This story is not quite true, but based on real events.
Stephen Millbrae wrote a book called “XMO – eXtended Male Orgasm.” How that figures into this story I’ll tell you shortly.
My parents ran a ramshackle little movie theater specializing in obscure documentaries. It didn’t make a fortune, but it was enough to pay for my sister’s college and mine.
I’ve always enjoyed being seen. Since my early teens, from time to time, I’d get up on the little stage in front of the screen to introduce the documentaries. So, I went into drama. I was planning to be an actor.
It was in college that I met my wife. I used to joke that I saw her anus before I ever saw her face. It’s not quite true. The first time I saw her, she was fully clothed, and it was her face I saw.
You see, the filmmaking department often had little movie projects, and needed drama students to be the actors. Being college students, it was important that the film be risque, of course. So, I auditioned and got the supporting actor role. My wife-to-be, Anne, got the lead role.
There was one scene in which we were to be having intercourse doggie style. On film, we would be shown only from the shoulders up, or at a distance, or partially obscured by furniture, but we did have to be fully naked to film the scene.
For some reason, probably because everyone involved was so excited, it was decided to shoot that sex scene first. There were way more people than necessary on the set. The other actors, grips, camera crew, and a whole bunch of people I didn’t recognize. That was OK by me. I was terribly thrilled to be seen by so many people. Maybe it would have been better filming an ordinary scene, not naked, but whatever, right?
We didn’t actually fuck. Instead, I fucked the air below Anne’s pussy with my erect penis. Thinking back on it, I think it would have been OK to do the real thing, but we didn’t really know how far we could go with such a thing.
After college, Anne and I moved to Los Angeles, and tried to get into the movie business. We also talked of New York, possibly getting into Broadway. As you can guess, neither happened. Just about the time we were becoming depressed with my Uber driving and her waitressing, the phone rang.
My parents had been in a car accident. My dad died right away, my mom hung on three days, then succumbed to her injuries.
My sister, who had become a veterinarian in Oregon said she didn’t want any part of the theater, and suggested that Anne and I run it. We talked about it, and under the circumstances, it seemed just right. I already knew the business, like how to find the documentaries, how to do the books how to replace the projector bulb, and so on. So we packed our few belongings and moved up to Santa Rosa. My sister inherited the house, and charged us a reasonable amount of rent. I inherited the theater. It was a 1,000 square-foot building with 110 assorted sofas, recliners and chairs, three projectors, and not much else. Two of the projectors were monstrous antique things that was too big to remove and junk. The modern one hooked up to a laptop to display the videos.
Anne and I figured we might turn it into dinner theater, and we’d be the principal actors. It never happened. In order to remain profitable, we kept showing the goofy documentaries.
Ten years later, Anne and I and our twin nine-year-old daughters woke to a tremendous fright. We quickly threw our valuables into the car, and had to leave town. The whole place was burning up. In the end, like thousands of other people, our home had burned to the ground. So did the theater.
A month later found the four of us along with our cat, living in a borrowed run-down motorhome in a remote northern California town called Dunsmuir. The little bit of money we had was just about gone. I got on the laptop every day, the one that we used to hook to the projector, looking for jobs for Anne and I. At this point, any job would do. We decided that whoever got a job first would take it, and the other one would stay home, in the motorhome, to take care of the kids. It turns out that a master’s in theater arts isn’t much good in the job market. Anne and I were getting desperate.
I came across a gig that required someone to demonstrate a health technique. I wrote saying that both my wife and I were theater graduates. I included pictures of myself and Anne. Stephen Millbrae wrote back saying my wife wouldn’t do at all, but he might be interested in speaking with me on the phone. Would I send a photo?
That was curious. I figured if anyone, it would be my wife he was interested in. I’m not bad looking, but she’s a super hot chick.
He called, explaining the position. It was absolutely shocking, even to me, a closeted exhibitionist, who was once in a college production involving nudity. I understood why he wasn’t interested in Anne.
His book XMO, was all about a technique that lets a man have very long orgasms. He was almost a zealot about all the reasons masturbation is good for people and for society. You know, it prevents STDs, reduces unwanted pregnancies, requires less money, driving and time than dating, allows people to live calmer, less-horny lives, and even lowers blood pressure. His technique ‘kept men happy and out of trouble,’ as he called it.
I’m no rocket scientist, but I figured out right away that whatever this job was, it had something to do with XMO. He explained that he was planning a book tour, or more of a traveling show really, and needed someone to model the technique. He was actually willing to pay quite well.
There were downsides, however. Three or four days of every week, I’d be away from the girls. I’d make the long drive to the airport. He and I would fly into a town, do our demonstration, then return home. Was this simply too crazy? It would involve more than nudity. I’d actually he orgasming in front of crowds of people. Oh, it would all be very clinical, but still! On the other hand, the thought of it was also absolutely exciting.
I talked it over with Anne. She’s always been a bit of a rebel. She sees things differently than the typical American, and I love her for it. She was all gung-ho. This would give her what she wanted most – to stay home and take care of our daughters. She thought that I’d really enjoy this business with Stephen, however it turned out. Explaining to me that it was entirely legal, she eased my fears, and very much encouraged me to audition for Stephen.
He paid for the round trip to Chicago. I showed up all nervous and jerky. He put me at ease right away. He was a short, gray-haired, rotund man, with a disarming personality and smile. We chatted a bit, then he said, “Dress in this,” handing me an opulent purple bathrobe. Right in front of him, I stripped naked and put on the robe.
Almost immediately, he had me take off the robe and get on a massage table, laying face up. My penis was soft as a noodle. He asked whether I had read his book. I sheepishly admitted I hadn’t. I had been afraid to spend the $10 to buy the Kindle edition. I briefly explained about our money problems since the fire that burned down Santa Rosa.
I thought he’d be upset. Instead he said, “Well, then, you’re in for a treat!”
He approached the massage table, and started ever so lightly touching my scrotum the underside of my limp penis. I wasn’t particularly freaked out. I had touched a dick or two and had been touched in high school. It felt more like a doctor’s examination. However, his super-light touching of my frenulum made my penis jump a little bit, and in no time, I was fully erect. I believe the exhibitionist in me was loving showing my hard cock to this old man. Strange, I know, but true.
Then he started in on his technique, letting me know that it doesn’t work for everyone every time, but he was hoping for the best. Soon I was having that ‘gonna cum’ feeling.
Just as I was about to squirt, he pinched my peehole firmly closed with his other hand while continuing the technique. It didn’t hurt as my orgasm started. He continued his motions. I was in full blown orgasm, but nothing was coming out of my penis. He was holding it inside. The orgasmic contractions continued and continued. I had never, ever, felt anything like it. There was a wonderful internal pressure as my urethra tried to compress the trapped fluid inside. This was beyond amazing! He continued holding my peehole closed with one hand, while continuing his work with the other hand, and the orgasm just kept going and going. I was in heaven.
Finally he slowed down, and let go of my penis. A pretty good amount of cum spurted out. It had never hurt a bit, and felt amazing all the way through. Even the afterglow was fantastic. Yes, ‘afterglow’ is what I call it. When I finally stood up, my legs were all wobbly, and I was still in some kind of shocked bliss. The effect lasted to a small degree all afternoon.
He smiled and asked whether I had any questions. I had a million but somehow couldn’t voice a single one. He then said as long as I was willing to remove my crotch hair, I had the job.
I was fine with that. It seems without the hair, I’d be more seen than ever. I was elated to have the job. Not only for the money, but to be actually doing something. And not just anything, but something truly meaningful.
He explained the details of the job, then probably due to my story about being burned out of home and business, he wrote me a $3,000 advance check right on the spot.
Our first show was in New York City. Only twelve people showed up. Stephen explained his technique, answered questions, signed a few books, then introduced me ‘an illustrious documentarian from Santa Rosa, California,’ which made me smile. I opened the purple robe I had been wearing, climbed on the table, and went to work. I was already half-erect, just due to the dozen people watching me so intently. Stephen worked his magic, and sure enough, I was in continuous orgasm for several minutes. He asked me to spread my legs so my feet were dangling off the table, then pointed out to the small crowd that they could see the area just under my balls in continuous spasm. He invited people to reach in and touch my perennial area to feel for themselves. It was all so clinical, and yet that excited me even more, and the orgasm continued.
I went home, and told the whole thing, blow by blow, to my wife. Her eyes glowed with enthusiasm for me. She was so happy about the whole arrangement. She, in turn told me about the girls and how they were doing.
The shows continued and soon were huge sold out crowds in large theaters. Some of the venues were so large that cameras were focused on my crotch and projected onto large screens so everyone could see the details.
Sometimes, I wasn’t in the mood or whatever, and so we’d switch roles. I’d do the technique to Stephen. The shows continued until the coronavirus epidemic. I don’t know what we’re going to do next, but I think we’ll continue when we can. Meanwhile, Anne, the kids, and I are living off the royalties of my own book, a memoir, “Demonstrating XMO.”