The Shrink
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Interview With A Shrink free porn video
Shrink
By Cassandra Morgan
It wasn't just that his beard was gone, although that was shocking enough.
Ever since I had known Phillip Lawrence, he had a beard. It made him look
wise. It made him look distinguished.It was his trademark. You have known
men, as have I, who shaved their beards, and you barely noticed. Not
Phillip. His beard was like Freud's. You could not imagine him without it.
And it wasn't that the way he carried himself had vanished, too.. This was
no longer a graceful man with a aristocrat's bearing. This was a damaged
man, a broken man. His eyes were on the floor. His shoulders were slumped.
He was drawn, weak. It was as if he was shell-shocked, as if he had seen
some horrible atrocity in some war.
He had been stripped of his dignity, of his confidence. He was beaten.
As we stood in my office, it was neither of those things that struck me
about Phillip.
It was that he was wearing a dress.
I almost laughed. The image was that absurd. Here he was, this man in his
mid-40s, with short hair and large hands, standing in my doorway, wearing a
soft blue dress and blue heels. I could have sworn he had was wearing
light
makeup, just a bit around the eyes and lips. It was like seeing a bear in a
cheerleader's outfit. It just did not compute.
"My God, Phil," I said. "Come in. Please. What's going on? Here. Have a
seat, and I'll pour you a drink. Is it still Scotch?"
He looked at me. His eyes were hollow, empty. These were the eyes of a
victim, of a hunted animal.
"Thank you, Tim," he said. "Thank you for seeing me."
"Of course, Phil. Do you need to talk? I have to say, it's a bit of a shock
to see you like this."
He sat down. He cradled his drink with both hands and pulled at it.
Finally, he whispered, "It's a bit of a shock to be seen like this."
We were colleagues more than friends, but I had known Phillip for years. I
admired his standing in the psychiatric community. He was well-respected,
and often published. I had been his counsel for a long time. There had
never been a hint of scandal. After all this time, was he a transvestite?
For the record, my name is Tim Ryan. I'm a shrink. Or, better said, I'm a
psychiatrist. Perhaps you know. Most psychiatrists have their own
psychiatrist. Hey, we're human. We have the same pressures and burdens as
the rest of the world. And sometimes, it helps to talk it out. So we lean
on each other to share opinions on patients, to sort through our own
troubles, to bounce ideas off each other.
For eight years, I had been Phillip's doctor. When Miriam cheated on him,
he talked to me. When he was plagiarized by Scott Jenson, he talked to me.
When he won the Spencer Award, he talked to me. And now this.
I sat silently as he drank. For a psychiatrist, silence is often the best
approach. When he was ready, he would talk to me. No wine before its time,
right?
I shifted in my chair. He sat on my couch, shrugged, and then lay down.
That was normal. Some patients prefer to to be prone as they talk. He
pulled at the hem of his dress. I could see his legs were shaven. Pale, but
shaven.
"I'm...I"m in trouble, Tim," he finally said.
"Would you like to discuss it?" I said.
"I guess."
He looked at the ceiling. He put a hand to his forehead, and I could see
that his fingernails were painted pink. They seemed to match his lipstick,
although if he had been a woman for real, it was time he retouched his
lips. I chose not to mention this.
"Tim...do you know much about dominance?" he asked."Control? Humiliation?
Mistresses and sissies?"
"Not really," I said. "Just the general thoughts on it."
"I...I have a Mistress, Tim," he said. He looked out the window. He seemed
as if he were about to cry.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" I said, prodding him.
"Her name... her name is Mistress Anita," he said. "She has taken me over.
Phyllis, she calls me. She has guided me toward life as a sissy. Me!"
If I had been in a bar, I might have laughed. But I was in clinical mode
now. Everything was compartmentalized. There were repercussions to what he
was telling me. I leaned forward, thinking of leather-attired women with
whips.
"And what does that entail, Phil?" I asked.
"Well, obviously, she has me in women's clothing," he said. "It started the
first night. Right down to my underwear. She has me in panties and a bra.
Hose and breast forms. Makeup. Perfume. Heels. All of it. She usually has
me in a wig, but I couldn't bear for you to see me in that?"
Really? It was okay for me to see you in a dress, but a wig was too much? I
thought it. I didn't say it. The broken mind is a complicated thing. If
the
absence of a wig was his lifeline to being normal, so be it.
I wondered how many people had seen him on the street. I wondered how many
people recognized him. He was fairly well known in his field.
I looked at him. No, he wasn't pretty. He wasn't delicate. He wouldn't pass
unless the lights were low and everyone was drunk. I wondered: Does it
take
courage to go out dressed that way? Or does it take a distinct lack of
courage to be made to go out that way?
"How did this start, Phil?" I asked softly.
"I was doing a research paper," he said. "I interviewed her sissy, Flower.
Then I interviewed her. And she figured out that I was intrigued by Flower.
I found her...exotic. I was curious, in a professional manner. I guess in
a
non-professional manner, too. But I would never have acted upon it."
"Flower is a male?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "Well, she's a sissy. I guess you could call her half-male.
She has her own breasts. She wears dresses. But, yeah, she's a guy."
"Have you always been gay, Phillip?" I wondered.
"Oh, I'm not gay," he said. "I don't think so, anyway. Flower is as
feminine a creature as you could imagine. She's soft, and she's pretty, and
she's shy."
"Yes, but does she have a penis? Isn't that the tell?"
"Well, yes. She has one. A small one. I can't figure out if that adds to
her allure or takes away from it."
"You tell me."
"I don't know. Adds to it, I think. Is that wrong?"
"There is no wrong, Phil. You know that. The world of the mind, and the
world of sexual attraction, exists beyond moral judgments. Have you
been...with her?"
"Yes," he said shyly. "I went home with Mistress Anita and Flower, and she
orchestrated the two of us like a matchmaker. She had Flower kiss me,
softly, deeply. She had me sit in a recliner, and Flower undid my pants,
and she kissed my cock. She gave me oral sex with barely a word spoken.
And, Tim, it was amazing. The girl is incredible. I had never felt anything
like that before."
"And did you do the same for her?"
He looked at me, not blinking. There was regret in those eyes, but there
was something else, too. Lust?
"Yes, I tried," he said. "Mistress insisted upon it. Flower was so small
down there. And before that first night was over, I had her in my mouth,
and Mistress was encouraging me to go further, to lick her balls, to
swallow her ... cum. I was hypnotized. I couldn't stop. I couldn't say no. I
let out all of these homosexual urges at once. She later told me that it
wasn't being gay. It was being a sissy. But when you're sucking a cock,
it's hard to tell the difference."
"Is there one?"
"I don't know."
"So you and Flower were lovers?"
"Not just that. She was my sister. My lover. My guide. No one can kiss the
way Flower kisses. No one is so sweet in bed. When I was with her, I
dreamed of taking her away from this, of being with her, the gayness of it
all be damned. I know that down deep, she's a boy. I know that down deep,
she can make me forget that I am. She's in love with Mistress, of course.
But I think of her a spirit guide, the way the Indian tribes used to have.
She taught me everyting about being a sissy. Especially how good it feels."
"Tell me, Phil. Why do you think that Mistresses like to see two boys
together, anyway? What's the allure there? Is it like a guy with two
lesbians?"
He looked at me. He shook his head.
"Think about it, Tim. When you were a boy, what was the single worst thing
your friends could say about you? That you were gay, right? That you sucked
dicks. Oh, we grew up in the age of enlightenment, and it's okay to be gay
and Pride and all that. But when you were a kid, it was better for you to
drink piss and eat dog turds than to think about another boy's dick in your
mouth. And so a Mistress, looking for the ultimate debasement of a sissy,
demands that she suck cock. That she swallows sperm. The stuff that goes
into a towel in a boys' bedroom is now going down your throat. Penis snot.
No, you aren't being gay. If you were gay, it would be fine to be taking
your lover's sperm. It's humiliating because you aren't gay. That's the
point with a Mistress.
"Lesbians? They're gay. They're attracted to each other's gender.
Sometimes, they're butch and femme. Or domme and sub. Or lipstick and
lipstick. But they are into each other for sexual pleasure. A sissy and a
guy are generally under the direction of a Mistress. It's manipulated sex,
puppets on a string. Whatever enjoyment we get from it - and there is some
- is secondary to the debasement. You aren't sucking a dick for your
enjoyment. You're sucking a dick for your mistress's enjoyment."'
"How did she get you ... dressed like this?"
"Stages, of course. That first night, she rubbed my groin with her panties.
It was erotic. It was sensual. Then she had me put on the panties. Then
she put a rubber dildo up my ass. I was embarrassed, but I was alive. I
hated it, but I loved it. You know? The next morning, she had me go with
Flower to the bathroom. Between my depilatory and a couple of razors, she
had me shave down. Flower had me put on clean panties and a bra. No corset.
Not yet. But she had me put on hose and maid's dress. A gray one. She put
makeup on me. I was a sissy."
"That fast?"
"Tim, I wanted to fight it, but I couldn't. If it had just been Flower and
I, well, she could have been the girl, and I would have gone about my life
in a same-sex relationship, and that would have been it. But with both of
them there, it was like being trapped in a spider web. The further I went,
the more I did, the worse it got. I couldn't get out."
"So what happened?"
"We fucking cleaned her apartment. Like fucking hired help. We made her
breakfast, and we didn't even make food for us. We washed her dishes. We
ironed. It's bad enough to be a girl. But to be...the help. That was
embarrassing. For God's sake, I'm an educated man, and I was hand-washing
her panties."
"How long did you work?"
"All damn day. We mopped floors that were already clean. We washed linens
that didn't need it. We vacuumed. I think she wanted me to do this stuff
even if it didn't need it. Part of my training, I suppose."
"And how long were you there?"
"Tim, you don't understand. I'm still there. I'm supposed to be at the mall
buying panties and bras right now. I snuck away. I will be spanked when
she
finds out. Maybe with a belt. But I had to tell someone before it's too
late."
"When did this start? Thursday a week ago? What have you been doing?"
"Every night, Tim, every night has been an adventure. She had two women
over the next night. Two fat, ugly women, and I had to lick them both. I
think they had been with guys just before then. They didn't smell ... fresh.
The night after, she had guys come over. I don't know if they were gay, but
they knew I was a sissy and it didn't bother them. They butt-fucked Flower
and I. Hard and dry. She watched us like we were in a play.
"We did it all. She used dildos on us. She threatened to shower us - pee on
us. She had me suck off Flower in a public men's room. She took us to a
lesbian bar to go dancing, although all the women knew were men - or at
least I was - and they hated us for that. She had us tag-team guys. Do you
know what that is? Each of you gets four guys, and whoever makes the all
four come first wins. Yeah, I won.
"She was sitting around and making these games up, Tim. How could she
degrade me the most?. She even sent photos of me as a sissy to Miriam. I
imagine that went over well. Miriam fucking hates me. Her new husband hates
me. They must have loved seeing me in a maid's dress. I imagine that at
the
Blossom Creek Country Club, they ordered 200 wallet-sized photos."
"Phil, all of this will pass. You know it will."
"Not everything, Tim. She has scheduled me for breast implants. That's
forever. Flower got hormones, but she said she wants my dick to keep its
erections. So she's going to put a pair of whammers on my chest. She wants
me to get a tattoo of a flower, to show my "sister" my love. "
"Was that the worst of it!"
He laughed, and it sounded harsh and bitter.
"You mean besides giving blow jobs to strangers so she could drink free?
Besides the tits? Besides wearing dresses and cleaning? How about this? I'm
also in a cock cage. It pinches like hell every time I even think about
getting an erection."
"You still have some fight in you, Phil. I thought most Sissies surrendered
to their Mistresses."
"I don't know how long I can hold out. I think it was easier for Flower. By
the time she met Mistress, she was ready to turn her life over. But for
me,
every step has been an education. The clothes. The lack of hair. The guys.
The chores."
"Can the chores be that bad? I mean, there are two of you."
"That's just it, Tim! She lends us out. To her friends. To people who pay
her. We're a full-service maid outfit. Look, it isn't all like the fetish
magazines where the guys are dressed in satin and lace. We wear gray cotton
work dresses. And we bust our ass. Four hours a house."
"Here's a silly question, Phil. Why don't you leave?"
"Leave?"
"I mean it. Just walk out. What? Are you going to tell me she has pictures?
So what? Let her blackmail you. You'll endure it. You're a man of
letters."
"It isn't the threat of blackmail," Phil said softly.
"Then what is it?"
"It's...it's me. I'm in too deep. This is hard to say, but this is what I
am, Tim. I am drawn to this life like a fly to a lightbulb. Even if I left
her, I'd find another Mistress soon enough. I can't give this up. That's
the real problem here. I'd find more men. I'd end up in an glory hole at a
dirty movie palace. I know I would. Even the parts I hate."
"So, what you're saying is that Mistress isn't the villain here, then?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if this really your life, if this what you choose, then she's
helping you. She's given you a place to live. She's fed you. She's clothed
you. If you really want to be like this, she is hour benefactor. Have you
considered that perhaps you need to give into this lifestyle? Have you
thought that you've always been a sissy, and she has merely assisted you."
Phil was silent for a long moment. A tear ran down his left cheek.
"I don't want to be like this," he finally said hoarsely.
"I know," I said. "And I don't want to have brown eyes. But things are how
things are."
He stood. He smoothed his dress. He reached into his purse and took out a
tube of lip gloss. He deliberately re-applied it. He inhaled deeply.
Exhaled deeply.
He gathered himself. He stood upright, as if he had reached a decision.
"I'd better get back," he said. "Mistress will be waiting for me.".
"Phil, I want you to come and see me soon," I said. "We need to talk more.
A lot more."
He smiled, sad in his surrender.
"Call me Phyllis," he said.
Jayla
- 16.07.2021
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