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to
well-being.
    Slipping my
wet fingers out of my hot pussy, I closed my eyes, wondering
whether I'd quelled the panic, the anxiety. Trembling, gasping, it
wasn't easy to tell - I'd have to wait. Glancing at the clock, I
climbed out of bed. Ten-thirty. Would Tony try ringing again? I'd
speak to him the next time; tell him that I was OK.
    My juices of
orgasm trickled down my inner thighs as I wandered into the
kitchen, sticky, warm. Filling the kettle, I gazed down at my naked
body, my firm, well-rounded breasts, my long, sensitive nipples.
The Blue Lady should have been naked. I should never have veiled
her beautiful breasts in blue velvet, concealed her pussy. I'd do a
painting of myself for Tony. Yes, a birthday present - me, naked on
the canvas. He'd like that.
    Taking the
milk from the fridge, I began to breathe uneasily. My heart
palpitating, my hands trembling, I sat at the table. Orgasm hadn't
been the answer. I must have been mad to think that masturbation
was the key to my problems. "That bloody hippy doctor!" I sobbed,
hanging my head. If anything, I felt worse!
    What was wrong with me? I wondered as I climbed the stairs
with tears running down my face, foregoing my coffee. What the hell
was wrong with me? See what
happens ? I'd murder Doctor bloody
Harvey!
     
     

Chapter
Two
     
    Doctor Harvey
would give it some thought; he'd said when I rang him the following
morning in a state of sheer panic. I hadn't told him that I'd
masturbated, I'd just said that I'd had sex and, if anything, it
had made me feel worse. Give it some thought? I needed action, not
thought!
    Tony was due
back that afternoon, which was a comforting thought. How I'd
explain the Blue Lady, and why I'd not answered the phone, I had no
idea. The phone had been out of order, and the painting... I'd
cross that bridge when I came to it. I hate crossing bridges,
bridges built on lies.
    But it would
be nice to have Tony home again. My stomach somersaulted at the
thought of his naked body, his arms around me, loving me - his
penis deep inside my gripping vagina. Sex - I pondered on the word.
Was there something beside orgasm that I might be addicted to? No,
of course there wasn't, the idea was crazy!
    I spent the
morning pacing the studio floor and wandering around the garden,
trying to calm myself, trying to relax. But I found no inspiration,
no peace, no solace. The longer Tony was away, the worse I felt,
and I thanked God that his trips were only for a week at a
time.
    I was pleased
when Doctor Harvey rang me after lunch. Pleased that he was taking
an interest, at least - until he told me of another wild theory
that his cannabis-blown mind had come up with.
    "Sperm, Mrs
Hunter," he said in his forthright manner.
    "Sperm?" I
echoed, wondering what the madman was talking about.
    "Going through
my notes, I noticed that a very prominent part of your sex life is
fellatio. Do you swallow your husband's sperm?"
    "I... yes, yes
I do," I replied hesitantly. Salty, nice.
    "It's possible
that you're addicted to sperm, Mrs Hunter."
    "Addicted to... I really can't believe that!" I returned. Good
God, if anyone needed a psychiatrist, he did!
    "Did you have
oral sex last night?" he asked unashamedly.
    Did you ? I
wondered. "Er... no, no I didn't," I replied sheepishly. Where was
my candle?
    "Try it. Sperm
contains various substances, vitamins, nutrients... it contains
enzymes, proteins acting as catalysts in biochemical reactions.
Brain chemistry, Mrs Hunter."
    "Yes,
but..."
    "Testosterone
is a steroid androgen formed in the testicles. The sudden
deficiency of enzymes or testosterone that you've become so used to
might well be having an effect upon your brain chemistry, causing
anxiety and panic attacks. I did hear of a similar case some years
ago, although I don't know what the outcome was."
    "Thank you,
I'll try it," I said, just to get rid of the idiot.
    Standing
before the Blue Lady, I shook my head. "Sperm," I muttered, my
hands trembling, my chest tight. "Can