The Pimlico Tapes

By A.K. Anders

In 2009 the author, A.K. Anders, purchased a large property in Pimlico, South-west London, with the intention of converting the 4 storey Victorian property into flats. The building had previously been used as business premises, with an architects practice on the upper floors and a psycho-therapist in the basement. While clearing rubbish from the basement, Anders discovered an old box of audio tapes in a locked filing cabinet. Later he discovered the tapes were recordings of sexual therapy consultations. Many of these revealed intriguing case scenarios. Some patients even seemed to be well known personalities of the 70's and 80's. Anders made enquiries and found that the eminent therapist/doctor of his time had retired and since died. Publishing the transcripts was a difficult decision, Anders says, but one he felt might help others plagued by sexual problems or those with an interest in human sexual behaviour. The result is fascinating, and compulsive reading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tinderbox Publishing
• Release date: Nov 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9780957200241

A.K. Anders

The publisher comments: A.K. Anders is an author and trained lawyer (specialised in sanitation litigation - he handled the Middlesex County Blockage case). His writing, like his personality, is hard hitting and straightforward. Some say he is unsocialised. It is true that he does not pussyfoot about. Many find this refreshing, while some find him shocking. He ruffles feathers big time. Primarily Anders is a writer of erotica. Often his material has a humorous bent. At Tinderbox we describe him as a reclusive extrovert. Yes, he is hard to categorise. We can certainly say he is far from normal and at times even deranged, but he is loveable. Asked for an opinion, the boss says "He's dangerous to have on our books alright, but he's very worthwhile at office parties and he keeps the seagulls off the roof." Have no doubt, when Anders is discovered all hell will break loose.

Book preview

The Pimlico Tapes

by

A.K. Anders

Smashwords Edition – Published 2013

Copyright © A.K. Anders 2013

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher.

The right of A.K. Anders to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This book is a work of Fiction. Any similarity in the characters to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

This e-story is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-story may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this story with another person, please recommend it via a link to AK.Anders on Smashwords If you are reading this story and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Introduction

Virginia

Terry

Miriam & Lionel

Leonard

Samantha

Elizabeth

Abigail

Michael

Katie

Lavinia

Rebecca

Nicholas

Amanda

Freya

Ben

Brenda

The Pimlico Tapes

by A.K. Anders

Introduction

Some years ago, motivated by rising property prices, I had the presence of mind to purchase an old building in Pimlico, Southwest London. It had previously been used as commercial premises. The upper three floors had housed an architect’s practice, while the basement had for years been used as the office and consulting rooms of a psychotherapist. The psychotherapist was a physician of some repute it transpired, who among cases of special interest treated many of the rich and famous of the time.

My intention to convert the property into three apartments necessitated first stripping out the entire building. After engaging a firm of local builders, I took delivery of a rubbish skip and decided to make a start by myself, removing the furnishings, various partitions and the accumulated commercial junk. It was harder work than I expected, but the effort proved worthwhile. Gathering dust in an attic, I found a few exquisite old architectural drawings of regency buildings in London, which I later framed and sold for a substantial sum. Later, I made a surprising discovery in the basement. Opening a battered metal cabinet in the office I found numerous files. Most of these files contained excerpts from psychological journals, all of which seemed to point to a specialisation of treating patients with psychosexual problems. These dated right back to the late 1950’s.

Having established from the property agent that the psychotherapist was now deceased and that the practice had not continued, I reluctantly consigned these files to the skip. If there had been client files there, I might have delivered them to whatever professional body governed psychotherapists, but the cuttings were rather dated and of little interest to anyone. It was as I cleared the final shelf at the top of the metal cabinet, however, that I came across something that later proved more valuable to me. Something was pushed right to the back and I could easily have missed it, had I not taken the trouble to fetch a stepladder. There, out of sight, was an old box once containing knee-high boots. Lifting the corner of the lid, I saw that it now contained cassette tapes. Curious, I decided to take these home to see what was on them.

*

It was several days before I found the time to check the tapes. Pouring myself a glass of wine after arriving home one evening, I looked over at the battered old manila box, the lid secured by one of those elasticated belts, with a snake-buckle. It was similar to one my brother had worn as a boy. The elastic had perished and the belt more or less disintegrated as I separated it. Removing the lid I looked in upon the ordered cassette tapes. I was surprised by the quantity. Being a bit of a detail obsessive, I took another sip of wine and then counted them. Eighty-seven tapes, all carefully labelled and seemingly in good condition. The labels were professionally archived, indicating the date, followed by a code number. My guess at that moment was that they were from a telephone answering machine.

After moving a few boxes around in the spare bedroom, I managed to locate the old cassette-radio I used to use when I taught English to foreign students. Plugging it in by the coffee machine on the kitchen worktop, I inserted a tape from the box and pressed play. After a few moments of hissing and clicking, I heard a man’s voice. He sounded formal – rather serious, with a well-educated voice.

Patient zero-three-six-eight, female aged forty-three. Patient is married without children and has a morbid fear of intercourse. Indications of disturbing interludes during early adolescence. Patient and her husband have been through a period of separation. The patient has agreed to try again with the relationship and has begun therapy in an attempt to resolve her problems.

I heard a sharp knock at a door and some clicks where the tape seemed to have been paused and restarted. What followed was a fascinating exchange between doctor and patient. It revealed a tormented life. A woman afraid of sex yet obsessed with it. A woman who seemed to think of little else in fact, but had never had successful intercourse with anyone except herself. I spent nearly six hours that night working my way through those tapes; listening to the stories of the sexually repressed, the outrageously promiscuous and the downright bizarre, before falling asleep on the sofa. The next morning I took a shower, cancelled my appointments for the day and listened to about a quarter of the rest. I thought I was broad-minded, but by the end of that day I had to accept that I had been living in a narrow world of sexual convention.

Of course it would have been unnatural if there had been no material in these consultations that aroused me. I was a divorced man in my fifties who had not been in a physical relationship in three or four years. I did not, however, long for sex. In fact after a recent period at a Buddhist retreat, I was resolved to doing without it. Yet, some of the material on the tapes powerfully aroused me and I found myself dreaming of things that had never been within my own sexual repertoire, even when I was younger. I confess that listening to these tapes gave me a renewed appetite for sex. Smells reminiscent of that old boot-box still arouse me now, in fact. It is for that reason, after a period of apprehensiveness, that I later decided to publish them. The long and short of it is that I felt others might benefit from hearing them.

More cancelled appointments ensued that week while I immersed myself in the exciting, sometimes dark world of the people on the tapes. I had no idea who these people were, yet I came to know them, often to empathise with them. The therapist rarely seemed to call them by name – not with the tape running anyway. It seemed so cold to think of them as patient zero-three-five-whatever, so eventually I came to name them myself. I think it was this desire to know the patients as real people that initially encouraged me to transcribe the contents of the tapes. As a writer it seemed to mirror the way one comes to know one’s characters as a manuscript progresses. What follows here, therefore, are transcriptions of the consultations on the tapes with a few necessary adjustments. They are in no particular order. The names given to the patients are entirely fictitious. Mostly I had no way of knowing their real names in any case. Throughout the tapes, the patients address the therapist simply as Doctor. Records I found in the basement indicated his name, but I have not included it in these transcriptions for obvious reasons.

I should point out that in places I have cut out sections where the conversation stalls for long periods. As anyone who has been in therapy will know, it often takes time for a patient to open up. It would be rather turgid, sticking rigidly to what was said in such cases, therefore I have edited out certain parts so long as nothing was said that later became relevant. It means that some sessions seem quite short and that at times the patient comes to the crux of the matter rather more quickly or readily than is normal. On balance, this seemed better than boring the reader with tedious periods of confused innuendo or hesitant mumbling.

I will also point out that the nature of the sexual experiences described can be shocking, and that patients often use very strong language. Explicit language is sometimes encouraged by the doctor, yet at other times discouraged depending upon the patient. It seemed right that I resist any temptation to edit this language, regardless of any offence it might cause. Be warned; Virginia, the first account, is a case in point. Not all the patients are as liberal with their language.

Chapter 1 – Virginia

Patient 0409. Female, aged 36. A very working-class upbringing with a secure, loving family background. A City of London Financial Trader with a degree in Economics and an MBA. Patient is unmarried but shows recent desire to be in a long-term relationship. Patient is attractive to men, has multiple partners and can be described as extremely promiscuous, with a strong sex drive. Patient’s habitual behaviour suggests she believes that sex is the only route to her finding the right man. Patient has never had a serious relationship that has lasted more than a few weeks. The patient is in an increasing state of desperation as middle-age approaches with no sign of a secure relationship on the horizon and no obvious solution. It is for this latter reason she has come to therapy.

I think the problem is, Doctor, excuse my French, but I just love cock. I’m telling you this because I want you to know what you’re taking on. I can’t get enough. Ever since I was eleven, when Robert Ambler put his little willy in my hand in the woods and I saw how I could make it grow, I’ve known that’s what I wanted. With some girls it’s clothes, some it’s sports cars, money, posh hotels and spas, with me its cock. Every day and every night if I can get it. Two or three at a time even. Big ones, small ones, black ones, pink ones, but preferably hard ones.

Virginia can be heard chuckling at her last comment. The doctor seems to be taking notes. The sound of a fountain pen can be heard scratching on paper. Eventually he responds.

So, do you think your mother likes cock Virginia?

I beg your pardon?

A simple question, do you think your mother likes cock?

I came here to talk about me, not my mum, if you don’t mind. Kindly leave my mum out of it. I do not think you should be talking about my mum like that, what kind of a doctor are you?

One about the same age as your mother, I’m prepared to bet. I am merely trying to impress upon you, Virginia, that I am not shocked by your language. Nor, to be frank, by your love of cock. I’ve heard all sorts in my time; many women who loved cock more than you I expect, so please could we begin again without your trying to shock me? Otherwise perhaps you would prefer to end the consultation now and you can find someone else to listen to you.

Virginia seems to mutter something to herself indignantly but it is too muffled to be heard.

Okay, my apologies Doctor, I need a cigarette and it’s making me stressed. Would you mind if I had a few minutes in your garden?

Be my guest.

A door squeaks open and bird song can be heard. A click indicates the tape has been stopped then restarted.

Better?

Much better, thanks and my apologies again Doctor, I promise I’ll try to restrain myself.

Quite alright Virginia, take a seat. Restraint is not necessarily what we need here, although in your case I feel it would be beneficial for me to ask you to use medical terminology where you can. In regards to my objection, I was merely trying to say that you don’t need to try to shock or impress me. I am not here to approve or disapprove. If that’s what you’re looking for you’ve come to the wrong place. Now, if you’re ready to continue, perhaps you could begin by telling me a little about your childhood. In fact, maybe we could begin with when you first derived pleasure from masturbation?

Blimey, straight to the point then! Fine, fine. Uhm, well, Doctor, as far as I can remember, I would have been around ten. That’s when I discovered that my fanny, or, sorry, my vagina, was for more than pissing out of. Sorry is that...?

No, that’s all right, please go on.

"Well if I remember rightly, my big brother used to tease me with his friends. Asking me stuff. Have you had your hand on your ha’penny again? He used to say. His mates would all laugh. One day I asked an older girl at school what it meant and she told me. I wanted all the details. Anyhow, when I went to bed that night I started to mess about with it. My ha’penny. It didn’t take me long to find the right bits and I remember I became quite fond of a little fiddle in bed at night – in the mornings if I had a lie-in – yes I was a proper little firker, I was. Sorry, masturbator!" Virginia sniggers.

Did anyone else know you did it?

Oh they did yes, I told them.

Who did you tell?

Well my older sisters first. They told me not to do it too much or I’d go blind, you know all those things kids say.

Did it make you stop?

Don’t be daft, no I’d got a taste for it. There was no stoppin’ me. A bit later my brothers friends were teasing me and I told them too.

When did you first get interested in boys?

Not till about eleven, as I said. My brother’s friends used to ask me if I knew what men and ladies did in the bedroom, and that. I said I did. They talked about seeing their older sisters having sex on the settee with their boyfriends. Maybe they made it up I don’t know, but I learned about it that way.

So your interest in boys came with a boy in the woods, I think you said?

Probably, yes. I can’t say I was excited when he asked me to hold it. Not until I realised I could make it grow, and even then I think it was like, you know, having a gerbil or something. Sort of magical, but not really sexual.

When did you first have an experience that you’d describe as sexual?

Not until I was about thirteen I’d say. I carried on playing with myself in bed. Masturbating. I even did it in class sometimes when I was bored. Nobody noticed, or if they did they didn’t know what I was doing. Then one day after a netball match I met a boy I knew, coming out of the changing rooms. He asked me if I wanted to see something interesting. So I say okay and he takes me down to where the council houses back onto the school fields. He tells me to go quietly then he tells me to look in through a crack in a big garden shed. There were noises coming from the shed. I thought someone was rubbing down a dog or something, like my dad did after he’d bathed our Labrador. But of course what I saw inside was this young bloke humping his girlfriend… Intercourse?

Yes, yes I realise. Carry on please.

"Well, her dress was pulled up, knickers half down. He’s sitting on a beer crate and she’s sitting on his lap. I could see this huge cock… penis, going into her fanny. It seemed huge to me at the time anyway. Enough to be doing her a damage I thought! All wet and hard his cock was. He was saying, don’t keep pulling away luv, sit on it. And she would sit on it and then he’d start groaning and breathing hard and pulling her down onto it. She was making those little squeaking sounds; half pleasure, half not sure she wanted it, you know the way it goes. Or should do by now! So, then she must’ve slipped and sat right down hard on it. He calls out oh fucking Christ – in ecstasy I suppose – s’cuse my French. She screams out in pain and kicks over a load of paint pots. Then the mum comes running out with a mop in her hand shouting, what’s going on in there? She chases the girl out the back gate with her knickers still half down. It was all quite hilarious to us. We picked a good time, the lad says to me."

But it gave you sexual feelings for the first time?

Yes, oh yes it did. I’d seen enough. I wanted to have a go at that. I went straight home and brought myself off in the bath to be honest.

You weren’t ready to try it out for real at that point then. I mean with the boy who showed you the shed?

"He was only a little lad. Ten I think. It wouldn’t have been interesting to me; probably have scared the life out of him too, I expect. No I waited a few weeks for an opportunity. Well, as you see I’d developed quite early. Yes, my brother’s friends kept pointing out that I’d got titties."

How did you respond?

I told them not to be so childish. But anyhow, one day one of them asked me to have a look. I told him he’d have to come to the woods. When we got there I lifted my top up and undid my bra. I told him he could feel them if he wanted. He was about fifteen I suppose. He said they felt nice and I believed him ‘cos I saw the bulge in his trousers. I told him if he’d got a condom I’d sit on him if he liked. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lad run so fast. He was back in five minutes with three out of his dad’s drawer. You used to have to stretch them in those days. A bit of a palaver.

So did you have intercourse with him?

Yes I suppose I did. More or less anyway. I let him feel me first. That was a mistake. In a moment he was squirting everywhere. Give him his due though; he was hard again in a few minutes. He had a bit of a struggle with the condom. Said he’d done it plenty of times but I could tell he hadn’t. Mind you, neither had I. He was so desperate for it though he tried to fuck me through my knickers first. Honest! I remember I says to him, I’m tight but not that tight! Dear oh dear.

Virginia is heard laughing loudly.

Did you have an orgasm that time?

No chance. I laughed a lot though. Once he’d got it up again and got the condom on, I tried to sit on him like the girl in the shed, but he kept telling me to stop. Saying it hurt. I spat on it to try to make it slip in easier but he kept pulling back. It was a bit of a disaster. I think he did come again with it in me; then I had to bring him off with my hand and him touching my tits. I went home and finished myself off again like before. No, I had a few fumbling experiences like that until I was about fifteen, then I met Dave. Dave worked at the laundry on nights. He was about seventeen, I suppose. I used to climb in a back window and he used to shag me on these big piles of cotton sheets. He had more of an idea did Dave. It’s a wonder I got any homework done once I met Dave. I was up the laundry every night shagging. Having intercourse, I mean. If it wasn’t Dave it was one of the other laundry lads. I’d say that laundry’s where I got my taste for variety. Oh yes, there were plenty of takers up there.

What did your parents think about you having sex at fifteen?

Oh I don’t think they knew. Or they probably thought I was just getting my tits felt at the back of the school bus or on the sofa at the youth-club, like the other girls my age. They’d never have known there were a dozen guys at the laundry who took turns having my knickers off most nights of the week!

So did you continue to have sex at the same intensive level all through your teenage years?

Oh yes. Intensive being the word! Once I’d got my hand-in it seemed a shame not to use it. I knew men wanted to fuck me, basically, and... Oh sorry, have intercourse with me. Well, the thing was I wanted to be fucked by them too. Simple as that! Oops, sorry Doctor I did it again.

It’s fine. I don’t expect miracles on day one, Virginia. No need to correct yourself each time. It can stop the flow, so to speak. Just try to moderate your language where you can. So, carry on please.

Thank you Doctor. I’ll try my best. Anyhow, as I was saying, I had all sorts; I didn’t limit myself. I even had a few of the teachers at the girl’s grammar school when I was there you know? One of them had me over the headmaster’s desk. Not the headmaster I might add. I have standards! Yes I’d say the main attraction of university was the thought of how much spare… er, penis… you know, I could get there. I think I nearly wore it out in my first two years. There was something about studying and the world of academia that made me so bloody horny. Still does, you know? If I’m itching for a good screw and nothing around looks promising, I just take myself off to a uni campus and hang around the bar for half an hour. If I haven’t got a student or a lecturer between my legs in 45 minutes everyone must have left the country, I tell you!

I must say, Virginia, whilst your stamina is admirable, I am surprised you haven’t got bored with quantity by this stage in your life. Do you not yearn to spend time with a man you can develop with; explore new things with? Not just sexual things, I mean?

Oh there are other things in my life you know. I like nice food, the odd glass of champagne is appreciated. Guys at work sometimes take me out for flash meals and I like it. They like it too when I suck ‘em off in the taxi on the way home. No I’ll be serious, I am ready to settle down. I joke a lot about it, but I do want a steady relationship. I’ve tried, but it never seems to work. The sex always attracts them easy enough, but then it’s the thing that finishes it. Mostly they can’t give me enough and so I get it elsewhere and they don’t like it. So bang goes another beautiful possibility!

Yes, I see. Well it’s time I’m afraid Virginia. Now, I’m going to ask you to do something for me before we meet next time. Listen carefully please; this is a form of prescription. I want you to go out with men but not to have sex with them, if that’s possible. When we meet next time, we’ll discuss these men and then you’ll decide which of them you would most like to have sex with and why. If you feel the need for sex – which from what you say I’ve no doubt you will – please satisfy yourself in the way you did as a twelve-year-old girl. You must also refrain from talking about sex with these men and with people at work. Can you do that for me?

It seems a bit extreme Doctor. I’ll need extra batteries for the old vibrator eh? But no, if you think it’ll help I’ll give it a go, of course. Long as you promise to do the same eh? Hah, no I’m only pulling your leg Doc! I’ll see you next Wednesday then?

*

Hello Virginia, please sit down. Now, tell me what kind of week you’ve had.

Well Doc, to be honest with you, not as bad as I thought. The fingers of my right hand are worn down to the knuckles, but otherwise fine. No, it hasn’t been too bad really.

Good, so you’ve managed to keep to our agreement, have you?

"Agreement? Oh the sex thing. I managed it for a day then a coach party called in at my local pub and wham, bam, thank you mam! No. Joking. Of course I managed it, what kind of a depraved human being did you take me for? I’ve been out with three men – no make that four, my uncle called over. He’s got a bad back but I think he still counts. Anyway I didn’t jump on any of ‘em. I didn’t talk dirty with any of them either. One of ‘em who propositioned me I even had to say what kind of woman do you think I am? That was a first!"

Did you need to masturbate?

"Masturbate? Ooh I must say I’m coming to like that word, Doctor. Yes I had the odd little fiddle. Once in bed watching one of those Play for Today things on TV and once at work."

In the ladies?

"Course not! At my desk. I love it, especially when the trading room’s busy. Getting my trades in early then bringing myself off sitting on a coke bottle while they’re all