Must Be Something Wrong with Me

A fetish occurs when there is a preoccupation with a particular part of the body or object, relying substantially on that object for sexual arousal, quite often to the detriment of a true or full relationship with another person. This is the story of a girl with a fetish. All of the characters in this story were at least 18 at the time of their actions.

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Emily Kay was one of Dr. Lowenstein's latest patients. She was an underclassman, a junior, nineteen years old, in her second year at Templeton College, and she had finally decided to do something about it; her problem; her secret problem.

Dr. Lowenstein spent the initial part of their first session gathering basic history, and then asked why Emily had come for treatment. She had already read the intake and so actually knew but, frankly, what Emily had written in the intake form didn't really sound like a problem. "I like boys," she said to Dr. Lowenstein, wringing her hands, keeping her eyes focused on the floor as she confessed her deep, dark secret.

Dr. Lowenstein furrowed her brow. She had female patients confess that they liked girls, but never a girl confessing that she liked boys. She even felt that the problem for girls who liked girls was their insecurity over their natural predilection, and not really a problem, at least in the way the patient felt. In any case, she attempted to reassure Emily. "Emily, I hardly think that's a significant problem. Actually, not a problem at all." It was at times amazing how neurotic and insecure college girls could be. "It's perfectly normal for a girl to like boys."

"No, Dr. Lowenstein, I mean, I really like them; like I really, really like them."

Dr. Lowenstein had to smile. She was reminded of being in high school, when one girl tells another that she doesn't just like someone, she really, really likes him. "Emily, still, that isn't really a problem. It's perfectly fine to really, really like someone."

Emily could see that Dr. Lowenstein wasn't getting it. "Well, I mean, like, it's not like the guy I like, it's just a certain part of him."

Dr. Lowenstein again furrowed her brow. She would have to admit that she was lost. "I don't understand, Emily. What do you mean?"

Emily could feel her lips and mouth getting dry. This often happened when she had to do oral presentations in class. Her mouth would get all dry and she could hardly speak. She needed a drink of water, or something to suck on to generate some saliva. She knew what that should be, or at least would be, in her case. But, in this instance all that was available was a glass of water. She took a sip, gathering enough courage to explain.

"It's not that I like boys, doctor. I mean, I do. But, what I really like most is, well, their, you know."

Dr. Lowenstein was a sex therapist. She was not a particularly experienced one, but what she lacked in experience she made up for in creative ingenuity. She did in fact have a pretty successful practice, due in part perhaps to being the only one in town, on a campus bursting with young men and women, many of whom, not surprisingly, do have sexual problems. In any case, one of the most important components of effective treatment is to help the patient articulate his or her concern, to speak openly and comfortably about the problem. "I believe I do, Emily." Actually, she still wasn't at all sure, but by saying she did, Emily could now feel that the worst of her confession was over, as the therapist does already know what she was trying to confess. "But, I want you to say it for yourself. It's important that you say it yourself."

She knew the doctor was right. But, she felt like such a pervert. Who wants to admit she is a pervert? What would her parents say? "You won't tell my parents, will you?"

This was a not uncommon concern among her college student patients. They were all above the age of 18. That alone made the therapy confidential. But, their parents were paying for their college education. They had access to their children's academic records. It was understandable for the students to think that they might also have access to their clinic records. They didn't, but it was an understandable concern.

"Emily, if they were to call, I wouldn't even acknowledge that I am seeing you in treatment, let alone tell them anything that you might say in the privacy of these sessions."

That was good to hear. Her parents would have a cow if they knew what she was about to say. "Yes, well, what I really like, about boys, what I really like." Her voice then got a lot quieter. "Their penises. I really like their penises."

There, she had said it. Her face became beet red, but she also felt considerable relief to have finally confessed.

Dr. Lowenstein, though, was still confused. "Well, dear, any normal heterosexual girl likes boys' penises."

It was Emily's turn to furrow her brow. The doctor was still not getting it. Weren't psychologists suppose to be empathic? "No, no, it's not just that. Well, that is it, actually. It's just that it's just that."

"Emily?"

"It's just their penises. I'm not sure that I really care much for the rest of them. I mean, I do like the rest of them, but it's just that I really, really like their penises. I like them a lot, an awful lot." And, once she got it off her chest, it seemed like she couldn't stop talking about it. "I mean, they're so handsome, so masculine, so manly. And, they come in so many shapes and sizes. Some are like really, really big. Have you ever seen a really big one, Dr. Lowenstein?" Before she could answer, even if she had wanted to, Emily continued. "I mean, like, they can even be scary sometimes, when they're really big. But, then, I also like the small ones too. I mean, like, they're really cute when they're small, and you want to help them build themselves up, at least their confidence. The small ones are at times so insecure." The doctor was beginning to understand her problem. She was now talking about the penises as if they were persons. "You sometimes have to be really patient with them. They'll sometimes just curl up and hide, like they're afraid to come out and play, and so you have to coax them without making them feel like they actually needed any help. But, eventually, they do respond, and then they stand up so straight and tall, showing off their muscles. They're muscles aren't at all big, but you can still see how proud they are of them."

"Yes, well, um."

"And, some are like perfectly straight, you know, but some are even curved, like, really curved. I was real surprised when I saw the first one like that. I was thinking, like, wondering, if they straightened out when they got inside."

The doctor knew she would have to ask the patient how many she had seen, but she was feeling a bit worried about the answer. Well, that wasn't a problem right now because she couldn't even get a question in.

"And, some are like really thin, others are like really thick. Doctor, do you think boys who are fat have little ones? That's what it seems to me, but, you know, it's not like I have checked all of them, but, you know, I have seen quite a few, a lot actually. One time I checked every single one at a party. That wasn't easy, cause I didn't want, like, any of the girls to know I was checking out their dates or anything. It wasn't like some sort of group thing, you know, although I suppose that would be pretty cool, just thinking about that makes me dizzy, imagine being in a room full of naked hard penises, just full of them. I like them all. Well, that's not actually true. I must admit that there is one, one kind, that I don't really like."

Emily finally stopped talking. There was a moment of silence. It was weird. She at first had trouble admitting to the fact that she really liked penises, now she was having trouble admitting to the fact that there was a kind she didn't like. But, that was understandable. It would seem rather prejudicial for her to actually dislike one. It wasn't like she was herself a perfect beauty queen. She had her own flaws. Her obsession with penises was perhaps a rather big one.

But, she had to be honest, particularly when speaking to a therapist. She said quietly, "I don't like hairy ones."

Dr. Lowenstein was finding it difficult to find the words. This was rather unusual for a

therapist, particularly Dr. Lowenstein, but she hadn't had a patient quite like this before.

Emily added, "You must think I'm a terrible person."

Any good psychologist knows how to respond to that. "No, no, not at all, Emily. You are a lovely person. At the core of every self is someone who is good and wonderful."

Emily did appreciate Dr. Lowenstein's emotional support, but she still felt bad about her prejudice. What if a guy felt the same way about her titties? She did not have particularly large breasts. In fact, they were on the small side, a very small side. How would she feel if a guy told her that he found her unattractive once he saw how small she was?

"I mean, doctor," she continued, "it isn't like I've ever told a guy I didn't like him because he had hair on his penis. It's just that I don't really like it very much. I like them to be smooth as silk, at least when they get hard. I really like them when they're hard. Don't you?"

Dr. Lowenstein knew that it was best for the therapist to remain a blank screen, never revealing anything about yourself, particularly when it came to one's preferences regarding penises. One can deflect a direct question by reflecting back to the patient what she just said. "You like them best when they're hard."

"Oh my, yes. I mean, well, I do like them when they're soft as well. Some of them are really quite cute when they're small. They're all cuddled up, like little sleeping boys. The ones with a foreskin are even curled up in their soft, thick comforters."

Dr. Lowenstein could appreciate the image, but she kept her appreciation to herself.

"And, then, I come along, and they naturally wake up. They're always so excited to see me." She again spoke as if she was interacting with just the penis. "They wake up from their naps and sometimes leap to attention before I even touch them. It's so much fun to see them grow and swell, just getting bigger and bigger and bigger, rising up to their most ever biggest possible size." She breathed a deep sigh, just thinking about it made her feel happy and pleased.

Dr. Lowenstein could appreciate that image as well. "Yes, well, um, well, Emily, yes, it is nice to see that but, again, how has this been a problem for your?" Emily was lying on the doctor's couch. It was a rather peculiar couch. It had no back to it. You couldn't lean back in it. It actually looked more like a bed, a single bed, but unlike a bed it rose up a bit at the head, for the head. But, rather than a pillow, there was just this delicate white cloth, like a hankie. In any case, Dr. Lowenstein was sitting in a straight back chair, just behind and to the left of the head of the couch. She leaned forward and placed her hand on Emily's shoulder in her most reassuring, comforting manner. "Dear, please, tell me what's troubling you."

Emily thought that she had, but perhaps she could be a bit clearer. She looked back toward the doctor, although she couldn't actually see her unless she got up from the couch, or turned over. "Doctor, it's just that I'm actually so much more interested in the penis than the man to which he's attached. Frankly, I don't really care to whom it's attached." She hesitated a moment. "Actually, that's not true. To whom it's attached is sometimes really important. I mean, haven't you wondered what kind of a penis, a hard cock, a cop has? Or a professor? Or a doctor? A therapist? A student? A patient?" Emily realized that she had perhaps gone too far with those suggestions, but she was making a compelling point. "But, you know, in the end, it's still his penis that interests me. Just his penis."

Dr. Lowenstein did consider that she might be right, that a tentative, working diagnosis could indeed be a fetish. A fetish occurs when there is a preoccupation with a particular part of the body or object, relying on that object for sexual arousal, quite often to the detriment of a true or full relationship with the person. That did indeed appear to be the case in this case. It was an unusual fetish, but a fetish nonetheless. Perhaps even one that could be the subject of a case study. Dr. Lowenstein was always looking for a good case study. "That's interesting, Emily, tell me more."

"Well, like for instance, the other day, I played with one during class, Dr. Lowenstein, I mean, like right during class where everyone could have seen me and I could have gotten into such terrible trouble." Emily then proceeded to recount the experience. Dr. Lowenstein took careful notes.

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It was during the laboratory exercises of Biology 450, with Mr. Gould. Emily hadn't wanted to take this class from Mr. Gould. She wanted to take it instead from Miss Harding. It wasn't that she particularly liked Miss Harding. It's just that Miss Harding tends to have lots more penises in her classes. Emily could understand why. Miss Harding was a really attractive professor, with quite prominent breasts and shapely legs, which she displayed well in her short, tight skirts. Emily even heard rumors that Miss Harding occasionally did things with her students (see Miss Harding teaches the boys a lesson or The Chess Club, Chapter 9 of The Lessons) but they were probably just that, rumors.

Still, there were quite a number of boys in Mr. Gould's class, and Mr. Gould did, of course, have a penis himself, perhaps a very good one. Emily always made sure to give a special cheerful hello when she arrived in class. Her mother had emphasized how important it was to be courteous to your teachers. A little sugar can go a long way, and when it came down to the final grade, the memory of a kind word or a pretty smile might be the deciding factor if she was right on the cusp between an A or a B.

Today they were in the laboratory room, dissecting frogs. It was disgusting. There was no pleasant, nice way to describe it. It was just simply disgusting, and Emily didn't want to have anything to do with it. Most of the class time was spent in a lecture room, which simply required listening and taking notes. Emily hated the laboratory component. She had no interest in actually touching some slimy frog.

Fortunately for her, she was paired with Joseph Jamerson. Mr. Gould always rotated the laboratory pairings, as he didn't want to give any special advantage to a student, and it was clear that if you were paired with Joseph you had an advantage. Joseph was the brightest student in the class. He was a biology major and wanted someday to be a doctor.

Emily knew that she wouldn't have to do much work with Joseph as her laboratory partner. He didn't even seem to expect anything from her. He just dove into the task himself.

"I'm so lucky to be paired with you, Joey. You're so good at this stuff."

"Yea," he succinctly replied.

"If you want me to help, you know, I will."

"Yea, sure."

"Although, I don't know how much help I could be. I'm really not very good at it."

"That's okay." Joseph was frankly glad that she wasn't trying to help. He found that it only just slowed him up when his lab partner wanted to participate. At best, he would lose time as he had to explain things. At worst, he would have to redo steps that his partner botched. He preferred a partner who didn't want to do anything, and he knew darn well that Emily would botch things up if she did try to help. "I'll just do it. You can watch."

Emily smiled with gratitude and relief. That was very sweet of Joey, although she didn't actually really want to watch. It was almost as disgusting to watch him dissect the frog as it was to do it yourself.

She looked around the room. Everybody appeared to be pretty intent on their tasks. Mr. Gould was circling among the laboratory tables. Each pair of students had their own laboratory table. The tables weren't particularly big, but beneath each were cabinets in which equipment and material were stored. Emily and Joseph were at the cabinets at the back right corner of the room, which she now realized provided her, them, with considerable privacy.

"You know, Joey, I could help you in one way."

"Excuse me?" He wasn't really listening to her. He didn't want to listen to her, as it was rather distracting.

"I mean, I'm not really good at dissecting frogs or anything, but there are some things I can do." She rested her right hand lightly on his forearm, trying to give him a sign, a suggestion, of what kind of help that might be.

"I can do this okay, don't worry about it."

"I don't mean helping you with that," she said, as she slid her finger lightly up and down his forearm.

"Sure, sure, whatever you want," he replied. She could do anything she wanted as far as he was concerned, as long as she stopped distracting him with her finger on his arm.

Emily smiled. She knew it wasn't right not to be doing anything for the assignment. She should do something to help out. She looked around to be sure that nobody would notice. She then turned slightly toward Joseph, hiding his lower body from the sight of the next lab table over, to the left of them, and then reached out with her left hand to lightly place it on the crotch of his slacks.

"What?!" Joseph exclaimed, in surprise and shock, jerking his hip away from her hand, although being careful not to make a slip with his scalpel. He might in fact make a pretty good surgeon someday, as he just demonstrated that even if a pretty nurse touched his crotch during an operation, the patient would not have been harmed.

A few of the students looked over at them at the sound of Joseph's voice. They figured that he must have just gotten a little excited about the task. It was amazing how Joseph found biology so interesting.

Joseph lowered his voice to a whisper. "What are you doing, Emily?"

She replied in a sincerely plaintive manner, "I was just trying to help, Joey."

"Help? Help, how?"

"I was giving you 'positive reinforcement,'" she replied, smiling proudly at her success in using one of the concepts they had learned in class. "Every time you do something right, I will give you a little happy squeeze. Don't you think that would be fun?"

It would certainly be fun. He had to admit that.

She pressed her argument, as she pressed her soft little bosom into his shoulder. "You deserve something for doing all the work yourself."

Joseph breathed in the lovely scent of the girl, which confused and startled him all the more. Templeton girls weren't allowed to wear perfume. Emily knew this, but there was an understandable element of risk when hunting penises. Perfume was at times necessary, particularly to bag the big ones. If she was caught wearing perfume she would be willing to pay the price. She considered it be analogous to a fisherman paying a fine for using illegal bait.

"I bet none of the other girls you've helped have given you anything in return."

That was very true, and that did at times bother him. On the one hand, he didn't mind doing all of the work, as anytime his partner tried to help it often just messed things up. But, it wasn't right that they got all that class credit for doing nothing, when he in fact did do all the work.

Emily could see his resolve wavering. She returned her fingers to his crotch. Boys were often much more cooperative, more compliant, when they felt her fingers on their penises.

This time he didn't back away. He squirmed a bit, but he didn't object, at least not strongly. He whispered, "Emily, somebody will see you, will see, us."

Emily smiled. She knew that she had him now. She whispered back. "Nobody will see anything, trust me. The only ones who could are Frank Harden and Jeffrey, and if I keep myself turned toward you, like this, they can't see anything, and besides, they're much too interested in their own frog."