Scrafield was impatient. "I told you, you don't have to worry. Chet Hunter assures me he'll be humping Gayle tomorrow. He guarantees it and will report to us personally when it's happened."

District Attorney Lewis scratched his nose, lost in thought, and his head made a motion of assent. "Yes, Hunter appears reliable enough. I had him checked out again. His record as a member of the police reserve is perfectly clean, and he's well motivated to come through, according to Ferguson over at the Chronicle. But what's keeping him from screwing the lady? That's not the worst assignment in the world."

"All in due time, Hoyt. He's got to follow their rules, that's all. Don't upset yourself. He'll come through. You can bet on that."

Hoyt Lewis sat up. "I intend to bet on that."

"What's the next step?" Scrafield wanted to know. "How are you going to proceed?"

"The usual way. I'll start with a press release-notify Ferguson what my office plans to do . . . tell him I'm readying a criminal complaint against Dr. Arnold Freeberg for pandering."

"What about Gayle Miller?"

"Not yet, not until she's actually committed her act of prostitution. But we already have sufficient evidence to announce the forthcoming complaint against Freeberg on the pandering charge. So the first announcement will concern Freeberg alone."

"Can I make it the subject of my broadcast tomorrow night?" asked the Reverend Scrafield eagerly.

"No objection, as long as you confine any fire and brimstone to what's contained in my announcement."

"When can I mention the prostitute?"

"As soon as Hunter scores with her," Lewis promised. "That'll be immediately after tomorrow. Then I'll proceed against them jointly, issue arrest warrants against Freeberg for a felony and against the Miller woman for a misdemeanor. I'll have them brought over to the jail to be booked and their bail set, and have them arraigned before a judge in forty-eight hours."

Scrafield was smiling. "And then what?"

Hoyt Lewis also smiled. "Then they go to trial, and both wind up out of business and in the slammer."

"And you'll wind up on every front page," said Scrafield, grinning.

"And so will you, my friend," said Lewis, standing. "If Freeberg and Gayle Miller do their part, we'll do our part. It's in the bag, I promise you."

Chapter IX.

"Gayle," he asked, "is this exercise my graduation?"

Adam Demski and Gayle were nude in her therapy room, seated beside each other on the edge of her floor mat.

"It could be," Gayle replied. "I expect it will be."

"If I rise to the occasion," Demski said with amusement.

"You'll rise to it," Gayle promised.

Observing him, she liked what she saw, contrasting his demeanor with the rigid, frightened person she had first laid eyes on a few weeks ago. Beside her was a young man who appeared confident and relaxed enough to make jokes and to smile. His attitude pleased her, and she could not imagine that he would suffer a relapse into his old impotency.

"Gayle," he said, taking her hand, "when we do penetration . . ."

"Yes?"

"I'd like to be on top this time."

Gayle considered this but only briefly. She decided that he was ready for the more usual position. That he would never consider himself a success until he could consummate sexual intercourse from the male superior position. The missionary position was the way of the world for most men, what they believed was expected of them.

Now Adam Demski wanted to prove, to himself, that he was ready to have a real encounter in the real world. That meant thrusting from the top. Success in that way would fully reinforce his new feeling of potency.

"Of course," Gayle found herself saying. "I see no problem."

She wanted to add that there were many other positions that might be better for him, more comfortable for him, even more effective, with some future mate, but she did not want to confuse him at the moment. There would be time to discuss variations when he met with Dr. Freeberg and herself for their final talk.

Right now he wanted to prove himself in the popular male position, and she'd made up her mind to do everything possible to make it work for him.

"Shall we begin, Adam?"

"I want to."

Gayle eased herself down on the mat, and Demski followed her. Then she swung her legs around and adjusted her body until she was stretched out fully on her back. Immediately, he was on his knees on the mat, hovering over her.

"Not so fast, Adam," she cautioned him. "I think we both could use some preliminary play. I want to lubricate naturally, and I want you to achieve a complete erection before penetrating me."

"Of course," Demski said apologetically. "I guess I got a little eager."

"No hurry. Let's enjoy every moment of this, from our foreplay to the climax."

"I'm for it," Demski agreed, dropping down next to her and stretching his body alongside hers.

"Can we keep our eyes open?" he inquired.

"Whatever you like."

"I'd like."

He snuggled close to Gayle and began brushing the tips of the fingers of his right hand across her forehead, around her eyes, across the bridge of her nose, and giving featherlike touches to her mouth and her lips.

Soon he reached her breasts, was stroking them gently, and leaning over to kiss her nipples.

She could feel his effectiveness. Uncontrollably, she could feel her nipples stiffen and the moisture beginning to grow between her legs.

Then she became aware of something else against her thigh.

She glanced down between them and made out his small flaccid penis lifting toward a real erection.

She reached down and curled one hand around it as her other hand massaged his shoulders and back.

Suddenly, without a word spoken, Demski was on his knees above her.

The sensation was pleasure mingled with triumph as the head of his penis probed briefly and began to slide into her.

She could hear his heart as he began thrusting forward and backward. What surprised her was how strongly he had her impaled, and how steady and unremitting his thrusting was. Somehow, she had expected him to come to a quick orgasm, and then she realized she was confusing him with Chet Hunter. This had not been Demski's problem, and it was not his problem now.

Glancing fleetingly at an end table clock, she saw that seven or eight minutes had passed since they had begun.

Still he was over her, going steadily, and involuntarily she found herself lifting and lowering her buttocks in rhythm with his.

It was going on and on, and she was beginning to think he was a retarded ejaculator who might never come-or indeed that she might come before he did.

Then she heard a hoarse cry, and he was going at her wildly, and she knew he was climaxing.

As he stopped, and remained on his elbow panting, she caught the clock in the corner of her eye.

Twelve minutes.

Not bad. In fact, very good.

As he withdrew from her, she saw that his mouth had formed into a wide smile.

She reached up and brought his mouth down to her own and kissed him. And then she hugged him tightly, enjoying the perspiration on his face and body.

Happily, he whispered into her ear, "Well, teacher, do I graduate?"

"Adam," she whispered back, "today you are a man, ready to go out and delight a population of receptive females. Yes, you graduate with honors."

"With honors?"

"I'll sign your report card. Look closely at my face and you'll see what I gave you."

"What did you give me, teacher?"

"An A plus. Definitely. You'll have the world at your feet. Congratulations!"

They were in the bedroom of Paul Brandon's apartment.

"Well," Nan Whitcomb said with a sigh, "I guess this is the last time." She was naked except for her nylon panties. She drew them down and stepped out of them.

For a while she gazed down at her vaginal mound, and absently she began to smooth her curly pubic hair as she seemed lost in thought.

She raised her head to take in Brandon, who was still undressing.

She spoke. "I want to say one thing, Paul, before we go on to the last time."

"Maybe it won't be the last time if it turns out you still have a problem."

"I don't expect a problem, Paul. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be all right. But I want to say something else. I-I'm ashamed of myself for giving you so much trouble."

"What trouble? You didn't give me any, really."

"Yes, I did. You're being very sweet. But I did. Dr. Freeberg was frank about it. Quite open, thank God." She paused. "You know, he talked to me about our relationship."

Brandon nodded, taking off his trousers.

Nan went on. "Dr. Freeberg was right to speak to me about what was happening, to show me how I was putting you on the spot. He brought me to my senses." She stared wistfully at Brandon's naked body. "It's true I was foolish. I did sort of fall in love with you. I couldn't help it. I did give you a terrible time, when you were only doing a job, a professional job to cure me-"

"Don't be harsh with yourself, Nan," Brandon broke in. "It wasn't a one-way street. I can see now that I got emotionally involved with you, too, maybe unconsciously encouraged your love. I shouldn't have. It was unprofessional of me." He reached out for her hand. "I want you to know that I really did-and do-care for you, even as I tried to guide you."

She pulled him toward her. "You're the kindest man I've ever known." She smiled wryly. "True, I haven't known many, and those I did know were all downers until I met you." She took his face in her hands and kissed him. "I won't say I love you anymore, but I do love you. The difference is that I've faced the fact that it'll be over."

He returned her kiss, running his fingers across her cheek. "You'll do better from now on, much better," he promised her.

"At least I'll know what to look for-someone kind and caring and intelligent . . . just like you." She rubbed her body against his. "But since I have you here now, why don't we go ahead and enjoy the last time?" She tightened her hold on his hand. "I want to prove to you that I'm ready." With her free hand, she touched his rigid erection. "I know you are."

"I certainly am . . ."

He led her to the bed, and when she was supine, he climbed on after her, then rose above her.

Nan raised her knees. Her legs were apart.

Brandon lowered himself between them and slowly, slowly entered her.

He did not have to inquire whether she felt any pain. Her grateful expression told him all he needed to know. There was no longer any pain. There was only pleasure.

"Oh, my," she choked out once as he continued to thrust inside her.

At last she reached up to hold on to him. Her face contorted, and he could feel she was in the throes of orgasm, and he let go, too.

After an interval, he withdrew and dropped down on the bed beside her. He could see from the motion of her hips that she wanted more relief. He reached for the bud of her clitoris and passed his fingertips back and forth over it. Quickly, she had her second orgasm, and soon after, she had her third. And then she lay there inert, spent.

After a while, she turned her head toward him. "Was I okay?"

"Perfect."

"You were delicious. Thank you for making me able to say that."

They lay quietly, and then because of his genuine concern, Brandon asked her, "What are you going to do next, Nan?"

She thought about it briefly. "I think I'll leave town. I don't want to stay here and risk running into Tony Zecca again. Maybe I'll go to the Midwest. I have a cousin in Des Moines. Another in Chicago. Wherever I go, I'll find a way to support myself, any job, and I'll use what extra money I have to take a secretarial course on the side. That should help me find better work and maybe help me meet somebody as nice as you. What do you think, Paul?"

"That's a fine idea. But don't leave immediately. Dr. Freeberg would like us to join him for dinner the day after tomorrow. It's his custom whenever his patients and their surrogates have concluded their exercises successfully. Will you come along?"

"I'll be there. And Paul, Dr. Freeberg told me you had your own personal life to live. I'd like to meet her."

It was early evening in Gayle's therapy room.