CREATING SISSIES [PATREON-EXCLUSIVE] Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Blurb:

Dr. Elaine Franco is one of the greatest sex researchers in the field. Her work has taken her around the world, working for top-secret government programs, helping traumatized victims of sex trafficking, and even working for the most famous sex researcher to ever live, Dr. Ethan Powers.

But that’s just Elaine’s opinion; Powers was renowned in the 80s, but now, his work is laughed at by mainstream scientists because of his unusual methodology. Powers believed that sexual kinks and fetishes could be chosen for a person through a process called Absorption. It was a technique that he’d used to cure patients suffering from various sexual dysfunctions, and Elaine had used it successfully as well.

Now, Elaine works at a university, teaching Sexual Psychology 101 to new students. It’s not as glamorous as her career once was, but the pay is good and it’s steady work. But she starts to feel bored one day, and decides to run a little experiment of her own, seeing just how powerful the theories of Dr. Ethan Powers really are.

Chapter 1

The faces in the crowd were red—particularly the men. That’s always the way they were on the first day or two of class, minutes after they settled into their seats and then looked up to see that I had a video of a naked woman on the screen, winking at the camera, whispering sweet-nothings, flexing her body like a cat against a soft bed.

Some of those men weren’t even eighteen; that wasn’t my problem though—they needed parental permission to be in that class, and the description of the class on the university website was quite clear; if they bothered to read it, they all knew what they were getting into.

“Sex,” was my opening line. And then I would scan the faces in the room. Usually, the nervous students would giggle. The very nervous students would sink into their seats. There’s an interesting phenomenon related to the word ‘sex’. More than any other word, it has the power to stop a person in their tracks. It’s not a word we’re used to hearing in a public context. And one’s reaction to hearing the word says so, so much about them. I could tell that the short fellow with the glasses sitting in the back was a virgin. His face had been white since he sat down and saw the sensual images on the screen. Now, his face was dark red. His body was tense. He was fiddling nervously with his pencil.

And the girl sitting two seats away from him: she was giggling with her friend, covering her mouth with her hand, pressing her knees firmly together. She kept whispering to her friend, trying to use silliness to hide her discomfort; she was a virgin too. The boy with the glasses was a virgin because of lack of opportunity; he was painfully shy and couldn’t stand the thought of approaching a woman (I’m sure he’d never kissed a woman before besides his mother); but the girl was a virgin by choice. She was a pretty girl; many men had presented themselves to her, and I’m sure she’d been on a number of dates and had been through at least a few boyfriends—but the idea of sex frightened her. She didn’t know what to expect; she was afraid it might hurt, or that someone might find out she had sex too ‘easily’.

Then there was the fellow with the gym-toned body and the baby face. He was crossing his arms, grinning, not afraid to look at that screen while his peers made a point of looking away, afraid of coming off as ‘horny’ or ‘perverted’. The gym-boy didn’t care; he was confident. He’d had sex before, but the confidence was phoney; the fidgeting fingers he was trying to hide under his biceps made it obvious. Sex hadn’t gone well for him; maybe he was a premature ejaculator, or maybe he wasn’t able to come at all: some level of performance anxiety. His foot was moving too: tapping as he tried to keep the rest of his body as still as possible (the grin was forced as well; I knew a fake smile when I saw one). I was leaning towards him being unable to come during sex. Why? Well, he was a frat-boy-wannabe. He was desperate to be confident, so he probably used alcohol to create a temporary charm. Drunk, he was able to flirt with girls, seducing them with his fit body. But once he was in the bedroom, the alcohol became a problem. He probably had the girl go down on him, sucking him for ten long minutes before saying, “Why isn’t it getting hard?” Then, he would slip into the bathroom, pretending like he had to pee. He would jerk himself off aggressively, maybe pulling up some porn on his phone. It would take him ten minutes to get hard, and then he would rush out, not wanting to lose that boner…

You’re probably wondering why I’m coming to these conclusions. You probably think that I’m just talking out my ass. Well, I’m not guaranteeing that I’m right, but I’d spent my whole adult life studying sex. I had three books published on the topic, all New York Times Bestsellers. I had six published papers and more awards than I cared to count. In my thirties, I was contacted by a very famous acting agent to help a very famous client (I signed a contract saying I wouldn’t say who, but let’s just say that his name might rhyme with Mad Sit) with problems that he was having in the bedroom. I worked with him for three months, and he called me a miracle worker. By the end of the year, I was Hollywood’s go-to sex therapist. I went on Oprah’s show a couple of times before being hired to teach psychology at Harvard. For a brief period, I worked for the US government, psycho-analyzing high-profile sex criminals. Out of three dozen suspects, I was able to correctly identify, through psychological assessment, which one had abused a number of children sexually. That work was too dark for me though, so I took a year off before being hired at another high-profile university, teaching the psychology of sex.

I’m not trying to brag or anything; I just wanted you to understand how I come to these conclusions. I’d studied so many men and so many women. I had a pretty good idea of what was going through their head based on their body language. There were a few perfectly confident people in the classroom. One man, sitting near the front, was now checking his Facebook page on his phone; the sexual images on the screen and my prompt didn’t interest him much. He had no reaction whatsoever, and that’s a strong sign of sexual confidence.

Then, there was a girl near him who very subtly rolled her eyes (I don’t even think she knew that she did it). She was being otherwise polite and attentive, ready to listen, more worried that there was going to be a test than anything. I’m not sure I would necessarily call her confident; I think she had just managed to disassociate schoolwork from personal affect. For her, this may as well have been a math class.

“Show of hands,” I said. “How many people in this room have had sexual intercourse with the opposite sex?”

Hands went up; almost all of them, which was statistically very, very unlikely. A few girls kept their hands down—and honestly, I’d say half of those downed hands were lying, afraid of being lumped in with the rest of the ‘sluts’ who were proudly sticking their hands into the air.

I’ve always found it so interesting that people will lie about their sexual history. It’s so strange that people come to these conclusions: that being a virgin is somehow bad, that not being a virgin is somehow bad. I once asked a young man in one of my classes, “Young man, are you a virgin?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly, without even blinking.

The guys around him giggled, but the man hardly noticed, not even cracking the slightest blushing smile. In my career, I’d talked to maybe a dozen people who had that same disposition towards sex; and that was the disposition I wanted everyone to have when they left my classroom. Sex didn’t need to be some weird, taboo, freaky, private thing. It didn’t need to be something to be proud of or something to be ashamed of. Once you can disconnect sex from those societal stigmas, then you can truly start to understand and study it—and then maybe you can help people who have mental and physical issues regarding it.

Well, that was the goal anyway, but I suppose you could say that I’d become somewhat jaded over the years. I’d been teaching at that university for almost a decade now. My class had earned a reputation as ‘the easiest A+ you’ll ever get’. My tests were easy; my assignments were usually optional. And isn’t that the way it should be? Sex is supposed to be fun and relaxing, and the last thing I wanted to do was to send these young people out associating it with homework and stressful tests. So yes, I passed everyone as long as they showed up for most of the classes. To get an A+, all you basically had to do was show up and answer my questions when asked… if you felt comfortable doing so. I refused to change the way I ran my class, even if it meant I got students signing up for the wrong reasons.

Not too many people came into my class because it was content they wanted to learn about. Sure, there were the occasional psychology majors who took interest, but most of the students who came through were students desperate to prop up their slumping GPAs. One A+ could make a huge difference on an academic transcript, after all.

And they all knew it; they knew they could sit there, giggling, coasting. They knew that my tests were usually just a collection of hypothetical questions and there were no wrong answers, as long as they tried to take the questions somewhat seriously. In fact, I sometimes enjoyed it when a student attempted humour with their answers; humour is important with intimacy.

Yes, I was an easy professor with an easy class, so students flocked to me for easy grades.

But there were some other… let’s call them perks, that came with the job.