Patient C. paused for a moment. This is normal with a PMS-d sufferer as they are quite reticent to discuss sexual matters. Furthermore, Patient C. is English, the most sexually repressed nation on earth. Then Patient C. said very quietly, “I’ve never paid for it, Dr. Wu. That’s the solution. I’ll engage a professional from an escort agency.” Quickly, I replied: “You will do no such thing. I will arrange for a professional that I can trust to perform the proper therapy and one who is completely free of disease.” Sometimes it amazes me how naive my patients can be in sexual matters.
How fortunate for my research that Patient C. had resolved my dilemma in such a creative manner. Patient C’s fantasy would allow me to visit his premises disguised as a common trollop. Thus, no one would know that I was administering a form of therapy not yet authorized by our health authorities. Unfortunately, my middle class upbringing and academic experience did not prepare me properly for the duties now required of me. I had not the slightest idea of the apparel employed by women of bad reputation in our city of Hong Kong. How would I fulfill the fantasy of Patient C. if I were unable to effect the proper costume? Fortunately, my future senior therapist, Ms. Fay Tang Fang was intimately involved in performing her own research amongst the sailors visiting the Port of Hong Kong. I was so fortunate to subsequently obtain her services for my clinic after she returned to Hong Kong due to a broken marriage with a British citizen.
Ms. Tang was able to quickly supply me with the requisite uniform of a Kowloon streetwalker from what she termed “a few things from my own wardrobe”. (Slide 10) I posed in Ms. Tang’s suggested outfit later, as you will see in this slide, but, at the time, I could hardly believe that there really were women who dressed like this. I had so many questions of my future colleague. “Fang, are you sure that the skirt is supposed to be so short? And the panties are so skimpy that you can make out the bush. And I don’t really have much bush. The back of the panties is so far up the crack of my bum that I’ll get hemorrhoids. Why must I wear these fishnet stockings. And my midriff is bare. I’ll freeze. Don’t you know it’s winter out there.” Ms. Tang insisted that this was how an employee of an escort agency should appear at a client’s door. Ultimately, we decided that I should wear a trench coat and sunglasses when travelling between my flat and Patient C.
As I sat in the tube station waiting for my train, hoping that the trench coat adequately hid the view up my muffy, it occurred to me that I was embarking on a fantasy as a hooker and I hadn’t even thought of a name for my fallen alter ego. As I pondered what to call myself, I spotted advertising for Chinese tea that is distinguished by its content of dried lotus blossoms. That was it! My streetwalking doppelganger became Miss Lotus Blossom.
I fantasized about my new identity on the trip, how a strumpet should act with her client as I planned out how I would play out the harlot with Patient C. Even at this early stage of my career, I was developing (Slide 11) the principles that guide my clinic even today. “Plan Each Session with Care to Detail,” and “Remember that the Patient is Paying for Service.” The interior lighting of the train extinguished as it entered the tunnel under the harbour. The plunge into the depths of the earth excited me as I simultaneously harboured thoughts of Patient C’s willie plunging into the depths of Miss Lotus Blossom.
I took advantage of the darkness to put my hand inside my skimpy panties. They were soaked. To be fair, the tiny patch of fabric was inadequate to absorb the moisture welling up between my legs. Surreptitiously, I gave my clitoris a finger job, relieving the tension that was building up between my legs as a result of my planning. Fortunately, my hands had returned to where they belonged by the time the lights came back on, although I hoped nobody would notice my wet fingers.
At Patient C.’s station, I gave my garish makeup one last check. I looked the perfect harlot but I wanted to check my disguise to ensure that I could sustain the fantasy. It occurred that I was about to encounter Old Ang, the concièrge in Patient C.’s apartment building. This same individual had caused me embarrassment and humiliation when I first visited Patient C. to formulate my early theories on PMS-d. His psychological profile was easy to discern and quite common in pre-unification Hong Kong. Old Ang was a self-hating Chinese, subservient to the English out of a desire to be one of them. If Old Ang didn’t recognize me from my previous visit, my disguise was perfect.
At the entrance to Patient C.’s apartment building, I walked past the ancient concièrge towards the elevator. I was not surprised when Old Ang yelled at me, “Were you born stupid, young woman? You must check in with me. This building is occupied by English civil servants. Chinese are admitted only on business.” I stopped, removed my sunglasses, opened my trench coat half way and poked one fishnetted leg in the old fossil’s direction. I pouted my lips and said, “Isn’t it obvious that I’m here for business with Patient C. and not for pleasure? Could you please ring up Patient C. and confirm that he has an appointment with Miss Lotus Blossom.”
It was a pleasure to watch the confusion of this dried-up little man trying to make a call to a valued tenant and simultaneously undress me with his eyes. He stumbled and stuttered through his telephone call and then finally hung up. He beckoned to me and said: “Your appointment is confirmed Miss Lotus Blossom. Before you go upstairs, could I please obtain your telephone number? I believe that you and I could also, ummmh, transact some business.”
Old Ang had hung himself like a barbecued duck hanging in a butcher’s shop. He had fallen into the trap I laid for him. I merely pouted again and said: “Unfortunately, Miss Lotus Blossom confines her services to a clientele consisting of English civil servants who are less than 90 years old.” With that, I closed my trench coat, turned and flounced towards the elevators, leaving Old Ang with his mouth wide open.
Upon entering Patient C.’s apartment, I slowly removed my trench coat to reveal my disguise as sensuously as possible. Patient C. appeared perplexed. “It’s you, Dr. Wu. I can hardly recognize you. So you’re the professional who is to take care of me.” (Slide 12) I have another observation at this point. When a fantasy has been prescribed as part of the requisite therapy to counter relapse, the therapist must at all costs avoid a return to reality, as the reality includes a limp willie. Consequently, I said to Patient C., “I don’t know who this Dr. Wu is. I am Miss Lotus Blossom from the Red Silk Escort Agency. Did the Agency mention my fee? I require HK$1000 up front, whereupon I will demonstrate to you Miss Lotus Blossom’s abundant skills as well as her beautiful body.”
Patient C. began to play along with the fantasy and indicated that he, indeed, had my fee in cash and would pay with pleasure. And that, esteemed colleagues, is the true story of how, very early in my research, I established the tariff structure for my clinic’s services. I stuffed the bills in my tiny purse and threw it on top of my trench coat and set to work curing the relapse through intensive therapy. I made Patient C. comfortable on his sofa, sitting down beside him in as alluring a manner as I could. (Slide 13) This is another rule I give my therapists, “Ensure that the Patient is Comfortable.”
With care to this principle, I slowly unbuttoned Patient C.’s shirt and slid my hand inside. (Slide 14) Of course, another rule I make for my staff is to “Warm Hands Prior to Touching Patient.” Some competing clinics have lost older patients to heart attacks when their more mature willies were touched by cold hands. Hence the importance of this simple precaution.
When I had Patient C.’s shirt totally unbuttoned, I then began kissing his chest in the same manner as I assumed an attentive prostitute would. As a note to all practitioners in this field, the hair on the Caucasian male’s chest can tickle the nose with disastrous results for oral sex if a sneeze should occur. For therapists whose nasal passages are easily irritated, I suggest 0.1 cc of Novocain injected at the tip.
I bared my own chest, pulling off my halter top. Straddling Patient C., I then leaned forward and let my breasts touch the patient’s chest. Despite our extraordinary array of skills in performing the sex act, we Chinese women are definitely mammary-challenged. Nevertheless, what we lack in breast size, we more than make up in firmness. Therefore, rubbing a pair of Chinese breasts over a Caucasian patient's chest can be quite stimulating, despite the apparent innocuousness of the Chinese boobie. I admit that Patient C. gave himself some help in this respect as the hairs on his chest tickling my nipples caused my nipples to stand on end.