Chapter 12 Chapter 12 Genital Disorders

This marriage counselor's collection of "orgasms"—mahogany phallic art bought from a trip to New Guinea—is nearly overwhelming her bookshelves! "As long as you take my class, I guarantee that in a few months, each of you can have an orgasm as you like!" The counselor assured us who participated in the course with her velvety voice. However, the woman sitting next to me with dry skin, dry hair, a frustrated expression, and a body like a pear looked at her with surprise and horror in her eyes. The climactic atmosphere of these self-talks comes from the graceful marriage counselor.Her lips are dramatically lined and she wears a padded Magic Bra with a name tag that says her name is Bianca.

The life coach, clinical hypnotist and marriage counselor, with an energy reminiscent of a sleepless activity director on a cruise ship, stands behind a desk talking for hours, showing off her mesh Long legs in pantyhose. "Okay, may I ask how many months you and your wife have been out of tune?" She suddenly turned to Roy, who was nestled in a lazy bone like a pile of dog poop, and shook her long orange curly hair with a smile while shaking her shoulders. Hold Roy's hand. This woman's smile is like the sun I felt as a child in the Australian outback desert, cruel and merciless under the hood.

Roy shot me savagely with angry eyes.When I suggested coming for a counseling session, he said he would rather have a jackhammer stuck in his nostril.But I threatened him that I would not let him go to bed for the rest of his life, so he had no choice but to give in with a sullen face.However, a consultation with an angry husband stuck in rush hour traffic for an hour may have the opposite effect. The lazy bone I'm sitting on is so loose that it almost eats me in. When I move, it makes an unpleasant sound. I think it must not be filled with real Polyron particles. Big sweat. "Yeah! Sex disorder..." Bianca looked at the folder in her hand and referred to the reason I wrote for seeing a doctor. "Your other half feels like you don't even notice that she needs more time to orgasm. How do you react to that? Uh..." She looked at the crayon-written name tag on my husband's chest . "Roy?"

Roy turned to me with the awe-inspiring expression of a political prisoner, glaring at me even more angrily. "How?" Bianca insisted, still holding his fleshy palm. "It's...uh...according to my wife, our marriage..." Lowe shrunk further into the poop-colored lazybones, searching for the right adjective, "The pads flew off, the tire blew, and it needed to be repaired." !" The counselor's mint-colored eyes, as cold as mint candy, lit up immediately.A husband who spells out emotions in automotive terms?She's mentally pressing the speed dial button on her phone to notify her accountant: I'm sending!I can afford that house with a patio!This kind of husband who can't express his feelings must be treated for several years!

Bianca began asking everyone in the small group to introduce themselves. In addition to us, there was a pair of pale newlyweds, a sad-looking young man wearing John Lennon-style round-rimmed glasses, but the glasses seemed to be covered by his huge chin and his huge wife. went in.The wife said she was a librarian and that her husband had to wear her underwear to get an erection. Then there was a client who was "pregnant" for the third time, but he was a man, this man with a wig that looked like some kind of animal had died on his head, and brought a "virtual partner" to the consultation.In other words, a weirdo with whom you would "very willingly" share your most intimate sexual encounters.

Then Bianca played Enya's CD, lit essential oils in a diffuser bottle, and chatted about the opening jokes, such as: "How many counselors does it take to change a light bulb? One is enough, but that light bulb needs to be replaced." Just be willing to be replaced!" I took this opportunity to look around. The counseling center is housed in a functional two-storey brick building in North London, with an interior reminiscent of the cheap motels favored by bikers.There are listless potted plants on the wall, worn gray carpets on the floor, cheap beige tables, and only fluorescent lighting, and the windows have not been washed for a long time, giving people the feeling of a concentration camp.

I just turned my head back when I heard my husband tell Bianca that it takes his wife a long time to orgasm, about a day and a half! "Shut up!" I interrupted him awkwardly. However, no matter how pissed off the situation was, and how much Jess disapproved, I was willing to shell out £35 an hour to show my family's shitty sex problems and show that I really needed counselling! "And then..." Jess brushed her hair away from her eyes like a kitten, "He ate the strawberry stuffed in my ass, and by the time he swallowed it, the strawberry was already seasoned and half-cooked gone."

"It's good to see you're all about nutrition." I tried not to act like I didn't understand what she was talking about. It was later that same evening, and we were sitting in my kitchen listening to Jess recount the details of her adventure with the internet dude. "Then we sat in the bathtub drinking champagne and I asked him to entertain me with the bottle. The water in the tub was so hot but the bottle was so cold..." Jess shuddered. "Oh! It seems that the only thing alcohol can't preserve is dignity!" Hannah said coldly, but nothing could interrupt Jess's fugue.

"Then, he took out the ice cubes from the champagne bucket, stuffed them into my body, and licked me with his tongue. Ah! My hot body fluids and his hot tongue formed the most beautiful sensory stimulation, together with the melting ice, along the My legs are trickling down..." Her nostalgic narration followed the sigh, but ended with a haughty question: "Okay, Kathy, how are you today?" "Very good!" I said listlessly. "I learned how to put a condom on a gherkin." The second worst thing about doing counseling is you have to wait in a shared room for class and watch the obsessive-compulsive gambler force the sex addict to bet with the withdrawn to see who can make the bully on the other end go crazy stand up.

And the worst thing about being a counselor is—the counselor! Shortly after the class started, Bianca said I had an "unfriendly vagina" problem. "Sorry, what did you say?" "From what Roy told me in one-on-one sessions, I think you're sexually dysregulated, Caesandra." "No!" I vehemently protested. "I have a full-time job, two teenage children, an angry husband, high blood pressure, physical and mental exhaustion, and an elusive promotion." "Unfriendly vagina?" Roy leaned back on his lazybones, put one foot on the other's lap, and smiled smugly, the first time in weeks. "You know what? Casey, I'm beginning to think that this nonsense counseling makes sense, no wonder you can't always get excited." He looked gloating.

"I can't believe how excited you can be if you've been working all day and come home to cook, clean...plus help your kids build an oil refinery tower out of coat hangers! Besides, how friendly is your penis? Humph!" Bianca, who was not used to being robbed, clapped her hands and regained everyone's attention. "Very well, who knows the most basic way to please a woman?" I raise my hand. "Put the dishes in the dishwasher, don't snore, don't call a woman fat when she's wearing tights." When it was Roy's turn, he said, "Learn more about the clitoris, huh?" God!How did he come up with it? Bianca gave my treacherous husband a "you're number one" smile. "Ninety-nine percent of the men, I'm going to say, give us a bad name!" Lowe went on shrewdly, beaming an adoring smile at our therapist. Bianca returned his smile, the heat is so strong that even softer fruits must be cooked! "Well, I think we can definitely help your wife out of her depression," she said in a honeyed voice. "My depression?" I got angry. "Ha! We're talking about a man who can figure out the square centimeters of each room in our house and the miles per liter of gas from Calais to the South of France, but can't find my clitoris? No! The truth is , he doesn't even bother to look for it!" All the women present laughed in agreement, while the men murmured that women demanded too much. Bianca's solution turned out to be to show us a videotape of "compassionate" couples having sex so realistically it made my legs go limp.The students with weak legs stood up precariously, leaving a row of human-shaped lazy bones standing along the wall. By mid-May, the only question on my mind was: Is my head still there?Am I going crazy?Otherwise, how could I force Roy to go to counseling? We were at a pedicure shop and Hannah insisted that I had to keep trying, all counseling was difficult and conflicted, and she assured me that if I just kept at it, maybe the next turn would be clear. "Whatever you do, don't tell Jess about your doubts, honey, she hates you for going to a counselor," Hannah said. "Smell, baby, I don't hate that you go to marriage counseling!" Jess came in like a gust of wind. "I found one myself." "What?" I almost fell off the seat and fell into the basin where I was shaving my feet. "...and a Pilates instructor, a dentist, a yoga teacher and a dog walker." Hannah was so shaken that she kicked over the tub for soaking her feet. "Where's your little boy on the Internet? Don't tell me, you're infected with a computer virus." But her cynicism is still invulnerable to Jess. "Internet jerks are still my main dish, but I have a backup cupid. We just made the first one yesterday morning, and then we made it three, two, four, five times in the afternoon." "Ah! Jess, you must have discovered that if you have two or three relationships at the same time, you are no longer having an affair with someone, but officially qualify as a Mormon!" I told her. "Where's Stuart? Is he still cheating on you?" "Well... I've stopped following him, sweetheart. But last night he said he went drinking with our neighbor, the dentist, and that's impossible because I was the one with the dentist. But I can’t say anything, can I? It’s the trendiest situation, isn’t it? Love your neighbor, but don’t get caught — that’s my motto.” "Jessie," Hannah said seriously, "no matter how much you deny it, these one-night stands are just escapes, you are looking for a place of refuge, to cover your fragile, scared, desperate and broken heart. You Pretty clear, right?" Jess' facial features fell off the ground, but they were put together again immediately. "I never have a one-night stand, Hannah," she corrected Hannah, "what we have is a one-night stand." At the same time, my relationship between men and women was in a dilemma. I can't understand how imagining I'm looking at "the eight thousand nerve endings of my cervix" is going to help my arousal?This is my thought, and I'm standing in front of eight classmates, clutching my crotch and moaning, desperately trying to get my sexual "qi" out. I was flushed and sweating profusely, feeling this kind of performance anxiety for the first time since I was forced to perform and dance on stage in elementary school. "Is the sensory center of your pussy shaking?" Bianca asked fiercely. "Uh……" "Less than 50 percent of women experience orgasms from penis penetration." Bianca's tone was both serious and reassuring. "Therefore, I'm going to teach you how to improve this number. Open your eyes, students." We opened our eyes to see a blow-up doll lying on the floor in front of us with its legs splayed. "Now, I need a willing man." I held back my laughter, thinking that the virtual partner of the wig-wearing man finally appeared, but the counselor's method is too realistic! However, what surprised me most was that all the men present raised their hands very high.A minute later, I watched in disbelief as my husband started being instructed in how to caress his blown lover to orgasm. The counselor told him one by one how strong the hand should be, how fast and slow the rhythm should be, and which fingers to use.After learning finger, thumb, and palm techniques, Bianca taught him how to massage his pubic bone, when to pull on the doll's plastic clit, and when to squeeze its rubber labia. "Hands are the greatest stimulation tool," Bianca Yinyin instructs. "You don't use your tongue to drive, do you? After mastering hand stimulation, we can further understand how to perform oral sex on women. Well, if this blow-up doll was me, my vulva is now swollen and congested, and my pulse is like In a race, the muscles contract involuntarily. My feet would arch and I would tremble, and my chest would rise and fall violently..." Her moaning grew louder, her cleavage nearly reaching her chin from the lace bra, and it moved up and down violently. "My chest is covered in sweat, my heart is pounding and my breathing is shallow. Oh! Great! Faster, harder, faster, harder!" As the blow-up doll is about to reach its imaginary climax, Bianca also provides the stereoscopic soundtrack and sound effects. "Oh! That's great! That's it...that's it...that's great! Roy, come on! Don't stop! Keep working hard! Don't stop!" I saw my husband's cheeks flushed and his breath short of breath.It's not bad that someone who hates counseling so much is so brave! "My nostrils are opened and closed vigorously, with an interval of 0.8 seconds. The contracted orgasm makes me twitch involuntarily. Faster! Faster! Harder! Harder! Faster! Faster..." Roy's fingers flew in and out, up and down the doll's plastic cunt, and Bianca let out such a loud moan that the cheap walnut compartment shook. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." The sound of Bianca calling the bed finally stopped, followed by the ding-dong sound of the buttons on the crotch of the men's trousers flying out and hitting the wall. "Very good. Now my waist and chest are flushed with pleasure and my toes are slack. When I'm at the height of my libido, I feel a burst of pleasure. Well done! Loy." When she finished speaking, she pulled out the piston of the inflatable doll. "The homework for this week is to ask everyone to go back and practice the skills learned today." I watched the woman on the ground shrink inward with a sigh. We are amateurs, and we are immediately asked to drive into battle, is it too dangerous?How can we drive such a heavy machine without our license? But since Bianca was so persistent, Roy and I worked hard that week. Only the two of us lay comfortably on the bed, with the flashlight on my stomach, and the "Kama Sutra" turned to page 362, and followed the instructions and operations according to the book. What could be better?Well...anything is better than this in my opinion! Jessie's creative sex scene also seems to be "all comers go," as she dyes her hair a lighter shade of blond, no doubt "When he wants to go to bed, he says it's time to 'wield the meat sword'. Isn't that cute? One night, he even wore a glow-in-the-dark condom. After I turned off the light, I felt as if I was with Darth Vader in bed, not to mention his lightsaber." "Okay, okay, that's enough for you!" Hannah pursed her lips angrily. "These twisted and weird results have become obsessive-compulsive and, frankly, disgusting." "Nevertheless," I reasoned with Hannah. "It's nice to be with a man with tattoos, at least you have something to read when you're bored." The next round of the compass game is the frontman of the rock group Suicide Bombers. "Rock star? Hmm..." I flinched. "How dare you put him in your mouth? Who knows where he has been just now?" "Hey, don't belittle other people's hygiene habits unless you experience it yourself. He always tastes my bottom before letting me take a shower." Jess revealed the secret that shouldn't be known without caring. "In fact, he would rather I not take a bath for several days!" "Great!" Hannah retorted with equal cool. "Feminists should pack your flavor and root for themselves." We were moving limply in the back rows of the Pilates classroom. "Stop pretending! I know you guys are actually envious. Millions of women all over the world are masturbating to his poster, and he said he likes my ass." These famous rock stars don't just count their bums to sleep, they've had about as many bums as they've eaten hot dinners (often at the same time), so if someone likes your bums, that should be a compliment thing.Frankly, I can understand Jess' excitement, but I also feel a hint of unquenchable annoyance. "That's very, very...exciting! Don't you think, honey?" "I think you should go register and ask the Polite Society to keep you out of the way," Hannah scolded. "Hannah, do you know how boring you are? Put it in water and you'll dilute it!" Jess looked at our friend sympathetically. "You know what it's like to be desired again?" There was a hint of sadness in her voice, but it was quickly removed. Jess is like the 3D stereoscopic laser card sold in gift shops. If you change the angle slightly, you will see a different picture.Sometimes she looks like a deadly beauty, and sometimes I see the wife who is terribly hurt. "Feeling desired is my newest addiction," she said, heading for the dressing room. "That's more fun than Pilates!" It is also much more fun than marriage counseling!I think. The last, and definitely the least insignificant one, is a busking poet she picked up at Tate Modern.He was not last because he lost her key.When I got an emergency call from Jess asking me to pick her up from the Miramar Hotel, I thought he had lost her car keys. "No, it's the key to the handcuffs." "Jess, only Scotland Yard undercover officers can use handcuffs." I scolded her. Hannah and I had no choice but to help Jess, who was wearing sexy underwear, a windbreaker on her shoulders, and handcuffs, walk out of the side door of the hotel and find a locksmith to open the lock. Hannah shook her head as she walked. "Honey, you're about to become an outsider, aren't you scared?" What I was a little scared at the beginning was that our counselors were not "professional" enough. The course lasted until the end of June, and the advice I got was enough for me to go through several husbands!If I told her that I really wanted to commit suicide, she would definitely ask me to pay the tuition in advance. So far, I've been semi-forced to be sold an "absolutely real" art vibrator. "Really enough to ejaculate, cough, fart, and have the battery go limp as soon as it's turned off?" I asked nonchalantly. When I see the numbers Roy writes when she writes a check, I want to cram her slide projector, pointing stick, and even some lazybones into one tiny part of her body. Next, she forcefully lobbied me for a testosterone patch to treat my libido disorder. "Testosterone?" I looked at her in disbelief. "Wow, that would definitely make me more attractive, only gay men would be attracted!" She also tried to get me to have laser vaginal rejuvenation, just one click, but it cost £3,000! "Fix your labia, and you'll have a designer vagina in no time. Armani-level equipment can solve all your sexual taboos!" She kept trying to persuade her. My only no-no is worrying about flabby ass.Besides, the artificial sling between the legs is so fancy that I probably won't allow my husband to use it for fear of loosening it. Just when I thought it was impossible for the therapist to do anything for me other than make me feel like I wasn't good enough, she concluded that I was too unexperimental.In fact, I have tried all kinds of strange tricks. Really, I wear Roy's underwear, and I don't even wear it. However, as a mother of two children, it is very dangerous not to wear underwear. The vibrator I bought fell out during a staff meeting and I had to pretend I liked mini bowling. When I complained about this to Bianca, she insisted I take one-on-one lessons and started interrogating me: "Do you like the lights on or off?" "I like the lights on..." Bianca's eyes widened until I added, "For reading." "Do you like sadistic games?" she asked, waving a pen. "Of course I don't like it. I never like being beaten. I have to win even when I play Monopoly." "So, do you speak foul language?" she asked desperately. "In my opinion, the foul language is: Jamie, go wash your face! Jenny, your room is like a pigsty!" "Are you talking in bed or not?" She was going crazy. "Speak of course, usually about who is going to send the kids to school tomorrow and when the workers are coming to fix the leaking pipes." "Okay! Then do you have any questions for me?" The counselor asked me unhappy, throwing her notebook on the table. "Uh... what I want to ask the most is... is there any problem with using unflavored yogurt for thrush? I only have this kind of refrigerator in my house." Bianca didn't think it was funny, she said a little fiercely: "You have a problem with your attitude towards sexual desire! I know you are not good at oral sex and you don't like oral sex. You should find an organic vegetable to practice your tongue first." I wince. "My husband says that about me?" "Uh... I think he hinted at that." "Is he still saying that now? Then I have to imply that I don't like his premature ejaculation." "Really?" Bianca wrote my words with a twinkle in her eyes. "That's not premature ejaculation, that's what they call a 'quick fix'." Roy showed up at Bianca's office on a wave of self-defense. "Huh, you cum last night before I even got in the bedroom, wasn't it early enough? By the way, who were you fantasizing about when I got in?" I demanded. "Padida Pender, how is it?" "Padida?" "Yes, and she's still wearing the most conservative striped suit." "Yeah!" I countered. "I can't believe you let that woman into my bedroom!" "There's only one way to fix premature ejaculation." Bianca desperately wrestled control back. "What method? Orgasm first?" I asked her angrily. "Our course is too rudimentary, shouldn't we discuss such advanced topics?" I deliberately wanted to annoy Bianca. Bianca shook her head violently at the disobedient student, insisting that I should help Roy master the secret of "permanence" by asking me to go to the "London Strip School" website and energize myself. My heart sank.How funny it is, maybe some women think stripping makes them more powerful, but I think it's cheap self-deprecation! Experimenting with new sexual moves isn't my favorite pastime, and just squinting and yelling, "What? What do you want me to do?" has wrinkled my eyes. This feeling is heightened when Bianca sells us a box of “Family Pole Dancing” (which also comes with a step book, garter belts, and fake money to tuck into the garter belts). I sigh sadly.I desperately wanted Roy to come to do marriage counseling, and now looking at Bianca's computer screen with the woman circling around the pole, I just feel extremely lonely. Bianca insisted that if only we were more patient with each other's desires, she could find a way for us.She wasn't wrong, and if I felt any frustration afterwards, I buried my head in the pillow and screamed for hours to soothe it. I've come to think that the best advice a marriage counselor can give is— Anyway, never, ever go to marriage counseling!