[Patreon-Exclusive] Creating Sissies: Chapter 3 (Patreon)

There was a young man in my class who didn’t talk much. Whenever I would pose a question, he would sink low into his seat, shying his face away so that he wouldn’t make eye-contact. When my scanning gaze crossed over him, I could see his body tense up from across that large lecture hall.

I decided to call on him one day. “You there,” I said. His face instantly turned white, even though I was just asking him a simple question. “How would you define a fetish?”

He sat there with his pale face for a long moment, unable to muster up any words. On the Rogers Scale of Sexual Insecurity, I would have given this young man a nine (the scale maxed out at nine). A nine meant that the individual experienced extreme physical discomfort when faced with the mere suggestion of sex. Nines were very rare, usually only existing in religious communes where the topic of sex was entirely off-limits, or sometimes with individuals who had experienced intense sexual trauma (rape victims, etc). Though I didn’t peg this particular individual as a victim of sexual violence, mostly just because he was in that class, and such a person would never sign themselves up for such a class.

“Well?” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said, almost whispering. His peers giggled at his obvious discomfort, which probably wasn’t helping his sexual dysfunction (and being a nine on the Rogers Scale of Sexual Insecurity rule was a sexual dysfunction). He sunk lower into his seat.

“Just try to answer,” I said. “What, to you, is a fetish?”

“Diaper porn,” someone shouted quickly, getting giggles from the other students.

Now, the young man looked ill, overwhelmed by a sudden bout of nausea. His pale screen was turning a shade of green, and his eyes seemed to be watering, wishing that moment was over. I will admit that I felt a bit guilty, but I wanted to get a read on the fellow.

“I don’t know,” he said again. “Something that, uh, someone likes.”

“Interesting answer,” I said. “So if a person likes toy trains, is that a fetish?”

The class giggled again. The young man shook his head.

“And why is that?”

“It has nothing to do with s—s…” He couldn’t even say the word, confirming his insecurities.

“Sex?” I said.

He nodded his head. He was the first guy like that to ever come through my class; I couldn’t wrap my head around how he ended up there. I could only assume that he was truly desperate for an easy A+ to boost his grade average.

“So you think that a fetish is just something sex-related that someone likes?”

He nodded his head again.

“But that’s so vague,” I continued. “For instance, I think we can all agree that most people enjoy orgasming. Does that mean that they have an orgasm-fetish?”

The class giggled again. The young man shrugged his shoulders before saying, “No.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s not… weird. Everyone does it.”

“Ah!” I said. “So is it only a fetish if it’s something… weird? Something that is only enjoyed by a minority of the population?”

He nodded his head.

“And then how would you describe ‘weird’?” I asked.

I could tell that he was praying for the moment to be over. He was praying that I would turn and pitch the question towards another student to take the heat off of him. But I wanted him to confront his fears. Confrontation is a key element of cognitive behavioural therapy. If he could get through this moment and come out the other end realizing that no harm was done, he could begin the process of adapting his mindset.

“Weird is…” He paused to think for a moment. “I don’t know… something that isn’t normal.”

“Well, we all have fetishes,” I said. “In fact, a very famous study that polled almost one million individuals of different ages, anonymously, found that over 96% of people have a fetish that other people would deem unusual. That’s almost everyone. In fact, if you believe the results of that survey—and the results are hard to dispute—then you would be ‘weird’ for not having a fetish.”

“But they don’t all have the same…” He couldn’t even say the word fetish.

“Good point,” I said. “So, a fine conclusion to make would be: a fetish is something that defines us sexually. It’s the thing that makes us unique in an intimate setting.”

A few individuals giggled. The young man shrugged his shoulders and gently nodded his head, agreeing with my statement.

Then, I turned to the rest of the class. “Knowing that the vast majority of individuals—and by the way, that number is almost 100% with men—have a ‘fetish’, does that change the way you look at a fetish?

One of the students in the class threw up his hand and then gave me the dictionary definition of a fetish, though I wasn’t so interested in that, because words aren’t defined by dictionaries—as strange as that may sound. Words are defined by society and culture. Words take on new meanings with new generations, as they shift from context to context. The word ‘great’ was once reserved for the most amazing artists the world had ever seen, and now it’s just a word we throw at toddlers when they scribble a picture of a dog. In fact, if we’re talking about proper, classical definitions, then perhaps I should point out that a ‘fetish’ has nothing to do with sex at all. Originally, a fetish was an object that people believed to be magical. It comes from the latin word, facticius, which means ’to make’. The Portuguese created the word ‘fetish’ to refer to objects used by African tribes in religious ceremonies.

But enough talk of pointless definitions. I turned my gaze back to the young man, still slumped into his seat, praying that his moment of attention was over. I glared into his eyes, paused for a moment, and then went on with my class. Before he could leave, I approached him and asked him to meet me in my office.

“What’s your name?” I asked, once we were in a private setting. He was unable to relax, sitting down with his knees pressed firmly together, looking like he was fighting off a bad case of diarrhoea.

“Ernie,” he said.

“I’m very curious, Ernie,” I said with a smile. “What brought you to my class?”

He just sat there with a blank look on his face.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard that students in my class usually receive a good mark. Is that right?”

“I’ve heard that,” he said softly.

“So that’s why you’re here?”

He shook his head. “I have a 4.0 GPA,” he said.

I paused for a moment. His comment surprised me. “Do you really? What’s your last name, Ernie?” I went to my computer. He told me his last name and I looked up his class grade. He’d aced every assignment and every test I’d given him. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

I didn’t often get it wrong, but with Ernie, I was way off. I looked at his nervous face again before saying, “So do you need this class for your major?”

He shook his head.

“What is your major?”

“Physics,” he said.

“Physics? How does a physics major with a perfect GPA end up in Psychology of Sex 101?”

He was silent, white in the face again, turning his gaze down to his toes, trying, it seemed, to pretend like he hadn’t heard the question. So I just waited, letting the question resonate for a long thirty seconds before his lip finally quivered and he said, “I’m just interested, I guess.”

“Interested in what, specifically?”

Another long pause came before he said, “The psychology of…” I didn’t finish the sentence for him. I wanted to hear that word out of his own mouth. “S—Sex.”

“Does the thought of sex make you uncomfortable, Ernie?”

His face contorted in a way that looked uncomfortable. He fought to pull a breath of air into his lungs. Poor guy was really struggling physically and mentally with confronting his sexual insecurities; but good for him for taking the initiative; it’s extremely, extremely rare for someone in such a state to voluntarily confront their fears as he was doing—or trying to do.

“Yes is an acceptable answer, Ernie,” I said.

“It’s not something I—I understand,” he whispered.

“You don’t understand sex? Now, what do you mean by that? You don’t understand how it… works? That can’t be the case; you’re a physics major with a perfect GPA; I’m sure you can wrap your head around the idea of mutual stimulation, and people wanting to feel pleasure with an intimate partner. So do you mean… you don’t understand how to find a mate?”

He was silent, too afraid to look up into my eyes.

“Try to answer me, Ernie. I want to help you.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I don’t understand how to… find a mate, and, uh… initiate.”

“Initiate?” I said.

“When I think about it, I get cold all over,” he said, looking up at me with reddened eyes. “It’s horrible. My head gets all hot but the rest of my body is cold. And my legs… I feel like I’m going to fall over. I get this sickness in my gut. I just can’t understand…” I gave him a minute to compose himself; I gave him a minute to think of the right words to use to explain himself. “I don’t understand how it… works. How to…”

“How to seduce a woman?” I said.

He shook his head. He bit hard on his lip. He groaned and squirmed, and for a moment I considered the possibility that he was on the spectrum, which would explain his difficulties.

“What is it, Ernie? I want to help you. I have thirty years of professional experience. Just speak.”

“How do I make it… hard?”

The question shocked me; it wasn’t at all what I expected to hear. It wasn’t often that I gasped, but I may have let a small gasp slip. “Hard?” I said. “Are you referring to your penis?”

He nodded his head.

I thought for a moment. “Does it not… get hard? Because that could be a legitimate medical condition, Ernie.”

“It does,” he said, jaw chattering. “It just… doesn’t do it when… you know.”

“When you want it?” I said with a smile.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“So when does it get hard?”

“You know,” he said. “In the mornings. Sometimes on the bus to school. Sometimes in… class.”

“When you watch porn, can you achieve an erection?”

His eyes became wide. “I don’t watch porn,” he said firmly.

“Ever?”

He shook his head fast. “I’ve never seen it.”

“Well, maybe you should try it. You should find a private setting where you can be comfortable—not worried about being caught—and try to explore your sexuality through porn. I asked you about fetishes in class today; I’m guessing you don’t even know if you have one. You might be part of that tiny percentage without one.”

He nodded his head nervously.

“Can I ask you, Ernie… Have you ever masturbated?”

He shook his head fast.

“Wet dreams?”

He shook his head fast. “Sex dreams always devolve into nightmares before… before anything can happen.”

“That’s terrible,” I said. “I want to help you, Ernie. I have some ideas. Are you open to the idea of me helping you? First, I just want to get a reading, okay? Take off your pants.”

“What!?” he gasped, turning whiter than I knew possible.

“I just need to get a reading,” I said, taking out my PMR.

“What is that?”

“It’s a tool. It can help to diagnose issues like the one you’re facing—if used correctly.”

He was hesitant, but it was obvious that he really wanted help, so he took off his pants, exposing his very small penis. I couldn’t help but think that his micro-penis had something to do with his sexual dysfunction. His penis was truly tiny: one of the smallest I’d ever seen (it couldn’t have been much bigger than the penis of a newborn baby, if you can even believe that). His face was dark red now. I held the PMR up to his ball sack, which was a normal size.

It gave me a reading of 480, making me gasp.

“What is it?” he said.

“I don’t know if this reading is accurate,” I said. But then again, if he was telling me the truth, then he had a lifetime of sexual energy stored in his body. I’d read about a similar issue in Ethan Powers’s second book. Powers tested his PMR device on one-hundred geniuses (certified by MENSA). He found that most of them had high resting-PMR ratings, above three-hundred. Curiously, they weren’t all walking around with raging erections. “This is… very curious. You said you had a high GPA. Do you happen to know your IQ score?”

He blushed and smiled. “182,” he said.

“That’s profound if it’s true,” I said.

“I’ve been tested every year, since I was a little kid.”

I couldn’t help but think that his store of sexual energy was giving him the ‘super powers’ that the Buddhist monks believed in. His IQ was, quite literally, higher than Einstein’s. “You’re gifted, Ernie,” I said.

“Thanks.”

“Believe it or not, your genius and your sexual dysfunction are likely related. I want to run another test, but it may make you uncomfortable. I need you to trust me, Ernie, so that I can help you with this issue of yours. But first… I’m very curious. You say you’ve never masturbated or had a wet dream. Have you ever… ejaculated?”

He blushed all over before shaking his head.

“Would you be open to the idea of ejaculating?”

It was a technique called Guided Ejaculation. It sounds silly, but it was a technique devised by… you guessed it: Ethan Powers. It was a technique used to redirect sexual dysfunction, particularly in men who had found themselves with undesirable sexual attractions.

He was remarkably uncomfortable with the idea, but the young fellow was desperate to solve his problem. He tried to gulp down the lump in his throat. Then, he asked a most unusual question. “Will it hurt?”

I smiled, fighting the urge to giggle; I didn’t want him thinking that I was mocking his issue. “Not at all,” I said. “In fact, it will probably be one of the best feelings you’ve ever felt. But there is one small issue that needs to be addressed.”

“What is it?” he asked, pressing his lips firmly together before taking a deep, nervous breath.

“Well, there are two ways to ejaculate. The first, I’m sure you know, is by physically stimulating the penis until you cum. But if you can’t obtain an erection from the usual means. I mean—we can try that first and see what happens.”

“O—Okay. What’s the other way?” he said.

“The other way is prostate stimulation. You see, you’re already in the absorption zone; I know you don’t know what that means—but essentially, you’ve been in the absorption zone for many years without a break. Your brain has come to recognize regular day-to-day activities as stimulating, but you’ve had no exposure to sex while reading above three-hundred.”

“Three-hundred?” he said.

I tried my best to explain it to him while being more-or-less vague. I didn’t want to spoil the therapy by explaining what I was going to do; it’s one of those things that just works better if the individual doesn’t understand the process. But Ernie was a tremendously smart individual, and I’m sure he could wrap his brain around it.

I told him to sit. I put on a porn video and commanded him to stroke himself. After a few minutes of uncomfortable squirming, he tried, but clearly had no idea what to do. He mashed and pulled his cock in different directions, using only the tips of his fingers, because his cock was so small. Nothing was happening.

“Let me try,” I said, squirting some warming lubricant into my hand. I carefully grabbed his small penis and sensually massaged it. He gasped slightly, but he wasn’t getting an erection. I took a reading after five minutes of massaging his penis and was shocked to see that it hadn’t changed.

Ernie was a strange case indeed, and I desperate wanted to understand him—and I wanted to help him.

“Let’s move to plan B. You may feel uncomfortable, but it will be worth it.”

I pulled out a long prostate stimulator. I’d never turned it on before; it was just a display piece that I showed in class when talking about the use of sex toys in sex therapy. But now, I needed it to work. I was pleased when it turned on, buzzing at the press of a button. I squirted a lot of lube onto it.

“What are you going to do with it?” he asked with a shaking voice.

“Just stand up and bend over, Ernie. I need to stimulate an orgasm. It’s important that you keep your gaze on the pornography. Listen to the girl moaning. She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she? Watch her naked breasts. Focus on those, Ernie. You need to be focussed on the act of sex while I stimulate your prostate. We’re working to rewire your brain to recognize sex as stimulating and arousing.”

“Oh God. I—I don’t want this,” he said.

“Just hold still.”

“Please. No—I—I don’t think I want this.”

I had to hold him down with one hand. He didn’t put up much fight, though he wasn’t exactly consenting. But the act was necessary to reprogram his sexual dysfunction.

I’m sure you’ve heard that rape victims, later in life, develop curious fetishes, like the desire to be choked during sex, or spanked, or slapped—or even gagged and beaten. Well, Powers theorizes that this has to do with absorption. The forced stimulation increases the PMR reading into the absorption zone, and then the victim’s psyche becomes rewired to see the abuse as stimulation. While rape is, of course, horrible and disgusting, the same essential theory can be used to treat patients who have developed what Powers call ‘Disconnected Sexual Dysfunction’. The treatment is shocking and controversial, but highly effective.

I pushed the tip of the cock-shaped prostate stimulator against Ernie’s asshole. “No,” he cried softly. But he had the power to leave if he truly wanted to. I wasn’t holding a gun to his head. I knew that he actually wanted to be cured, and he trusted the science behind the method.

I pushed hard, forcing the stimulator into him. He cried out, clenching hard. His fingers clutched my desk. I grabbed one of his butt cheeks and pulled it wide, seeing that toy as it vanished into him. I had to get the angle just right. The only way to make him cum was by stimulating that prostate.

I twisted and turned, using his reactions to figure out where that elusive little gland was. Well—I ended up finding it, and I didn’t have to find it for long before he cried out loud and began to gush cum all over the side of my desk. Even I gasped, covering my mouth to cover my big smile. I’d never seen a man come so fast! And it was crazy to see his tiny little cock throbbing as it pulsed out buckets of cum: his first ejaculation of his life.

“What’s happening!?” he gasped, trying to look down.

“Look at the porn, Ernie!” I commanded, and he darted his gaze back to the screen. “What that girl’s bouncing breasts. Watch her pussy as it’s leaking that warm, clear fluid. Listen to her moan, Ernie. Imagine yourself with her, if you can. Imagine you’re coming inside of her curvy, tight body. I know you can do it, Ernie!”

His gaze was fixed on the porn as the final few blasts of cum gushed out of him. I decided to keep the therapy going. His PMR had dropped, but not into single or even double digits. He was still reading around 250. So I kept pushing that anal toy into his prostate gland. It only took five minutes before he was gushing again.

I reached around to grab his cock. I made sure to caress his whole body with my hands, making sure that he felt like he was with a woman. The goal was to get him to associate intimacy with a woman with stimulation, not riding the bus to school.

I pulled the toy out from his ass. I told him not to worry about the mess. “Just come in again tomorrow, and we’ll do more readings to see if we’re making progress.”

He was shy when he came in again. He was nervous when we did the same experiment. I penetrated him with that same toy to make him cum while he watched porn. We did it again the next day. Then, there was a power outage the next day, so I offered up myself as a therapy tool. I undressed and let him fondle my body. I let him play with my nipples. I let him stroke my pussy. I even performed oral sex on him, sucking his tiny penis, watching the PMR readings every couple of minutes. We were making progress. The readings suggested that he was experiecing arousal from sexual stimulation. And sure enough, while I was sucking him, he obtained an erection.

And then I sacrificed myself to advance his progression. I spread my legs and allowed him to fuck my pussy with his tiny cock. I will be honest and say that I felt nothing; he lacked the girth to stimulate a woman, but he was able to make himself ejaculate normally, without additional stimulation. He did, however, grab my breasts very firmly and aggressively, leaving nail marks around my nipples—though I was just happy to have helped him with his nagging issue.

The power was back on the next day, so I tried the pornography again. This time, watching the beautiful woman on the screen plunging a dildo into her vagina was enough to make Ernie aroused and erect. He managed to have an orgasm through masturbation. So I gave him homework: “Masturbate every day, using pornography. And Ernie…”

“What is it?” he asked.

“If your grades begin to slip, or you test low on your next IQ test, you can stop masturbating and ejaculating, though you should try to at least cum normally once every month.”

“O—Okay,” he said, seemingly confused by what I was saying.

I was sure that I’d helped Ernie—especially sure when, three months later, I saw him on campus, holding hands with a very pretty young woman. She was extra-petite, a few inches taller than your standard patient with dwarfism. She couldn’t have weighed more than eighty pounds, but that was probably perfect for Ernie’s small penis. If anyone would be able to feel it, it was her.

I was proud of Ernie. He’d made huge progress in a very short period of time, thanks partially to the theories and studies of Ethan Powers. However, it was during the next semester that I overheard a group of students gossiping about our small-cocked friend. “Janet walked in on him and his girlfriend fucking.”

“Who’s Janet?” asked one of the friends.

“His roommate.”

“Oh, right.”

“She was pegging him.”

“Pegging? What’s pegging?”

“Fucking him with a strap-on.”

The students laughed, even though it was a perfectly normal and healthy practise. And it was something that I used to recommend all couples experiment with, back when I did couples counselling in my early years. It’s very healthy for couples to be that vulnerable with one another, allowing each other to ‘switch roles’. And, as most people know these days, a prostate orgasm is the most intense orgasm a man can have—so why wouldn’t a man want to have one?

Well, I still felt bad for Ernie, but overall, it was positive news. He’d overcome many barriers, and now he was functioning as a healthy adult with a healthy sex life.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about the two students I’d personally practised on while working at that school: Ernie and Brian. It was fascinating to think how quickly they developed what one might call a ‘fetish’, and their fetish was quite similar. By shepherding them into that absorption zone, and then inserting a toy into them, I managed to turn them into what the general popular might call ‘sissies’. Ernie was supposedly taking it from his girlfriend, and Brian left my office with a new arousal for the thought of being in the traditionally female position during intercourse.

And was it really so easy to turn a man into a sissy? Now, I wanted to test my idea on another patient.