductory moments, Susan has come to understand such is rare.
Sunday, April 5, 2015
Stroking the Male published
For those who choose to read ahead, at the cost of $3.25, the complete short story (10,900 words) is available on Lulu.
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/stroking-the-male/16555545
Saturday, April 4, 2015
Stroking the Male - Segment II
Susan bathes. More chores will soon come, dinner preparation for siblings too young in Melanie’s case... or too inattentive in Randy’s case... to ready a nutritious meal.
She dries herself, dresses and descends to the kitchen. Removing various items from the refrigerator she realizes a quick check of her email must come now or be delayed well into the evening.
Strolling to the den, a nimble click of the mouse reveals mail has been received. A timely reply to her Craig’s List quest.
Ms. Susan,
I read your email with assiduity.
Such heartbreak for you, such contemptible behavior on the part of your brother. Young males are given to discover themselves, that I have dealt with quite forthrightly, many times over many years.
But the catalyst for your brother’s self arousal is most daunting for you and disturbing to me.
We should speak. I can help. All information is held in strict confidence of course.
Mrs. Matilda Breckenridge
The note ends with a phone number. Susan smiles in noting the term 'assiduity', Mrs. Breckenridge evidently a woman of letters.
Should she call? The area code is local, the exchange familiar. In contemplating her response, the buzz of the clothes dryer denotes the laundry’s completion, reminding Susan of the purging of young Randy’s seed from sheets well soiled. To be splattered again?
There is time. A casserole into the oven, she’ll have Melanie make the salad. Athletics for Randy and drama club for Melanie bring the school bus late on Fridays.
Returning to the den, she dials the offered number, shutting the door to assure privacy should there be an earlier than expected homecoming.
“Hello,” the tone high pitched, nasal and mature, comfortingly mature.
“This is Susan, in response to your email.”
“Oh, yes, you poor girl. A brother into nasty porn... and such deviant porn. It is good that you have called. At his age such conduct does not bode well... for you as well as him.”
Small talk ensues, Susan learning of the vast experience of Mrs. Matilda Breckenridge in handling boys. Susan’s concerns are further mollified.
When the subject of befouled bedding is broached, Susan shyly smiles. She learns she is not alone.
“I can best help by meeting your brother. You’re nearby?”
Susan’s concern for confidentiality assuaged, she offers her address.
“Perhaps next Saturday, one week from tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.. I’ll send you an email of things I will need. Meanwhile it is best not to confront the tyke. I will handle that.”
“That will work fine, Mrs. Breckenridge. I’ll assure his sister Melanie is with a friend.”
“Yes, that would be best... for now.”
In hanging up, Susan wonders if her trust is misplaced. But for the tone of voice... erudite... the choice of words... scholarly... the detailed descriptions of interaction with pubescent males... she would never be so forthright... in the information divulged... with the invitation to her home.
She dries herself, dresses and descends to the kitchen. Removing various items from the refrigerator she realizes a quick check of her email must come now or be delayed well into the evening.
Strolling to the den, a nimble click of the mouse reveals mail has been received. A timely reply to her Craig’s List quest.
Ms. Susan,
I read your email with assiduity.
Such heartbreak for you, such contemptible behavior on the part of your brother. Young males are given to discover themselves, that I have dealt with quite forthrightly, many times over many years.
But the catalyst for your brother’s self arousal is most daunting for you and disturbing to me.
We should speak. I can help. All information is held in strict confidence of course.
Mrs. Matilda Breckenridge
The note ends with a phone number. Susan smiles in noting the term 'assiduity', Mrs. Breckenridge evidently a woman of letters.
Should she call? The area code is local, the exchange familiar. In contemplating her response, the buzz of the clothes dryer denotes the laundry’s completion, reminding Susan of the purging of young Randy’s seed from sheets well soiled. To be splattered again?
There is time. A casserole into the oven, she’ll have Melanie make the salad. Athletics for Randy and drama club for Melanie bring the school bus late on Fridays.
Returning to the den, she dials the offered number, shutting the door to assure privacy should there be an earlier than expected homecoming.
“Hello,” the tone high pitched, nasal and mature, comfortingly mature.
“This is Susan, in response to your email.”
“Oh, yes, you poor girl. A brother into nasty porn... and such deviant porn. It is good that you have called. At his age such conduct does not bode well... for you as well as him.”
Small talk ensues, Susan learning of the vast experience of Mrs. Matilda Breckenridge in handling boys. Susan’s concerns are further mollified.
When the subject of befouled bedding is broached, Susan shyly smiles. She learns she is not alone.
“I can best help by meeting your brother. You’re nearby?”
Susan’s concern for confidentiality assuaged, she offers her address.
“Perhaps next Saturday, one week from tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.. I’ll send you an email of things I will need. Meanwhile it is best not to confront the tyke. I will handle that.”
“That will work fine, Mrs. Breckenridge. I’ll assure his sister Melanie is with a friend.”
“Yes, that would be best... for now.”
In hanging up, Susan wonders if her trust is misplaced. But for the tone of voice... erudite... the choice of words... scholarly... the detailed descriptions of interaction with pubescent males... she would never be so forthright... in the information divulged... with the invitation to her home.
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