The Therapist V

In the real world of late morning Rebecca lay nude on her belly on her rumpled bed; her fingers whipping her fragrant juices into a froth of sexual desire as she feverishly worked her throbbing clit. She amplified, repeated and redrafted the last night's reverie into a crushing, shuddering cascade of orgasmic quakes, and a final rolling, thunderous climax that dragged her back into unconsciousness.

The young woman awoke for the second time, spread lewd and naked on her back after nearly an hour of dreamless, exhausted sleep. She was surprised at herself in so many ways.

Normally an early riser, no matter how late she worked or partied, the clock on the dresser now showed past noon. She almost never had erotic dreams and that night she had more than she could remember.

She rarely masturbated and typically felt guilt and shame after bringing herself to, at best, a marginal climax. She had just brought herself to a toe-curling, mind-shattering orgasm and felt nothing but contentedness.

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