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  ‘A client,’ I answered.

  ‘He’s so fat! How does he cope? I mean, if I was that fat…half that fat, I’d just kill myself!’

  ‘It is a serious problem, Jocasta.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I realise you must have to put up with people like that in your work. But…but he’s just so fat! He smelled of pee, too, I’m sure of it. You’re so caring, Gabrielle.’

  ‘There is a great deal of pleasure in helping people, Jo. Besides, I have my professional responsibilities.’

  ‘Of course…but, I mean, how can he live like that? Why doesn’t he just lose some weight?’

  ‘It is not so simple,’ I addressed her, talking fast to keep her attention from the shape of my coat as I opened the door to my flat. ‘He is in severe denial, imagining his problem to be physiological, when it is in fact entirely psychological. He imagines himself to be unable to lose weight, and so becomes depressed. To allay his depression, he eats, telling himself that it will make no difference. Thus the cycle of depression and weight gain becomes self-perpetuating. His depression is verging on the suicidal, so when he called this afternoon I had little choice but to go and see him. Once he was calm, he offered to escort me home.’

  It was an outright lie, but it was what she wanted to hear. She nodded, and allowed me to usher her through the door and into the clinic, all the time with my back away from her. Having claimed that I had seen Monty as a client I could hardly refuse her, besides which, as she knew full well, she would be paying double time.

  ‘So how are you treating him?’ she asked, settling herself into the usual chair.

  ‘I am not at liberty to say, as you know. Client confidentiality.’

  ‘Yes, but not the physical treatments, surely, not with…with that?’

  ‘He is a human being, Jo, like you and I. But no. I take on very few male clients, and I do not offer them the full range of therapies. It is too easy for them to form inappropriate attachments.’

  ‘Of course. Anyway, I’ve got to tell you…’

  ‘A moment.’

  I’d stopped in the door and retreated hastily. She had already thrown one or two odd looks at my bare legs, and I was sure the outline of my nappy would show if I wasn’t careful. I needed to change, and quickly. In my ordinary bedroom I tugged up my skirt, pulled my tabs free and wriggled quickly out of my nappy, kicking it under the bed. Nothing else mattered nearly as much. I washed and changed as quickly as I could before returning to the clinic. Jo had not moved.

  ‘I apologise,’ I addressed her. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘My idea. Remember how you said I needed to face my tensions and bring them out into the open?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I know how to do it. I’m going to put it all down, everything that’s happened to me, and my feelings…’

  ‘A good idea.’

  ‘Yes, in a novel.’

  ‘A novel?’

  ‘Yes. That way I can express myself to so many people. Everyone’ll understand how I feel. It’ll be the most wonderful thing!’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You don’t sound too enthusiastic.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I lied. ‘I am simply considering the implications of such a public catharsis. You will include everything? The traumatic incidents with Natasha Linnet?’

  ‘Those most of all. Everyone’ll understand how I feel.’

  ‘You had told me you were concerned to keep that private. She has somewhat embarrassing photographs, I believe you said.’

  ‘But that’s the clever thing! It’ll all be fictional. The characters will be different and, of course, I won’t use Natasha’s name, or anyone else’s, or places. But my emotions will be there for all to see. I’ll know that thousands and thousands of people will know what I’ve been through.’

  ‘Somewhat vicariously.’

  ‘It will work, Gabrielle. I know it will.’

  I paused, steepling my fingers in thought so that she would give me time to bring my brain into gear. There was no doubt that the idea would achieve the drastic catharsis she intended. As a journalist, there was every chance her novel would get published. It might not sell as well as she seemed to anticipate, but that didn’t matter. Natasha Linnet would buy a copy, along with their mutual friends. The change of names and places would fool nobody. Natasha would be furious and take the most vindictive revenge she could, pinning up the photographs on the notice board at Jo’s workplace. They showed her expelling an enema, in detail.

  It would traumatise Jocasta, without question. Not only that, but the fact that Natasha had had sex with Jo’s boyfriend was likely to come out. The situation could only escalate, resulting in the full exposure of Natasha’s sexual habits, and very possibly my own. Natasha, after all, knew everything, and might well blame me.

  ‘It will be dedicated to you,’ Jo announced.

  That set the seal on it. Natasha would definitely blame me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I answered her. ‘You are prepared, then, to risk having these photographs made public?”

  ‘She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t dare, not with everyone on my side.’

  ‘I suspect otherwise. For her, the damage would already have been done. She can be vindictive.’

  ‘That’s for sure! You really think she’d do it?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I think you underestimate the risks. I also think you underestimate your own sensitivity.’

  ‘Yes, I am sensitive. But I have to get these feelings out, Gabrielle, I have to!’

  ‘Yes, absolutely – but while your novel is an excellent idea in itself, I fear the consequences are likely to outweigh the benefits.’

  ‘So what can I do?’

  ‘Find a new focus. Continue with your regime of physical therapies…Do you wish to discuss your progress now, incidentally, or tomorrow?’

  ‘Now, if you don’t mind. I’d rather put off tomorrow. My boss isn’t too happy about me taking so much time off work for therapy. He just doesn’t understand. A typical man. How do you mean, a new focus?’

  ‘Something that will take your mind away from the situation with Natasha. You must face your tensions, yes, but what you must face is their root cause.’

  ‘Natasha.’

  ‘No. She may have triggered your specific feelings of insecurity concerning your sexuality, but the root cause remains latent guilt.’

  ‘I still say I’ve every right to feel guilty. It’s awful what she wanted me to do to her, and it excited me. I can’t be like that! You have to stop it.’

  ‘As I have explained, Jo, that is not necessarily the answer. You must come to terms with your sexuality.’

  ‘That is not part of my sexuality! I don’t like girls, and I certainly don’t like…like hitting their bottoms. It’s awful!’

  ‘Again, we return to your latent guilt. If you have sexual feelings for other women, you should acknowledge them.’

  ‘I don’t! I swear it!’

  ‘And yet you say you wanted to punish Natasha, and that you found the idea exciting.’

  ‘I wanted to punish her, yes. She was so…so impudent. I mean, imagine asking Hugh to smack her bottom, right in front of me, and for me to do it too! I wanted to do it to her, to teach her how it felt, to hit her! I don’t even know why it had to be on her bottom, and…and I was so wet. It’s not me, Gabrielle. I’m not a violent person! I don’t do violent! I’m not a lesbian, either! I don’t understand, Gabrielle!’

  ‘And how do you feel about her now?’

  ‘I hate her. What she did…and she’s so smug…and so confident…and so slim! I still want to smack her bottom.’

  ‘So we return to your weight. You are slim, Jocasta, by any normal standards. Monty Hartle, who you saw just now, is fat. You are slim.’

  ‘Monty Hartle’s how I feel I look! I’m fat next to you, Gabrielle, and Natasha, and Ami, and…and…’

  She burst into tears. I leaned
forwards to take her hand, showing concern but keeping my opinions firmly to myself and considering her figure. She was athletic, with a lot of muscle on a middling frame, but not an ounce of surplus fat. Still she saw herself as fat. It was a problem we had wrestled with repeatedly, and had been her major concern before the issue with Natasha had arisen. An idea occurred to me.

  ‘Possibly,’ I suggested, ‘your need to punish Natasha is not a sexual thing at all but a response to your feelings about her being slim, with her suggestion that you should spank her merely providing a trigger, a way of expressing a need.’

  ‘I was wet.’ She snivelled. ‘Soaking.’

  ‘Because of Natasha? Are you certain of that? Could you not be confusing cause and effect? You were with Hugh also, were you not?’

  ‘Hugh never makes me wet, not like that.’

  ‘The physiological responses that cause secretion by the vulva are not simple, Jocasta. A woman may become physically aroused without any mental stimulus of which she is consciously aware. Very possibly your physical reaction was the result of something entirely separate, which you subsequently linked to your desire to punish Natasha.’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Yes, you are, it makes sense. So it’s all because I’m fat.’

  ‘No, no,’ I said hastily as her tears started again. ‘It is because you see yourself as fat. It is entirely a mental image, with no relation to the physical reality.’

  ‘You say that, but…’

  ‘It is true. Consider; do you see me as irresponsible?’

  ‘No, of course not, never!’

  ‘If I was, I would recommend a stricter diet, thus pandering to your need to feel you should be slimmer. I am not, and therefore I do not. If you trust me, this in itself should be proof that you do not need to lose weight.’

  She considered, gave one heavy sniff and looked up at me, smiling. I gave her hand a squeeze, let go and sat back.

  ‘We will explore the idea in depth at a later session,’ I promised. ‘I think the novel idea is good. It will provide a positive focus for your energies. I just don’t think it sensible to make it such an exact reflection of your recent experiences. Perhaps you should consider another plot, one that allows a less overt expression of your feelings?’

  She nodded and pulled a tissue from the box on the table.

  ‘You were going to tell me how you have been getting on with your physical therapies.’

  ‘OK. Well, the aromatherapy works as long as I’m not too tense, and you were right to say I should put more of the cypress oil into the blend. When I’m bad, it just doesn’t seem to make any difference.’

  ‘I see. And have you begun to irrigate again?’

  ‘Yes, only it’s not the same, not since…Especially when I expel.’

  ‘I understand. And masturbation?’

  ‘In private, yes, but I still feel guilty about self-sex. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t face asking Hugh to do it. He’d just snigger.’

  ‘I see. Again, we come back to your latent guilt. I can not stress it enough, Jocasta, masturbation is entirely harmless and also therapeutic. It is an act of freedom. To feel guilty is to accept the patriarchal suppression of female sexuality.’

  ‘I know, Gabrielle, I just have trouble getting my head around it. It feels so much better when you do it.’

  ‘That is because you are displacing your guilt…’

  ‘Yes, I know, but…please?’

  ‘You want me to masturbate you, now?’

  ‘Yes. It’s the only thing that’ll make me feel better. I’m just so tense!’

  I was already tired and still in a sexually submissive state, very far from the clinical detachment I needed to masturbate her. I knew what it was going to do to me. What I wanted to do was tell her to either go home and do it herself, or come to bed with me. What I said was very different.

  ‘If you feel you need to come, yes.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She got on to the couch, composing herself, with her arms above her head. I got up, glancing at the clock to discover that it was very nearly one a.m. Keeping my face carefully neutral, I went to the medical cupboard, to take out the box of gloves. Jo watched as I pulled them on, her face set in a shy smile.

  ‘You will have to take your jeans and panties down,’ I pointed out.

  She nodded and put her hands to the button, tweaking it open. Her zip came down to the gentle pressure of her tummy and her thumbs as she stuck them into her waistband. Lifting her bottom, she pushed jeans and panties down as one to her ankles, revealing the low swell of her tummy, bare, golden legs and a puff of dark blonde hair on her pubic mound.

  ‘Shall I show my breasts?’ she asked.

  ‘If you normally do so.’

  She responded by pulling up her jumper, revealing a big white sports bra. It followed, the cups raised to spill out two large breasts, only a touch paler than the skin of her legs and stomach. Her legs came up and open, displaying her sex. As she closed her eyes I put a finger to her sex to see it she would need lubricant. She didn’t.

  Her back arched to my touch, pushing out her sex. I began to masturbate her carefully, stroking her sex and trying to keep my mind on something else. She opened quickly, her vulva growing rapidly moist and puffy under my hand. Her breathing grew faster; her hands went to her breasts, cupping them and stroking her nipples. I began to rub harder, watching as her tummy began to twitch and the red flush spread out across her breasts. She sighed; her mouth came open; she gave a little cry and tensed, her thighs coming up to squeeze tight on my hand as she came. I waited until her contractions had died down before speaking.

  ‘Better?’

  ‘Yes. That was beautiful. I feel so much better.’

  She might have felt better. I didn’t. I was desperately aroused from the sight of her naked body and the smell of her sex. I could understand exactly why Natasha had wanted to have sex with her. Unlike Natasha, I had the self-control not to do anything about it when it was obviously inappropriate.

  As I peeled off my gloves and dropped them into the bin she got up, swinging her legs off the couch and standing to pull up her jeans and panties. I was given a last glorious view of her bottom as she bent, knock-kneed, her cheeks wide enough apart to show her sex and hint at her anus. The pose also left her large breasts hanging from her chest for a moment, making me think of being suckled, something I hadn’t enjoyed since having sex with Natasha. It had felt wonderful and Jo would have been better still, physically as tall as me, with her heavy breasts and big, dark nipples…

  I shook my head, ridding myself of the image of her as my nurse.

  ‘You are so good at that, Gabrielle,’ she said, pulling her bra back over her magnificent breasts. ‘With anyone else it wouldn’t feel right, but you, you’re just so detached.’

  What she meant was ‘emotionless’, the image I always try to project to my clients; sympathetic, calm, a rock they can lean on. I drew in my breath and glanced once more at the clock. Her time was nearly up.

  ‘Do you wish to reschedule your appointments?’ I asked. ‘You said you were having trouble at work.’

  ‘Well, yes, if you don’t mind. I’ll call, yes?’

  ‘As you please. Do you feel we have made any advance?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. I feel completely relaxed. We’ve resolved a lot, I think, and all that tension’s just gone. You’re wonderful.’

  I managed a smile. We had in fact resolved very little, and the drain in tension was entirely the result of her orgasm, something I badly needed myself.

  It took me another ten minutes to get rid of her. By then I was exhausted, too exhausted to manage anything elaborate. I didn’t need it. I was still thinking of her breasts and how good it would have felt to suckle her, and I knew that was what I had to come over. I stripped in my ordinary bedroom, stark naked, and retrieved my nappy from under the bed. As I fastened it around my hips I could already feel the tension draining away and my arousal pushing
up over my tiredness.

  In my special bedroom I curled up on the rug, my thumb in my mouth. My hand went down the front of my nappy to find the smooth lips of my sex and the moist crevice between. I began to rub and to think of Jo, with her big, golden-skinned breasts pulled out of her sports bra, hanging down beneath her chest, the nipples hard, for me to suckle on as she stroked my hair, soothing me, whispering gently to me as I masturbated…

  A sense of annoyance came over me. She was what I needed physically: a full-breasted, sturdy young woman, healthy and beautiful, the perfect nurse. Mentally she was hopeless; neurotic, insecure, self-obsessed, no more capable of being my nurse than of becoming the elfin waif she saw as the ideal of femininity. Masturbating over her was simply not going to be fully satisfying.

  I tried again, thinking of the way Monty handled me so easily, lifting me by my ankles to change my nappy, his fat fingers patting the powder on to my bare bottom or rubbing cream over my sex, slipping into the hole, loitering on my anus…

  It was no good. I wanted to think about being suckled, and that was one thing Monty could never do, despite having as much fat on his chest as Jo and I put together. He was too openly sexual about it as well, so that however closely he followed my instructions I always felt I was being molested rather than taken care of.

  I tried to think of Thereze but it was simply too long ago, and it was impossible to get a clear image of her face, which is crucial to me. Natasha was better, smaller than me but with fuller breasts, full enough to play nursemaid. She had suckled me and it had been nice. It had been after a spanking too, with my bottom hot and red and the tears still wet on my cheeks. True, it had been lovely to be soothed after punishment, as she’d assured me it would. She was just so cruel, always determined to hurt me and humiliate me before giving me what I wanted – really not so very different from Monty, just prettier.

  She was the best, though, between them: cruel, yes, but understanding. It had been worth the spanking just to get my mouth open around her soft, full breasts, with her nipple hard in my mouth. I’d had my nappy pulled down at the back for the spanking, but it had still been on, around my thighs, one tab tickling my hot bottom. She had done it for me too, her hand curled around my thighs, her fingers busy with my sex, her thumb tickling the crease of my bottom…