This one starts before CCF1, although only briefly, after which it overlaps and then continues after CCF1 ended, which explains the evolving relationship between Rick and Sharon. I’ve included a quick summary in the story, where it was needed. As always on a CCF, this is a fictionalized account, with names and some information changed. At least in this one, I didn’t need to make huge changes on one character that forced the character to be more awkward. I admit, as well, there are a few sessions not recorded in this tale. And ‘Sharon’ has piped in a few times from the peanut gallery; I removed most of those, but left a few in. She’ll punish me later, I’m sure. You do not have to have read CCF1 in order to enjoy this, though there are a few specific references, and of course you’ll understand the evolution of Sharon’s and my relationship more fully if you have.
I also want to thank my editors and Beta Readers. This is a bit of a touchy as, while this is a Loving Wives tale in the end, it included an… unusual Fetish which made most of them uncomfortable. It’s not my fetish, for the record, either.
For those who would otherwise vote low simply because of the fetish, or the cuckolding, or the swinging, please move on. This isn’t a story for you. It’s the somewhat fictionalized accounting of someone else’s marriage and relationship (plus some insight into my own). There are many stories that will appeal to you elsewhere if you can’t stand to read the effects of this fetish on the Simmons’ relationship.
I also would appreciate feedback on whether or not folks want to hear more of the Case Files. It can be hard obtaining permission to fictionalize them from the people involved. One promising case, involving a Lesbian couple wanting to have children, had permission withdrawn after I gave them the outline, for example. HIPAA dies not allow me to put in many details, so I also have adapt or (as in the case of ‘Bill’s in CCF1), rewrite real people with totally fictionalized people (in this case, those only appear indirectly… yes, Paul and Roberta are based on real people). This is more work than a fully fictional account, so I’d like to know that people think it’s worth my effort to try to write these, barring one so interesting there is no way to pass it up.
At any rate, enjoy!
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Monday, March 12, 2018
I walked from my office over to the business office area of my human sexuality and relationship medical clinic and started listening in. Sharon, my nurse, was talking about her adventures with her boyfriend, Tom, in Boston over the previous weekend. Since we didn’t have any patients, and we weren’t expecting any for a few minutes, I decided to eavesdrop a bit.
“So there we were, sitting at the table in the Red Robin near Gillette Stadium, and Tom is trying his best to get his hand under my skirt. I mean, really! There was a family with young kids at the next table! I’m all for being a bit naughty, but he was just being crude.”
“Oh, please, go on!” gushed Susan, my office manager, who’d just celebrated her 51st birthday with her husband, Tom, the weekend before, and who was an inveterate gossiper. “How naughty did you finally allow him to get?”
“I’m a mostly” and she giggled “good girl, Susan! I don’t do things like that normally. I mean, sure, I can get wild, at times. But not really that wild, at least not with Tom. I’m not sure how much longer we’re going to last if he keeps pushing me like that. I like to have romance, tenderness, love… and then we get to the hot monkey sex, once I’ve got my guy primed.” Susan and Cathy both started giggling a bit at that, and I could hear Sharon’s voice change from the ear-to-ear grin that must have been plastered on those luscious lips of hers as she then said, “Besides, I like Tom, but I don’t think he’s ‘the one’. I’ve kind of got a thing for someone else, but I’m not sure he thinks of me romantically.”
“Oh? Sounds interesting!” Susan piped in. “Anyone we know?”
“I’ll never tell. Well, unless it happens, then I’ll be telling everyone!” Sharon piped back. Susan and Cathy both tittered at that.
For some reason, I felt jealous of the lucky guy who was the object of Sharon’s desire, and Tom, her boyfriend for the last eight months or so. I regretted that I had implemented a strict policy in my head of never entering an office romance. There were too many possible pitfalls that could arise if someone became aggrieved at me, and it was my rear on the line for any workplace issues caused by something like that. Better, smarter, to my way of thinking, to just not go there, regardless of how cute Sharon was. And cute she indeed was. At 29, Sharon was a definite 7.5 on the old 10-point scale without makeup and in just her normal nurses uniform (and no, not one of the so-called ‘Nurses Uniforms’ you find in sex videos… we’re talking blue nylon pants and a pale pink blouse, not exactly sexy clothing). With makeup and dressed nice, she’s kocaeli escort a “WOW!” Tall, willowy, graced with long legs leading to a heart shaped bite-able butt, her jet black hair and brown eyes made me think of the classic “corn fed girl next door,” although her slight New Jersey accent proved she wasn’t from Kansas.
The sound of the front door buzzer went through the office just as the image of me sitting with Sharon in that Red Robin flashed through my brain. Saved by the buzzer, I walked forward, making my presence known for the first time to the trio, raising my eyebrows as if questioning, and said “Do we have patients this morning? Did someone remember to unlock the door so they can come in?”
“Oh, I’m sorry doctor. I’ll get to it,” Cathy, red faced, answered. Cathy was my office secretary and receptionist, a short, lightly-tanned and presumably Hispanic woman in her mid-30s (I had never asked her race, so it was just a presumption). Satisfied as I saw her get up to unlock the door, I walked the lonely walk back to my office. The only male in an office with three females, I sometimes led a lonely life. Of course, it didn’t help that I was just this side of making it in my practice. I was living month to month in terms of making the practice work, but it was finally growing, so there was hope in sight.
I heard the greeting of the couple at the door by my staff, as I went and checked my calendar; it stated that I had an appointment with a Paul and Roberta Simmons, scheduled for a 30-minute discussion and consult. There was no specific reason for the consult in my calendar reminder, but it did list they were new patients.
About seven minutes after they arrived, they were brought back to me by Sharon; she glanced at me with an odd look, and introduced them to me. “Doctor, your next patients are here. This is Paul and Roberta Simmons, from East Walpole.”
“Hi, I’m Doctor Richard Wesson, but you can call me Doctor Rick, if that makes you feel more relaxed.” I said as I stood and shook hands with the couple. Sizing them up, I saw a 5’11” inch male, strong build, mid 20s, reddish blond hair cut short, gray eyes, and an attractive 5’3″ female, shapely and trim, with a nice bosom, shoulder length curly brown hair and brown eyes; she was dressed conservatively for her age, with a knee length gray woolen dress, nude hose of some sort, and short one-inch heels, while he was dressed in a white knit cotton shirt, showing a hint of muscle tone, under a light red jacket, a pair of khaki pants, and a pair of penny loafers. After greeting them, I nodded to Sharon, who left and closed the door as she did.
“So, what brings you into the clinic? You realize that the clinic specializes in relationship and sexuality health matters for couples, so I’m assuming that you have some kind of issue there that I can help you with?”
“Doctor Rick, we’re a normal couple; Roberta and I have been married now for three, almost four years. We have a great relationship, in and out of the bedroom. I… I have a few interesting things that I like to do when we make love. It’s not an everyday thing. It’s not a big thing. But it… it’s causing some strain… in the bedroom.” Paul intoned.
“Doctor, I love my husband. I want him to be happy. I want him to feel loved. I want him to feel sexy. So I want to do these… things with him, but they’re…” and then she blushed, and stopped for a moment. “They’re weird, doc. I feel weird every time we do them, and he’s wanting to do them more and more.”
“Well, I understand. Many women are uncomfortable with anal sex…” I began, before being cut off by her laugh.
“Oh, no, doc, that’s not what we’re talking about.” Even as she blushed, she turned a deep red. “I… uh… like it when we do that. I…oh god. I like to have it in the butt. I like it a lot.” she pushed out while she still had the nerve to speak.
“I see. Then I’ll let you explain. But understand, I do not make judgments; whatever a couple decides is right for themselves, as long as no laws are broken, no minors are involved, that kind of thing, I don’t judge. Human sexuality is a rainbow,” and I chuckled, “and I’m not talking about just the LGBTQ rainbow. We each have sexual desires, and we hope to find someone who meets those desires and of whom we meet the desires.”
“Well, it’s kind of like that, doc.” Paul piped in. “I have certain… desires. Actually, scratch that. I am… more than just Paul. I’m also Brander, and Brander has sexual desires. And I think Roberta is having trouble with Brander.”
“Brander? I’m not sure I understand.”
“I’m… well, they call us ‘Furrys’. I’m a Furry. And my fursona is named Brander. And the issue is that sometimes, Brander needs to get a little tail, if you know what I mean.” Paul opined, looking at me hopefully.
“I’m sorry, what? I know a lot of different aspects of sexuality, but I’ve never heard of a ‘Furry.’ Can you explain that?”
“Well, kocaeli escort bayan it’s kinda like… well, I was born a human being. But I’m not a human being, I’m an animal, too. In this case, I’m Brander, who is my fursona. Brander is a large brown ferret. I put on Brander’s skin, and become Brander.”
I started to become alarmed at this; I had never heard of ‘Furries,’ ‘Fursonas’ or any of the related terms at this point, so I was instantly imagining a horror story: Paul wearing the bloody pelt of a ferret. “May I ask my nurse to join us for a moment?” I questioned the couple.
“Sure, sure.” I buzzed and told Cathy to have Sharon come in. After Sharon slipped in, I nodded to my examination stool, over by the exam table in the corner of my office, for her to sit in and asked her to take notes.
“All right, so I’m still not sure I understand what a ‘Furry’ is. Can you please explain it in better detail for me?” I started. As soon as I said ‘Furry;’ however, Sharon’s head swiveled to face me, with a curious smile. I had the distinct impression that she was more astonished that I didn’t know what a ‘Furry’ is than that the couple had come to discuss ‘Furries’ with me.
Paul then began a description of what a Furry was; as it turned out, my impression of him wearing a skin while pretending to be the animal was closer to the truth than not, although truth had more fabric, fake fur and less gore than my initial understanding. After a few minutes discussion, I understood enough to know that people donned these outfits, some only partial outfits, some full-blown costumes, and ‘became’ the creature of the outfit, an anthropomorphic representation of some non-human creature, such as a wolf, a beaver, a dog, a cat, a cow or a ferret.
I finally started to understand, and asked the real question. “Okay, so now that I understand that, what problems is this causing in your relationship, since it appears that this is what you want to discuss?”
Roberta took over. “I didn’t meet, date, fall in love with, or marry, Brander. I met and fell in love with Paul. I accept that there might be a time or two where it’s ‘Brander Time,’ for Paul’s sake, but I want a more traditional love making. It’s… it’s decreased my desire. I think…” and she turned to Paul “I think… I think it’s weird, honey. I love you. I want Paul, not Brander.”
Paul stared at her for a moment, then turned to me. “This is what our problem is, Doctor Rick. Brander is a part of me, or I am a part of Brander. He wants a sex life, too. He needs to yiff, just like any other living creature.”
“‘Yiff?’ What the heck is ‘yiff’?” I responded back. Sharon suddenly giggled, not at them, but at me. I suppose she knew what ‘yiff’ meant and was laughing at my naivety, especially considering how I had specialized in Human Sexuality during my undergraduate days, before Med school.
“Yiffing is what two fursonas who love each other very much do sexually, Doctor,” she piped in. “It’s the phrase Furries use for sexual intercourse.”
“It’s a bit more than that,” Paul corrected, “but essentially, yes. Yiff is the term we use for fucking. It’s the sound a female fox makes while fucking.”
“Language, please. We try to be clinical here when we talk, although if you must, you can use coarser language.”
“Anyway, ‘Yiff’ means ‘Yes’ in foxish, like when a woman is encouraging her man” and here Paul looked over at Roberta, who smiled back at him. “It also can mean… um… fornicate. Or even ‘Young, Incredibly, uh… Fornicatable Furry. Except not fornicatable. So… yiff. Yiffing. Yiff that. A yiffing good time. Yiff off. Go yiff yourself. Motheryiffer.”
And at that point I cut him off. “I get the picture, I think.”
“Not quite, doc. ‘I’ve got a yiffy’ means exactly what you think it might mean, for example. Yiff is a word with a lot of uses, and normally is used as a substitute for fu… the ‘F word,’ or for any furry sexual situation. Yiff is, basically, sex.”
“You mentioned the word ‘fursona’ earlier. What is that?” I moved the conversation forward.
“Brander is my fursona, my furry self. He is who I am when I’m… well, Brander. When I put on my Brander suit, he’s like me in some ways, and different in others. I am not Brander, and he’s not me, but we’re both each other. I know that sounds crazy. I know it does, because I talked with a psychologist once who talked about Dissociative Identity Disorder. I don’t quite have that. Brander is who I want to be. It’s closer to the way a pre-transexual person is a man trapped in a woman’s body, or a woman trapped in a man’s body. Donning my suit brings up the inner Brander, part of my inner self.”
Again, I was disturbed by the way he was describing his emotions and feelings; they did not fall purely into the category of a sexual mores, nor a normal sexual deviancy. They didn’t even fall into the realm of what I assumed most Furries would consider normal, escort kocaeli as they seemed to push beyond that.
Roberta piped up quietly at that point. “This is our core issue, Doctor Rick. I love Paul. Brander would be permanently in the ‘Friend Zone’, except… well, Paul feels that he is Brander.”
“I see.” I didn’t know how to react to that. “I’m going to need to research some of the literature, and become more informed of the… you called it ‘Furry Lifestyle’ when you were describing it earlier?” Paul nodded. “‘Furry Lifestyle’ so I’m going to need some time. I think I’m going to need a few weeks to fully understand this and be able to help you. Can you wait a few weeks?”
“Yes, I’ll be gone for most of next month anyway on a sales trip to Japan. How about two months, Doctor? Can you help us in a couple of months?” Paul responded.
Nodding my head, they stood up to leave, and we shook hands. As Sharon escorted them out, I reminded her to have them back in two months, and then asked her to return once they had left.
A moment or two later, Sharon came back into the room, closing the door, and taking the seat recently vacated by Roberta Simmons. Demurely, she crossed her legs, even though it wasn’t like I could see anything of them through the loose slacks she wore as part of her ‘uniform.’ “You wanted to talk with me, doctor?”
“Yes, uh… Sharon, you seem to have a better grasp of this Furry business than I do. I wanted to pick your brain on it for a moment while it’s still fresh in both of our minds.” It was the first time, I think, that I’d ever asked for her opinions and observations directly on one of the cases.
“My roommate in college was into the Furry lifestyle,” she said. “She took me with her when she went to a number of gatherings of Furries, and some conferences and conventions where there were Furries. I am not one, don’t really understand the appeal, but I became familiar with it.”
“So, his description of his fursona, how he reacted, how he felt… those seem to be a classic case of psychosis, or Dissociative Identity Disorder. Is that… common?”
“I’ve seen a few folks take it to extremes, but as it was described to me, more Furries think their fursona is a part of them, or allows them to be liberated from being just themselves. They get to be someone bigger, more… something. They feel a connection to the wild animal they choose, and they feel that they are only half human, and half that animal. Their fursona allows them to be who they feel they are.”
“Thank you, Sharon. I have a lot to think about, and a lot to research. I may pull you in on this again.” She stood up and smiled as she headed to the door.
“My pleasure, Rick. Feel free to pull me in for whatever you need.” She suddenly blushed slightly, then walked out. I wondered what that was about.
– – – – –
Wednesday 16 May, 2018
(Note: For those who have not read it, Clinic Case Files 1 discussed some events during the two months between the Simmons’ visits. Suffice it for the purposes here, Sharon broke up with Tom, and forced me into a relationship; we had begun dating in April, 2018.)
(Forced is not the correct term. I went after my man and took him. I have you now, Doctor Richard Wesson, and I’m not letting you go!)
(Sharon, please don’t type notes like this into the story. I’ll have to punish you if you keep doing it.)
(So punish me then! I dare you!)
(Sorry folks. Like before, I’m going to leave this in to embarrass Sharon. Rest assured, Sharon was moaning the whole time I lightly spanked her for her bad behavior.)
“So, I’ve got reservations at Mills Tavern for Saturday. I wanted to give you plenty of time to decide if you want to get a new dress or anything, or get your hair done. But tonight, I figured we could both just go my place, and I’ll cook some of that Chicken Tika Masala I’ve been telling you about. We could have that, then just… watch some Netflix, or something,” I told Sharon as she sat on my lap during a discrete moment of intimacy between us.
“Netflix and chill? Really, Rick? So corny. But I’m in. And then, maybe you’ll be in. I’ll bring a bottle of wine, and we’ll just take it easy in front of my boobs… um, the boob tube.” Sharon flirted back. I knew she made the mistake on purpose, as she pushed those delectable orbs in my direction. While we had been tearing up the sheets for the last month, we’d also been spending plenty of time doing other things, as well. I again thought about my upcoming conversation with her over dessert on Saturday, whether she would move in with me. I had even arranged for a key to the apartment to be brought out with the dessert.
“Hey, you want to know what I’m really like, you need to let me make you all of my special meals. I love to cook. I like food. And isn’t that what they say, ‘If you feed a stray cat, it’ll keep coming back’?” I flirted back. She could see the twinkle in my eyes as I said it.
“Oh, so now you’re calling me a stray, eh? I get that you may think of me as feline…purr…” as she nibbled on my ear, “but I’m definitely not an easy pussy…cat.” With that, she nipped me lightly, laughed and stood up. I swatted her on the delectable rear as she moved away.