Moist

Two

MAURA LOOKED DOWN on her client. She’d seen his type before. Nervous, scared, hopeful that she would take over and give him release. She never did. That’s not why she was here. She was a teacher. She had valuable information to impart and no matter how much they whined or begged, they had to learn to do it themselves. Besides, it’s not like she was a whore. If anything, she looked like the head of psychiatry for a large urban hospital. She was somewhat officious, her blond hair cut blunt and to the point, her blue eyes intense. She had an authoritative mouth, not particularly welcoming or warm, with small, slightly angled teeth. Despite what some people called a cold or, charitably, professional appearance, there was something extremely attractive about Maura. It was probably her breasts.

She listened to the familiar whack-a whack-a, the grunts, the short breaths. Using her calmest, most reassuring voice, she offered guidance.

“Relax, Mr. Larga. Take a deep breath.”

Larga tried. He sucked air into his saggy, pale body. He exhaled noisily through his thick nostrils and licked his fat lips.

“Relax your abdominal muscles. Relax your thighs.”

Larga squirmed in the chair. He was uncomfortable being naked under bright lights. He was embarrassed by what he was doing.

“My arm’s getting tired.”

Maura had heard this before.

“Orgasm is not the goal.”

“I’m getting chapped. I need more lubricant.”

She handed him the Astroglide and spoke to him like a reprimanding schoolteacher.

“There are hundreds of different ways to stimulate the tumescent male member. Hammering away with your fist is just one of them.”

He blinked up at her, ever hopeful.

“Can you show me?”

Maura picked up a plastic dildo and demonstrated.

“Most men find this one unbelievable.”

Larga tried. God bless him. He tried his best. But he couldn’t relax and, in the end, went back to whacking away with his fist. Maura sighed. It was so predictable. Some people could relax and benefit from her advice, others just wanted to jerk off in front of a woman. A grunt burst from Larga’s mouth. Maura saw that he was nearing orgasm.

“Don’t tense. Relax. Start taking deep breaths.”

But Larga couldn’t relax, and with a loud exhalation ejaculated on his belly. Maura handed him a box of tissues.

“Well, it’s a start.”

Larga wiped up quickly and started pulling on his clothes.

“You can wash your hands right over there.”

He buckled up and went over to the sink. He was in a hurry, like he’d just done something he should be ashamed of. Maura made small talk to ease his guilt.

“So what do you do for a living, Mr. Larga?”

“I write cookbooks.”

“That must be fun.”

“It’s okay.”

Larga nodded and ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

“How long have you been a… you know… a coach?”

“I’ve been in practice about three years.”

Maura watched as Larga looked at her. Or, more accurately, as he looked at her breasts. She was used to this. Ever since she was fourteen she’d watched men look at her face and then slowly drag their eyes down to her chest. Then they would converse with her breasts. It annoyed Maura, but she couldn’t really blame them. Her breasts were her most prominent feature. They were large for her thin frame; she looked like a model, a “creepy stick” as her girlfriend said. People always assumed she’d had her tits done, but in truth if she was going to have anything done, she’d have them reduced. They stuck out, called attention to themselves, and caused men to come up to her and say the stupidest things. For example, what Larga was about to say.

“You must be pretty good at it yourself.”

“At what?”

“This, you know… autoerotica.”

Maura smiled and lit some incense.

“Next week. Same time?”

Larga nodded and started out the door.

“Practice what I showed you. Every day.”

The door closed and Larga was gone. Maura carefully stripped the sheet off the chair and tossed it in a hamper. She bent down and took a new sheet out of a small cupboard and put it on the chair. She thought about Larga and smiled to herself.

Some people just naturally know how to jerk off.

He wasn’t one of them.