experienceisbest: The Pussy Whisperer She was feeling…

experienceisbest:

The Pussy Whisperer

She was feeling frustrated again when she arrived back at her apartment building that Saturday morning. She’d spent the night at her fiancé’s place and once again he’d disappointed her. It had been a great evening while they ate some take-out and watched Inside Out on Netflix, but then, when the clothes came off, and he was humping her on the sofa, she had realized something was missing. Oh yes, an orgasm was missing. There was a brief amateurish attempt at some pussy eating and then he just stuck it in, pumped her for a few minutes, came in her with some grunts and collapsed his sweaty body on top of her. She was worried. Was this going to be married life? Did she need help? Maybe she was physically incapable of orgasm. Masturbation wasn’t really her thing and she’d hoped the right man, a man who was good and true and whom she loved could tip her over the edge into sexual ecstasy. So far, it wasn’t happening. In fact, she had never had an orgasm in her life.

As she opened her mail box, she noticed Mr. Collins, a sweet elderly neighbor in his mid-sixties, partly balding with neat silver hair on the sides, coming out of the elevator and inexplicably in the company of yet another young woman. He was wearing sweat-pants and t-shirt, she was dressed in normal street clothes. She’d seen this many times before and they were always different women. They couldn’t all be his granddaughter yet they always looked happy and relaxed with him as though there was some mysterious connection between them. Nor did they look like hookers. These woman, usually between 18 and 25, seemed to dress and act like any normal girl their age. She pretended to scan the junk mail piece by piece from her open mail box as she glanced sideways at Mr. Collins opening the front door for this latest mystery woman and cordially bidding her adieu as though she were a long lost relative.

As he returned towards the elevator, she shut her mailbox just in time so she could take the elevator with him. She said hello as she followed him to the elevator doors.  “Hello Miss Black,” he replied with a smile, “it’s a lovely day isn’t it?” Annoyed by her sexual frustration, she honestly hadn’t given a thought to the weather but then he always seemed this cheerful and open whenever she came across him in the building. As the elevator doors closed, leaving them alone together for a few brief moments, she decided she would try and satisfy her curiosity. If he didn’t mind her asking, who were all the young women who visited him? He smiled at her, reached into the top pocket of his t-shirt to take out a business card and handed it to her. She took the card from him just as the elevator doors opened and she stepped out onto her floor. She was still studying the embossed writing on the expensive linen card when the doors closed again behind her. She looked up to find herself alone in the corridor.

Inside her apartment, she looked at his business card again.

Conrad Collins, Pussy Whisperer, Your frustration is our motivation. Registered charity No. 34210023452.

Underneath was a telephone number. The card clearly wasn’t referring to feline psychotherapy. This was a joke right? She got out her cellphone and called the number. It rang three times before Mr. Collins answered. “It’s no joke Miss Black. Would you like to come up for a consultation? You could come up now if you like. My schedule is free until this afternoon.” She politely declined and hung up. As she sipped some coffee and spooned some yoghurt into her mouth, she considered all the happy young women she’d seen passing through the lobby. Is this guy for real? Well, he certainly didn’t seem dangerous. She pulled on an old cotton shirt and some yoga pants and decided it was time to find out what her neighbor was really up to.

She’d never been on the top floor before. There were just two penthouse apartments up there, 68 and 69. He was number 69. Really? This must be a hoax. She knocked and he opened after what seemed liked an eternity for her nervously beating heart. “Ahh, Miss Black. You’ve changed your mind. Do come in.” She went through the door into an apartment that seemed four times the size of hers with luxurious furniture and sweeping views over the city. She sat down in a deep armchair and accepted a glass of delicious Chardonnay from him as they started to chat. So he dealt with female frustration. How exactly did it work? Was there any penetration involved? Was he just getting himself off with this? “Oh no, Miss Black. It’s a charitable service for young women like yourself. I’m just an old man trying to give back with the experience I’ve gained through the years. Only my fingers are involved.” The phrase ‘women like yourself’ raised her eyebrow a little. How did he know how she felt? The wine seemed to have relaxed her so she decided she might as well follow where this crazy idea was going. He took her through to a softly lit bedroom where the daylight was kept out with thick curtains. She took off her clothes, lay on the bed and opened her legs for him. Somehow, these actions all seemed suddenly totally everyday inside that apartment.

At first, it felt strange for him to be leaning over her pussy, touching it and stroking it with his fingers. He didn’t ask her how she felt but seemed to be guided by the speed of her breathing and her occasional whimpers of enjoyment. Then he  managed to find a place that she’d long been looking for and she moaned with pleasure. He spoke at last. “Miss Black, you have a very hooded clitoris. But I think, with the right stimulation, it isn’t a barrier to what you seek.” He licked his finger and placed it directly on the vital spot he’d discovered and she moaned again as he gently rubbed her clit, the clit that had lain hidden and elusive beneath folds of skin. She begged him not to stop as he kept rubbing ever so gently on that one place in her body where thousands of nerve endings gather together, conspiring to transmit a mysterious coded message to her brain so some magic configuration of synapses would unlock a flood of dopamine to her senses and with it, the annihilating pleasure of orgasm. She came for the first time in her life and it felt beyond any description of ecstasy she could possibly articulate.

The next day, she gave her engagement ring back to her fiancé. Stunned, he asked why, they were in love with each other weren’t they.  She just told him the truth, you don’t make me cum and you don’t care you don’t, so bye bye. From that day on, she was going to end it with anyone she dated who showed he didn’t care about her orgasms. A few days later, she went up to apartment 69 and knocked on the door to say thank you and to give Mr. Collins a bottle of the best Chardonnay she could find. No answer. The building manager told her that it had been a short-term rental and the tenant had moved out. The guy payed cash and left no forwarding address. She tried to find the business card he had given her but couldn’t locate it anywhere. Maybe she left it in apartment 69. She redialed the number that was still on her cellphone but it was out of service. She sat down in her apartment and questioned her sanity. Didn’t that number work just a few days before? She had no evidence that the Conrad Collins had ever existed. She stopped some neighbors in the lobby and asked them if they remembered the greyed haired old man with the young women. They just shrugged their shoulders and said there were a lot of tenants and didn’t recall him particularly. Maybe she dreamed everything? But her first orgasm, she didn’t dream that. Reality or not, her life had been changed. She decided that in the future, she really should give more to charity.

Categories