Cured of Gynophobia

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A Scottish misfit goes to America to receive his inheritance and along the way has adventures including a face-lift, body enancement, discovers the glory of magnificent sexual connection and then meets his bride-to-be to qualify to uplift his fortune.

Submitted: September 28, 2007

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Submitted: September 28, 2007

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Within forty-eight hours the popularity of Kevin MacLeod went from zero to heaps. Lean and lanky, with teenager pimples on his twenty-four year old face which was virtually devoid of character, eyes of near translucent blue and a flaring red nose and thin, turned down at the corner lips, his appearance could be politely considered a little woeful.
 
“A carcass ready for the mortuary,” one young English woman was heard to remark brutally in the wake of Kevin’s sudden popularity. She was bitter, Kevin not allowing her within an arm’s length of his manhood. The result was a nickname, ‘Corpus Kevie.’
 
The arrival through the castle window of a hairless (below the eyes) female dressed in a flimsy nightdress, panting after a risky climb, would be expected to raise the pulse rate of any man under the age of, say, ninety-nine, but it did nothing but panic Corpus Kevie.
 
Greatly embarrassed he shrunk away from her and said, “Go away, I’m calling security.”
 
Such a mean reception could break any girl’s heart, and so that woman returned to France, heartbroken
 
Security, of course, was hard-pressed to counter the numerous ways women of all ages trying to get to Kevin after loose-lip female staff of Castle MacLeod had fed the rumor mill.
 
Women far and near who were plugged into the grapevine went for Kevin. The race was on to claim his virginity, the intention being to thereby retain his attention for life. So far no enterprising males were trying for an all-male tryst. The women would have been uncompetitive in comparison because of the greater aggression of men and their superior brain-power in situations like this that requires devious penetration of the defenses at Castle MacLeod.
 
So, why this interest in a Scottish dick with a limp wrist now referred to as Corpus Kevie? Because his grandfather had died, leaving Kevin US$7,000,105.
 
 
 
Yes, quite. The $100,105 had been advanced to Kevin to get to a particular Presbyterian church in Manhattan Island, New York. The catch was he would receive his fortune only if emerging from that church lawfully wedded. An opening existed for an all-male happy ending because the will definitely stated ‘spouse’ not wife, and same-sex marriages are now being performed in some churches but it can be revealed that option was no taken up.
 
An elderly and trusted butler at Castle MacLeod tipped off Kevin about the possibility of an all-male union. The shocked young heir fled under the cover darkness, catching the night mail train to Oban, the weekly cattle boat to Liverpool and sailed on the tide to New York.
 
Grandfather MacLeod, widely known as MacDork by Manhattan’s finest – high society women that is – knew of his virgin grandson’s confounding weakness: Gynophobia – the fear of women.
 
MacDork could not imagine anyone having such an affliction and had his will written in the hope that sheer greed would bring his grandson into the arms of a woman and thereby increase the possibility of sons from such a wedlock arriving to strengthen the family tree.
 
Fortunately, Kevin could come close to a woman as he did on occasions; gynophobia only struck, turning him into a quivering mass of jelly held together by bones when actually touched by a woman. The body learns to protect itself, hence the grotesque development of his appearance.
 
 
 
On arrival in America, Kevin went Upstate New York and signed into a hospital run by a Doctor Judy Barrett. Doc Barrett took on Kevin’s case herself, as it was so unique. She found she could touch him providing she wore rubber gloves, which raised the possibility of Kevin being able to have sexual union if he wore a rubber suit plus a condom. She decided she’d try out that theory about intercourse in due course.
 
The deregistered surgeon found Kevin had learned about her clinic on a disused web site abandoned after her succession of nine terrible surgical failures when suffering from drug addiction. Kevin said he had $15,000 to spend and Doc Barrett said providing he slept in the stables, thereby not occupying a valuable bed in the air conditioned suites, she would feed him and do all the operations Kevin required for that small amount of money which ordinarily would only get him a minor nose job such as buffing away light nasal scar tissue.
 
Kevin’s attitude was providing she didn’t kill him he’d remain grateful of any improvement.
 
Well, twenty-one weeks later he looked in the mirror and was amazed – his surgically-corrected mouth looked appealing, the reshaped nose was classical, his skin infection had been cleared and a diet of raw carrots and lightly steamed spinach had turned his translucent blue eyes cornflower blue. Very striking indeed.
 
“What do you think?” asked the thirty-eight year old seducer of men and skilled surgeon when not drugged to the eyeballs.
 
“Amazing!”
 
“Is that all you can say?”
 
“Very amazing,” Kevin expanded.
 
“Well, that’s all I can do for you, darling, but here’s a card for a sex therapist who is my youngest sister Matilda. She can help you completely overcome your gynophobia problem, as she was a registered psychologist before taking up growing tulips. But I must prepare you for her because she’s never had a virgin as a patient. While I had you under anesthetic I discovered in tests what you experience deep aversion to a female when coming skin-on-skin. Therefore, to have my way with you all I have to do is to dress you in a body suit with a piece cut out at the crotch for the fitting of a condom.
 
“A condom?”
 
“A rubber tube closed at one end, so when I insert myself on to your penis there won’t be skin-on-skin contact.
 
“Insert?”
 
“You’re on a learning curve my boy. Just come to my apartment at 7:30 this evening. You’ll leave it a man.”
 
“Really? And what will that leave you?”
 
“Hopeful with a huge smile on my face.”
 
“A huge smile?”
 
“Try not to be so trying Kevin.”
 
The sex was very unsatisfactory, so remains unreported.
 
However the Good Doctor nodded with satisfaction when she pulled Kevin out of his body suit, took off the facemask and gloves and then grasped a mid-body appendage. The finding was he had no skin-on-skin aversion – just acute shyness. She now had an article to write for the Medical Journal that might lead to her re-registration as a medical practitioner.
 
 
 
It was love at first sight when Kevin saw the charming Matilda Barrett, dressed in red, in the middle of a two-acre block of red tulips doing an ancient Morris Dance. Although she was dressed in tulip red, he was able to spot her by using his superior intelligence, finding she stood higher than the tulips.
 
For twenty-one weeks the fair Matilda worked on Kevie as she preferred calling him, talking to him, stroking his flesh and performing rituals handed down from one generation of psychologists to the next for more than 10,000 years.
 
At the end of twenty-one weeks Matilda snapped her fingers and intoned, “Kevie, heal thyself and emerge from your deep sleep.” He awoke, cured of shyness and ingrained with a warm natural disposition to women. But where had those twenty-one weeks gone?
 
“Gawd Matilda, you are stunning. Marry me?”
 
“When?”
 
“Today hopefully.”
 
“Where?”
 
“At the nearest Presbyterian Church.”
 
“I can’t,” sobbed Matilda.
 
“Why not?”
 
“I’m Catholic.”
 
“Goodbye, dear Matilda,” said Kevin bravely. “I will send you much more money when my inheritance comes through.”
 
“Goodbye dear Kevie,” Matilda wept, handing him a card to O’Connor’s Gym on Manhattan Island.
 
It’s difficult to write how a young man cleared of gynophobia feels, so that will be avoided. Suffice to say Kevie, as he now called himself, felt rejuvenated.
 
No longer did the young Scot cower in the presence of females, automatically believing they were better looking than he was, were intellectually superior, multi-tasked unbelievably, smelt a little off and were altogether rounded off in an over-powering way. He had transformed into an everyday guy who loves most women.
 
Quickly the new Kevie learned that women did not speak infinitely better than men by rounding their vowels majestically, as that tended to display bad teeth and that their word-power although theoretically awesome, was never put to maximum use when trying to communicate with males. Further, almost all had a bad habit of finishing their sentences completely and that made it difficult for males to understand them clearly as long sentences exceed the attention of most males. Usually.
 
 
 
Kevie headed for O’Connor’s gym. Matilda had said something about catching a greyhound but he couldn’t find any so caught a bus going downstate and arrived on Manhattan wondering why it was necessary for some of the buildings to be so tall; to improve water pressure perhaps?
 
O’Connor’s gym used to operate in a disused granite quarry, but it had long gone, said the pretty receptionist. “As the sign says we are now O’Connor’s Yoga and Pilates Center.”
 
Upset, Kevie unleashed a barrage of Gaelic curses.
 
“Oh, we have upset a skinny foul-mouth Scottish laddie have we?” said old Mr O’Connor. He being of Celtic origin replied in Gaelic which, translated, had him saying, “You can’t have a gym these days you ignorant Scottish git, one has to move to where the suckers’ money is.” The receptionist clapped her hands in delight, hearing Mr O’Connor’s native tongue flowing so elegantly.
 
Kevie looked menacing – he was no git. A dick perhaps, but no git.
 
“Punch me boyo, and my granddaughter Kate will bounce out and deal with you.”
 
“Did you want me, athair mór?” asked a young woman walking into the room. For Kevie it was love a first sight.
 
“Are you Catholic?”
 
“No.”
 
“Would you marry in a Presbyterian Church?”
 
“Theoretically I could but I’m not the marrying kind. Now, shove off, we don’t do consumer surveys unless we’re offered big money.”
 
“I can offer big money.”
 
“Not enough for me; now frig off.”
 
Kevie stood his ground. “Is your athair mór your security guy who’s built like a brick outhouse?”
 
“It’s what I call my grandfather, you MacDick. Don’t you ignorant Scots know anything and why haven’t you got red hair? Are you genuine, and what an awful body – are you gay?”
 
A rush of red erupted within Kevie.
 
“Now look here bitch, don’t defame gays with that foul mouth of yours; we have to learn to live with them.”
 
“I’m not living with gays.”
 
“Me neither, or is it either?”
 
“Don’t know, at least we’ve got that in common,” she said.
 
“Can I have membership?” he asked, gazing at her delightfully sculptured breasts.
 
“It’s my superior bra, so don’t get your hopes up,” she said, noticing the direction of his gaze and smiling thinly. “Why didn’t you say you wanted membership, athair mór and I would have been much nicer to you?”
 
“I’ve just been cured of gynophobia and am a recent immigrant to the Big Orange.”
 
“It’s Big Apple, but only tourists, publicists and word-deficient journalists use that term – natives call it New York, Manhattan or Center of the Universe. Anyway, that’s irrelevant; nobody can be cured of gynophobia.”
 
“I was, by Matilda.”
 
Kate looked at Kevie keenly.
 
“That wouldn’t be Matilda Barrett, would it now?
 
“Yes.”
 
“And you took the full treatment of 21-week under hypnosis?”
 
“That’s the one.”
 
“Then you’re cured. Ohmygawd it also means you haven’t had sex for twenty-one weeks or have you had it after leaving Matilda’s clinic?”
 
Kevie licked his lips lasciviously and grinned. “Is this a consumer research survey, I don’t answer such unless generously rewarded?”
 
Kate waved away her bewildered athair mór and the receptionist.
 
“Answer the question.”
 
“No, I’ve only had sex once in my life, twenty-two weeks ago.”
 
Kevie caught Kate as she fainted. She smelt so lovely – perfume and sweat and something else he couldn’t quite identify. Her curves fitted so snugly against him and her softness was slowly bringing him to a boil. Something strange was happening to his body.
 
“Put her down on the sofa, and don’t interfere with her,” said the receptionist sharply, returning to the room.
 
Kevie looked at her intently.
 
“I wouldn’t do that – she is an amazingly sculpture piece of divine beauty – absolutely priceless.”
 
“Ohmygawd,” said the receptionist, turning red and racing off to the restroom.
 
Kevie kissed Kate awake. She smiled and then frowned, warning him not to do that because her body was her temple, not to be touched by males unless on St Patrick’s Day.
 
“Will you work with me for twenty-one weeks, to build me a body befitting to a man of substance?”
 
“That will cost $15,000 including lodgings.”
 
“That’s fine, and as we work together I will work to persuade you to allow me to enter your temple.”
 
“Ohmygawd,” screamed Kate, leaping up and racing off to the restroom.
 
The receptionist returned with a slightly smug look on her face, telling Kevie he was good, very good.
 
“Good at what?”
 
“Bringing a girl to an instant climax with those eyes of yours when talking sweetly to her.”
 
“That’s crap.”
 
“That’s not talking sweetly. Could you talk sweetly to me again but this time longer and more intensely?”
 
Kate returned and overheard the receptionist.
 
“Megan you bitch; hands off, he’s mine.”
 
 
Twenty six weeks later Kate and Kevie were married in the Midtown Presbyterian Church of Scotland, built by Kevie’s grandfather. It was a society wedding, with all MacDork’s ex-women lining one side and current members of O’Connor’s Yoga and Pilate Center filling the bride’s side of the church. MacDork’s law firm representatives were in the bridal party as witnesses.
 
Kate and Kevie had been living together for those twenty-six weeks – apart from the twenty-four hours prior to the ceremony; that short separation was necessary because Kate wanted to wear white. The dress covered her temple and elsewhere so beautifully that all the women and gay men at the service wept. Kevie wept too as he turned to watch her arrive.
 
At the time of proposing, Kevie had told Kate about the reason for the marriage as he wanted to be true to her. She’d accepted that and also thinking some money would be useful.
 
 
Mrs and Mr O’Connor-MacLeod emerged from the church and walked to the limousine waiting to take them to JFK where they would change before boarding their aircraft. A security van carrying a million bucks honeymoon spending money waited to follow the limo.
 
In the way that besotted brides do, Kate turned her back on the guests and threw the flowers over her head; they were caught by her surprised athair mór who was immediately surrounded by the more aggressive of MacDork’s ex-women.
 
It had been a lovely wedding. Everyone was happy and partly or well inebriated as the wedding breakfast had been that – a wedding breakfast – held before the wedding which appealed to the Irish but it was done that way for convenience as the minister would not conduct marriages before mid-morning.
 
So, guests attended the reception where the cake was cut and then on to the wedding service held at 10:03. This early start was because of Kate; she’d thought it would be romantic to fly to Scotland and have the wedding night at Castle MacLeod.
 
All good stories have a happy ending apparently. On the flight across the Atlantic, as the newly-weds gorged on champagne and oysters, Kate whispered into her husband’s cute little ear they were six weeks’ pregnant. 
THE END


© Copyright 2019 Grigor McGregor. All rights reserved.

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