by Jenelle Watson
I’m sending this teragram back to some random person in approximately 2020, just because I think that you, whoever you are, might get a kick out of learning about the way things were, or should I say ‘will be,’ for a fairly typical person in 2052.
Another happy client left my office. Johan, a man who was around 35 years old, particularly tall and thin, with short, curly black hair and a clean-shaven face, had a strong, square jaw, and sparkly brown eyes.
Like most clients, the secretary logged him in, and sent him to the changing room, where he put on the standard-issue soft, white robe. Arriving in my inner office a few minutes later, I turned down the lighting, and put on music I knew he liked.
Johan let the robe fall open as he climbed up on my massage table, revealing his already hard penis. Like almost all men for the past fifty years, he was uncircumcised. However, he had phimosis, a particularly tight foreskin. He could not retract it over his glans, which he found bothersome. He said ordinary sex was slightly painful. He also said he did not want surgical correction. He wanted it done by exercise, knowing that with enough gentle stretching, the foreskin would grow wider in time, so that it could eventually be retracted easily.
That’s where I came in. Johan came to me every two weeks for a treatment.
He started by complaining. He said he didn’t want an orgasm. He claimed the orgasm is beside the point, whatever that meant. He was here only for foreskin stretching, he announced, as if I hadn’t heard the same thing every time he arrived.
I pretended to comply, getting right to work. Normally, I used lotion for this sort of thing, but that would make gripping his foreskin difficult, so for Johan, my attention was dry. I started by putting my thumbs and fingertips on his foreskin and pulling gently down until I saw him wince, then hold it there for ten seconds. I’d let go for ten seconds, then do it again.
That’s all I did, but I would do it over and over for nearly a half-hour, typically. Then, he couldn’t resist any longer, and would ejaculate all over my hand and his stomach, exactly as we both knew he would.
I gave him a few minutes to settle down, then helped him off the table and back into the white robe. As he always did, Johan thanks me profusely, and said he was glad he ejaculated.
Since he started his treatments a year before, he had made only a little progress on the phimosis. We used to be able to expose six to eight millimeters of glans through the opening in his foreskin. Now it’s maybe eight to ten millimeters. If only he’d take my advice and do the exercises for himself every day or two, he would have made much more progress. Maybe he was secretly afraid if he succeeded, he’d no longer need my service.
The year is 2052. The singularity never happened, just like the Y2K bug fifty years earlier hadn’t been significant. Everyone predicted the crunch of information and mechanization, yet nothing happened. In fact, very little technical progress had been made. No one knows why, but the general theory is that once electronic components became sufficiently small, chaos ensued. Oh, I don’t mean random failure of everything. I just mean the concepts of miniaturization, software design, and manufactured had to be redesigned. We couldn’t go any further. Added to that, running out of fossil fuels decentralized the world. Even in 2052, the electrical grid is still not up to snuff. We have our electric cars and trucks, but they are so expensive to run, that most people end up living entirely locally.
The good news is that wars can no longer be fought. There just isn’t the energy. It now takes more energy to produce fuel than it generates. Everything depends on solar and stored electricity and the structure just isn’t robust enough, at least not yet.
The global warming situation was abated in the nick of time as the fuel ran out. However, governments still had to fund the building of millions of acres of algae ponds. This also regenerated the ozone layer, so people could once again get out in the sun. The problem was, there were so many interesting inside pursuits, also known as computer gaming, that few venture outside any more.
We have made some medical progress, but not enough. The average lifespan was now 105 years instead of 78. The biggest crisis in health was brought on by people sitting too much. Prostate enlargement is running wild, as is breast cancer.
In the Europe, most of Africa, the United States, and Antarctica, the governments funded more and more preventive health programs. Exercise physiologist have become a lucrative and sought-after position. These people are in charge of fun. They encourage adults to play, and in the process, improve their mental states and physical conditions.
Sex, too, had changed little in the last fifty years. The only noticeable changes are public nudity, and the attitude about masturbation. On a warm day, you can see women as topless as men, when anyone is outside, which was rare. Except the farmers.
There were millions of farmers, all organic of course. Every profession has its own uniforms or clothing. For farmers, total nudity except for a wide hat and sunglasses, at least in the summer months, is the norm.
A major reason the food industry switched to small organic farms was because of the loss of the transportation industry. The world just doesn’t have what it takes to transport fertilizer, food, and other goods by electric truck. Actually, anything can be had, but most items were prohibitively expensive.
The people you do see outdoors were mostly farmers. It is almost like people have two choices as they face adulthood. Become a farmer, or a worker. ‘Worker’ generally meant technology or human services. Human services had come to mean medicine, preventative health, art, and entertainment. And most of that involves too much sitting. That’s where exercise physiologists and sex workers came in.
So, entering college, having a high libido and all, I decided a good fit for me would be ‘sex worker.’ This highly-respected job isn’t what it had been a hundred years ago. Back then, sex workers were considered less-than-ideal citizens. I know it’s hard to believe, but the term “whore” meant something bad. A woman, and it was all women back then, who was paid to perform sexual activities, was some kind of undesirable, and shunned by society. Some made good money, but the majority of them were controlled by men who essentially got them started on drugs so they could control them, and then stole most of their earnings.
Drugs were chemicals used back then to alter mental processes. Ten percent of the population ate what were called ‘anti-depressants.’ No matter that these things were dangerous, causing some people to become angry or suicidal instead of more balanced. The drug companies made money. Then there were drugs that were especially appealing because they were illegal. Back then, people seemed to seek out illegal activities. I guess they were bored. Many of these drugs, both legal and not, were highly addictive, so the supply chains, whether sanctioned or not, were making huge profits.
Well, enough history. Why am I telling you? You’re there now!
College was a blast. We learned everything about therapeutic sex. We had weekly hands-on clinicals, and study groups in which we practiced among fellow students what we were learning.
One of my favorites was when we studied blowjobs. I was handing them out right and left, probably swallowing more than a gallon of cum during that semester. At the same time, we were learning to give oral attention to vaginas as well, so I ended up volunteering for probably fifty male and female students to practice on. I enjoyed the resulting orgasms as much then as I do now.
After graduation, I got a job at Gramtech right away. That’s one of thousands of small software development companies. They make their money through energy management software. Gramtech is a fairly wealthy company, so they have a staff of several hundred programmers and researchers who are working on diverse projects, ones that can be immensely profitable, such as software for reengineering the grid, capturing energy from tides, and pumping water uphill in the daytime, and letting it flow back down, through generators, at night. All of this takes software.
So, my job was to take care of 75 workers. Each got an hour with me once every two weeks. I’ll tell you about some of my clients, so you can get an understanding of my job. I’ve changed their names, but everything else is exactly the way it happened.
Raul was a tall, thin, thirty-nine-year-old man who was a team leader. He claimed he masturbated at least twice a week, but in my professional opinion, the only time he ejaculated was in my office. He’d come in, be greeted by my secretary, go into the changing room, and come back into my office with the soft, white robe that every client was issued.
Once in, I’d reduce the lighting, simulating candles, put on the kind of soft music he liked, and we’d make a bit of small talk, as he removed his robe. His penis was usually hard right from the start.
I’d have him climb on the table, where he’d get an oily massage from head to foot, literally. He particularly liked his toes massaged. He also enjoyed liberal use of oil throughout. For the first part of his massage, he’d be on his stomach. When I had him turn over, his penis would be erect and stick straight up in the air. I’ve noticed that men with small penises, when laying on their backs, their dicks will stick straight up. The guys with heavier, larger penises won’t stick up. Those dicks lay on the mens’ lower stomachs.
Once on his back, I started on his face, then the front of his shoulders, working my way down each arm, all the way to the fingers, each of which received a moment of individual attention. Then I’d rub down his sides, gently going over his chest and stomach. While on his chest, I offered a brief tease by lightly tickling his nipples. I’d see his dick bob a bit, letting me know I was on the right track.
I’d skip over his genital region, massaging the front of his legs, working down to his feet, and give his toes more attention. Raul would be in bliss by then.
After finishing with his feet, I’d return to the middle of his body. I’d start by running my fingertips ever so lightly over his inner thighs, and groin area, tickling Raul slightly. Then, I’d tickle his scrotum in the same way, ‘accidentally’ brushing his hard cock from time to time. For Raul, I knew that just keeping up the light tickling of the scrotum was all he needed. Soon, he’d have a smashing orgasm, resulting in a healthy outpouring of semen.
I’d let Raul rest for several minutes, then help him off the table and into the shower. Like all my clients, he thanked me profusely, as if it was my choice to treat them. I did enjoy giving the treatments very much, but the company paid for it, of course.
In the next hour, I’d see Paul. He was not tall, but not especially short. He did carry forty extra pounds, and was balding on top. I liked him. He was funny, polite, and had a special sparkle in his eyes. Paul was a programmer specializing in a funny old language called Java.
More than once, Paul begged me to fuck him. But we don’t do that in this business, or when we do, we don’t tell anyone. We were supposed to maintain a professional distance, and yet, be friendly at the same time. That was the hardest part of the job.
Paul was more of a manual kind of guy, meaning hands on. He didn’t get a massage. He wouldn’t have cared for it. Instead, I told him, ordered him in fact, to massage me. I’d come in wearing the robe. He’d perform his version of a massage on me, ending by rubbing my G-spot until I orgasmed. His general massage wasn’t very good. It was too soft for my taste, but I didn’t tell him that. However, once he got his fat finger inside my vagina, and was massaging up against my G-spot, with his other hand gently tweaking a nipple, I found he was quite good, and always managed an orgasm for him.
For guys like that, it is important to orgasm. They get a strong sense of accomplishment out of it. In college, we learned several tricks to make sure we can orgasm on demand. Most of the tricks are psychological. We also learned to do what’s called ‘pulsation.’ With that, we squeeze our vaginal canal and anus. Most sex workers have developed very strong muscles in that department, which the guys really love. We squeeze rhythmically, so the finger, or whatever is in the opening, feels the sense of a strong orgasm. In the rare case where I didn’t actually orgasm, I’d moan, tense my muscles, and carry on while pulsating, so the client thinks he’s done a good job.
You’d think in this day and age, everyone would know that the orgasm isn’t necessarily the goal. It’s very nice, but incidental. But many men, not so much the women, feel they haven’t succeeded unless someone has had an orgasm.
Along those lines, meet Jason. He was one of my older clients at 96 years old. He was just slightly taller than average, thin, bald on top, wore a thick beard, and had a very sparkly attitude. I’d call him intelligent, and his humor reflected it. He didn’t tell jokes over one’s head, but always had something terribly amusing to say about topical events.
In the appointment, Jason didn’t even bother with the robe. He would jump right up on the table bare naked with his penis already hard. We had a game that he had been enjoying the past few months. Before this game, he was particularly fond of testicle massage, but the new game was about not cumming.
My role in the game was to do everything in my power to get him to ejaculate. His role was to avoid ejaculation no matter what. We both enjoyed it very much. I’d start out with a feather, ever so gently tickling the underside of his penis. I would apply one stroke every ten seconds or so. I liked seeing his dick jump with each stroke. I’d tease him with a little testicle massage, quite firm, as I knew he liked it that way. Then I’d do some scrotum pulling. He liked that too. Finally, I wrapped my fingertips around his larger than average penis, and start stroking lightly. I never got fast and wild. I knew that the slow stuff is better at inducing orgasm. Jason squirmed and stiffened his whole body. The harder he resisted, the more I’d tease him right to the edge. But I tried very hard not to let him get over the edge. Usually, but not always, he won the game, leaving my office without ejaculating, and with a big grin on his face.
Next on the agenda would be Libby. She was a very white, large woman with very black, curly hair. Libby has particularly large breasts that she is especially proud of. So, I took advantage of her pride. She would enter in the white robe, but with it untied, showing off her breasts, as they peeked out of the opening. We’d talk a bit, then I have her lay down, face up, on the table. The robe fell further open, revealing those luscious breasts in their entirety. They were so large they’d flop sideways partially off her chest, almost spilling onto the table.
Libby got a massage too, but it was more perfunctory than Raul’s. I spent time on her face. She so enjoyed having her forehead, cheeks and chin rubbed. I also reach around and firmly massage the back of her neck. Then it was time to get to her favorite part. I’d start by verbally admiring her breasts. Most of my clients, like everyone in the world, has a degree of body dysmorphia. They think they don’t look good. If only they knew. Everyone looks good in one way or another. Everyone is unique. It doesn’t matter what size your breasts are, or the length of your penis, or whether you are fat or thin, wrinkly or smooth. Everyone is human, and we all look just fine. I find every one of my clients attractive.
I find them so attractive, in fact, that at the end of the day, if I haven’t had an orgasm during the course of my treatments, I’ll give myself an orgasm later, at home, remembering one client or another, and not necessarily the ‘pretty’ ones.
Libby positively glowed every time I told her how beautiful her breasts were. I think if I did nothing more for her every two weeks, she’d be fine with just that. But I did more. I would start with the lightest possible touch on one of her nipples. I ran my fingertips over it ever so lightly. In Libby’s case, that was her left nipple. That one did more for her than the other, although I made sure her right nipple got some attention also.
The touch became slowly ever more firm, until I was practically pinching her nipples. She yelled, but it was with pleasure. I was not hurting her. Then, I firmly massaged deep into each breast. I pressed in much more firmly than I like for myself, but she enjoyed it that way very much. After spending considerable time on that, I would play with her inner labia, which I finally stretched out, butterfly style. She had occasionally orgasmed at that point, but I usually had to give her some direct clitoral stimulation, or maybe a finger inside, to stimulate her G-spot. Every now and then, when the mood struck me, I might lick her clitoris repeatedly, driving her to an especially strong orgasm.
With Libby, I knew the job may not be over yet. I continued licking as she quivered, and sure enough, the orgasm would continue, or die down then restart. She was often good for three waves.
Carlton was representative of my most common client, receiving the treatment I gave most often. Carl was quite short, thin, what you might call wiry. He was quick in his speech and movements. He kept his hair long, like a musician, which he was. He was the company’s sound engineer and jingle composer. He’d come in wearing the white robe, and casually remove it, laying it over the back of a chair, as he got on the table, face down. He, too, would get a brief massage, especially on his shoulders, back, and buttocks. He especially enjoyed the buttock attention. I’d have him turn over, and give him a brief massage on his front side, ignoring his erecting penis.
Next, I would ask Carl to turn over, getting on his hands and knees on the table. This table of mine has a motor so I can raise and lower it as needed. For this, I would lower the table several inches, so his ass, now open to the wind and the world, was at my preferred height. Snapping on a blue rubber glove, I’d coat my index finger in lube, and then lightly swirl it around his asshole. Like most anuses, you’d think it might smell disgusting, but the glands right in the edge of the hole itself secret a clear, viscous fluid that smells sweetly attractive. These glands are in the area that is so prone to hemorrhoids, so prevalent in the modern world.
The treatment that Carl was to receive was quite similar to the hemorrhoid treatment, except that is done very slowly and gently. That was my second-most common treatment, and had to be done to many men as well as women.
Carl was in for prostate massage. That gland tends to swell when people spend too much of their lives sitting. If it is not attended to, it can cause disease. For those who are prone to enlarged prostates, I always thought a treatment every once every two weeks wasn’t enough, but that’s all the company was willing to schedule. I advised my prostate massage clients to get the same treatment from their families, friends, or whoever was willing to do it for them.
When Carl was ready, I’d slowly introduce my index finger into his rectum. Once all the way in, I’d curl it downward, toward the front of his body, and start massaging the front wall of his rectum, which presses directly on the prostate. My clients such as Carl always loved this, moaning softly in delight.
What many people don’t know is that the prostate stores semen, the primary component of ‘cum.’ The common belief is that it is stored in the balls. When the prostate is massaged in many men, some of the semen is squeezed out. The guys say they can feel it slowly traveling through their urethras, finally dripping out of their peeholes.
I had to do the prostate massage an especially long time to have a true therapeutic effect. I thought it was equally necessary to make it an enjoyable process for my clients, so toward the end, I’d reach under a man’s body, and grab his penis in my ungloved other hand. I’d start pulling up and down, not unlike a milking a cow, and sure enough, in a minute or two, I’d produce milk. Or, cum, actually.
Next came Camille. She was a very stately woman with a very dark complexion, seldom seen these days. She must have had direct and complete African ancestry. Camille was very thin, and had small breasts, but she was quite tall. She also had a friendly but commanding presence. She was a manager, and no doubt a very good one.
Camille had hemorrhoids when I first started treating her. So, she got the usual treatment. We started with a light and short massage. Then I’d have her get on her hands and knees on the table, and ever so gently, I’d press a gloved and well-lubed finger into her ass, making sure to give lots of gentle pressure on the swollen tissue. This works wonders for most hemorrhoids, and soon Camille was just fine in that department. Since the company paid for her sessions with me, as it did for every worker, she continued to see me, and we switched to a more intimate treatment.
Like most everyone, she enjoyed her orgasms. But for Camille, as for maybe ten percent of my clients, she wanted it rough. We started with an extension of the anal fingering. She wanted two, then three fingers in her ass. We worked up slowly, session after session, until I was able to get my whole fist in. The first time it finally slipped in, she had an immediate orgasm, contracting around my hand. It was glorious for me too, and I almost had an orgasm just from having my hand in her beautiful ass.
In time, that no longer satisfied her, and so she graduated to vaginal fisting. I’d work her up gently, first with one finger, then two, then three, and only eventually did I get my whole fist in her. During the process one time, she also wanted me to stick a finger directly into the hole in her cervix which leads to the uterus. The actual hole has an interesting name: os. The body offers some protection against infection for most women by causing pain when someone tries to penetrate the os. I warned her, but she wanted to try anyway. I did put a finger partially in, but as I had expected, it started to ache, so we went on to other techniques.
On another occasion, she wanted me to press my little finger into her peehole, technically known as the meatus, another strange name. Sterilizing the tip of my glove, and her meatus, I used some sterile lube, and ever so slowly pressed and twisted. She loved it, and in time, we stretched her to the point where I could press an index finger all the way past her sphincters, and in to her bladder, giving her a fantastic feeling like ‘gotta-pee’ but different and much better. She loved this!
My last client of the day was Rex, a boisterous, friendly, tall, thin fellow who was bearded but bald on top. He was, like most modern men, also bald down below, having had his hair permanently removed from most of his body shortly after hitting puberty.
Rex threw off his robe immediately, jumping up on the table right away. He announced he didn’t want any sort of massage. He just wanted ‘the usual.’ I knew exactly what that was, and got right on the job.
It started with a gentle, oily testicle massage. I’d squeeze more and more firmly until I saw him wincing, then, my natural tendency was to back off. But not for Rex. He wanted those things squeezed hard. They’re not like grapes. You can’t damage them just by squeezing, unless you don’t know what you’re doing. They’re rubbery, more like chicken gizzards. You just have to be careful about the area at the top and back where the spermatic cords attach. Not only is that area more sensitive to pain, it can be injured. So, I got to squeezing pretty hard, and occasionally, a testicle would slip out of my grip and jump to a new location in his scrotum. I’d think it would hurt, and he did flinch, but he said he loved that.
Next, it would be a good, hard scrotum pull. Curling my fingers into his floppy scrotum while being careful not to nick him with my fingernails, I’d pull it out as far and wide as it could go, and just hold it like that for a moment. Normally, for Rex, that’s when his penis would start to harden.
I’d then try to grip his frenulum, the little fold of skin below his glans with my oily fingertips. It’s not easy to do, but does have a nice effect on a man. More than once, Rex ejaculated just from me pulling and stretching his frenulum. Not on this occasion. He wanted what the Japanese call “glans blame.” I was happy to comply.
Holding his now fully stiff, and larger than typical penis in one hand, I started rubbing the palm of my other hand right over the top, the glans of his penis. He squirmed, yelled, and did everything to get away. I threatened him with restraints, which are attached to my table. He didn’t need it, managing to put up with my rough treatment. It doesn’t hurt a guy to do this glans rubbing thing, but it makes them squirm like crazy. It must be a very intense tickle or something like that. I don’t think there is any equivalent in women.
The guys tell me that after a few minutes of glans blame, the feeling changes into something gentler. They say it feels like a cross between feeling like they are going to pee and they are going to orgasm, but neither usually happens. It keeps them on the verge of ejaculating for a while, without going over the edge.
The feeling can sometimes invoke peeing or cumming. I have had guys release an involuntary stream of urine during the procedure, which I find terribly exciting.
Next for Rex was edging. He was already close to orgasm, but I wasn’t letting him off the hook easily. I stroked him and stopped, several times, bringing him repeatedly to the brink of orgasm .
I took a break a few times, temporarily leaning in, and putting his dick in my mouth. I use a kind of edible oil, which is rather tasty, not that I mind the natural taste of a human penis. When he was close to cumming from the oral attention, I’d go back to the handjob.
When the hour was nearly up, I just kept going with the handjob. He started shivering and shaking, tensed all his muscles, and shot a load of cum almost three feet up into the air.
That was all several years ago now. The only ones who get that kind of special attention these days are my husband, and my son, Zack, who just turned twenty-one. Guess what Zack is studying in college? Right, he’s going to become a sex worker, just like his mother.