Now, why would a healthy man come to feel this everyday irresistible urge to go and see his sexual trainer, just to use a certain machine? ItΒ΄s like an addiction, really. That family physician of mine had told me that it wouldnΒ΄t hurt to go and check my reproductive facilities, and he recommended a certain specialized therapist for this. I was in no hurry but did finally go and visit that therapist who had a nicely appointed office in a posh suburb. A sign on the door said "Sexual Training".
I was greeted by a friendly female attendant, rather conservatively dressed as befitted her function. Nothing sleazy here. "Well, Sir, if you could just fill out this brief questionnaire and hand it back to me, I think we can take you after a little while. Are you prepared to wait just a bit? In that case please proceed to the waiting room."
In hindsight the row of men with bulges in their trousers sitting there with that dreamy and urgent look in their faces should have told me something, perhaps, but in I went and sat down. Not so long after, the attendant entered and called my name, and I was shown into the treatment room.
"We have here a machine that will examine your sexual power. It is perfectly harmless and, if I may say so myself, highly... enjoyable." The therapist, a female of about 40, pointed to an object that had the dimensions of a drink dispenser, but had the shape of the back of a woman slightly bent forward. Below the middle, there was a round opening and the lower part was modeled vaguely as legs. "Touch it" the Therapist told me. I did, and the outside of the machine was soft to the touch and pleasantly warm. "Now, I ask you to undress and you will put your erect member in the opening. From there, the machine will take over. You will see, itΒ΄s fun."