I cursed myself for getting into this position. She’d discovered that I could still get a hard on, which supported the image I had tried to convey of having some sort of psychological impediment as a result of my (unspecified) experiences while in prison. As she lay on me, I tried to take my mind off the physical sensations: her breasts pressing against my chest, her nipples like small stones rolling over my flesh, her belly grinding against mine, her cunt muscles rippling along my cock. I needed to concentrate on the mental. How would a guy with psychological problems react to this sort of attention. All I could think of was that I must not allow myself to respond. So I resisted all temptation to moan and groan or even to touch her. I just lay there, supine beneath her, the inanimate object of her attention.<br/><br/>But how would I stop myself cumming? I’m only a normal guy, after all. and what guy would respond to this sort of attention? Well, to my surprise, I found that the answer was: me. I didn’t have to hold myself back from cumming. There was no need to. I just knew I was never going to cum. My balls simply wouldn’t function.<br/><br/>That was when it hit me. I was inventing this impotence stuff. It was real. I was deliberately avoiding going with women because secretly I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t get hard and, if I did, I couldn’t cum. Was that why I had decided against fucking until I had raped someone? Would I even be able to manage it then?<br/><br/>Eventually, Mia came with a long soft moan.<br/><br/>‘Sorry, Dave, I couldn’t hold out any longer. What about you? How do you feel?’<br/><br/>I closed my eyes and told her.<br/><br/>‘Don’t worry,’ she sympathised, stroking my head, ‘just give it time. Relax and time will heal everything.’<br/><br/>I forced a smile.<br/><br/>‘Would it help,’ she asked, ‘to tell me about what happened in prison?’