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I had no idea what a female orgasm was. I didn't know there was such a thing. I knew that when I ejaculated, that was an orgasm.

Now, Mrs. Braxston was moving and making noises; noises I'd never heard before and she was giving me instructions. "Keep doing my pussy like that, Danny. Just like that. Oh, my pussy, my pussy. You make my pussy feel so good."

Over that next hour, Mrs. Braxston made those noises, held my head in her pussy and moved her ass three more times. "Danny, for your first time, you were fantastic. If you're going to do that, we can start seeing each other again."

"That would be great," I mumbled.

"Just one thing. Stand up, let me see your pee-pee. I want to see what it looks like after you eat my pussy."

I thought it looked the same, but she thought differently. "It does look a little bigger. Masturbate for me, Danny, tell me how much you enjoyed eating Mrs. Braxston's pussy."

I did almost like I did when I was in bed in my dorm. I told her how beautiful her titties were; how much I enjoyed licking her pussy. "Eating my pussy, Danny, not licking. I like to hear you tell me that my pussy tastes delicious."

"It does, Mrs. Braxston. It tastes so sweet." Just then I ejaculated all over her stomach.

"That's good, Danny, oh so good. Mrs. Braxston likes the way you eat her, and now that you're not in therapy, I like watching you cum, not ejaculate."

Before I left, we agreed that I could no longer have a Wednesday afternoon appointment. "Danny, let's make it for Friday night about 8 o'clock. That way you can eat my pussy, cum for me, spend the night and you can start all over again in the morning."

"That sounds good."

"Danny, you may have a pee-pee and not a cock, but with practice and my guidance, I assure you that you'll become the best pussy eater a girl could want."

That's how it went. Every Friday night, I went to Mrs. Braxston's house where she was lying in bed, naked, with her legs spread. "Danny, I'm so glad you could come. Tell Mrs. Braxston why you're here."

I started to undress, and was staring at that big, hairy black triangle between her legs. "Mrs. Braxston, all week I've looked forward to eating your delicious pussy."

"And Danny, my pussy, well specifically my clitoris has been looking forward to your tongue. Eat me, Danny, but first I'll just bet you'd like to play with my titties."

For the next two years that was my life. I'm not complaining. Looking back, I'm grateful for what Mrs. Braxston taught me; taught me about pussy eating. I've had a number of girlfriends who are grateful, and now a wife, who every Friday night and Saturday morning is grateful for what Mrs. Braxston taught me.

Sure, they were disappointed by my penis or as most of them called it my "cute little pee-pee." I assure you that they were never disappointed by what my tongue did to their pussies.

That might be the end of the story, except a little over a year after Melody and I got married, a police detective knocked on our door. "Mr. Farnham, I'm Detective Henderson. Do you know this woman?" He showed me a picture.

"Ummm, yes, that's my psychologist, Nurse Samantha Braxston, why?"

"Could you come down to the station? You're not in trouble or anything, but we do have a few questions for you."

At the station Detective Henderson informed me that the woman I knew as Samantha Braxston was in fact Sandra Brown. "Dan, she's not a nurse. She never went to nursing school. The hospital was lax in vetting her credentials. The only thing we're sure of is that she never interacted with any boys under eighteen."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Samantha Braxston was a psychologist who specialized in sex therapy, but she died fifteen years ago. This Sandra Brown stole her credentials and impersonated her. After a series of complaints, we secured a warrant, and searched her home where we found notebooks filled with pictures, drawings and writings about college boys in various stages of undress and participating in sex acts with Sandra Brown. There was even an appointment book filled with names, dates and times. That's how we were able to track you down. We'd like you to write down anything you can remember about your therapy sessions."

That's how I came to write this story.

THE END

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