Therapist

by Jaden Wilkes

  “I just thought—” she begins to say.

  “You’re wrong,” I cut her off and kiss her again, this time with more intent. I back her against the doorframe to my room and push my knee between her legs. She complies and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling herself up against me. I hold the back of her head with one hand and cup her ass with the other. She’s a light as a feather, smaller than I thought and I am able to pull her up so her legs wrap around my hips.

  My cock wants at her, I thrust against her cunt a couple of times and she gasps. Her breath is cool against my lips; I must be overheated, feverish, over this plain Jane. She’s a conundrum, she’s not my type but she’s in my head at the strangest times. Her leg grazes the spot on my thigh where Mistress tore my flesh and I wince. Jane doesn’t notice but I need to alleviate the pressure off my wound.

  I pull back and nibble down her neck, suck on her collarbone. “Are you ok with this?” I ask against her skin and know her answer will be yes. I carry her to the bed and lay her down gently. Her eyes are huge, deep dark brown and velvety, like a doe. Her heart is racing and her cheeks are red, her lips red to match. She’s beautiful like this, gorgeous when she wants my cock.

  “Hang on,” she says and leans over, dropping a small purse I hadn’t noticed she’d been clutching. “Shit,” she exclaims and reaches for something on the floor. She picks it up and I can’t tell what it is. I sit on the end of the bed and catch a glimpse of something small, dark and black plastic. She pops it into her purse and sits back up on the bed. Her body is small; compact, but her hips and ass curve into her flat abdomen. How did I not notice this before?

  “You are beautiful,” I tell her and run my hands up her legs. In that moment I believe it. She laughs and shakes her head. She truly doesn’t know and I think this adds to her allure. “You really are,” I say and part her thighs. She’s wearing a straight, long skirt but it’s been shifted up over her hips at this point. Her underwear is sensible, nothing but white cotton panties for my plain Jane. I smile at this, imagining her putting them on this morning, never thinking that the object of her desire would be dragging them off her that very afternoon.

  “Alexandre,” she sighs and runs her hands through my hair, “I don’t know if we should do this. Please slow down. Let’s talk about it.”

  I stop. It takes every ounce of my strength to do so, but I respect Jane, I can’t bring myself to force her. “Why not?” I ask and pull back, sliding my finger along her mons as I do.

  She groans and grimaces her reply, “I don’t want things to change between us. I really like you, I like our friendship.”

  “I like you too,” I say and rub the pad of my thumb on the top of her slit through her panties. “I like our friendship and nothing has to change. Nothing has, right?”

  She looks troubled but says, “I guess?”

  “Then there you have it. Nothing has to change so nothing will change,” I say and lean down, kissing her knee and continuing up her thigh. She reflexively opens her legs wider, preparing herself for me even though she is conflicted. “I’ll only do what you want,” I tell her and hook my thumb in the waistband of her panties and pull down.

  “I want this,” she says and lays her hand on mine, “I really do...but I don’t want to end up another notch in your headboard.”

  I look up at her, surprised that she would know about any of the women...or men...that’s I’ve fucked. “What do you mean?” I ask, uncertain if I want to know her answer.

  She laughs and replies, “Oh, you have a bit of a reputation...but you know that.”

  “I don’t. I mean I don’t know anything, I flirt a lot, Jane, but I don’t do a lot,” I say smoothly. Liar. Fucking wicked liar.

  “Ahh, ok,” she says but I don’t think I’ve convinced her. I am overcome with the compulsion to convince her, to prove to her that I am a good man, a normal man, a man worthy of her love. Plain Jane has challenged my personal dignity and I’ve taken it as an affront to my public image. Nothing more. She couldn’t possibly move me, she doesn’t exactly instill men with the urge to kill or raze entire cities for her. I will never write great tomes to her beauty, but I do like her. And because of this I will proceed with caution.

  “You won’t ever be anything other than somebody I care for deeply, somebody I desire and somebody I respect,” I tell her and trace my finger along her upper thigh as I speak. “I like you Jane,” I lean down and kiss her thigh near my finger, then move upwards to kiss her hand, taking her finger in my mouth and sucking slowly. “I don’t know what else I can say, but you are different than anyone else, and nothing will change if we do this.” This part at least is true. I do care for her in my own crooked way and my intentions are honourable. In that moment at least. I can’t tell how I’ll feel in a few hours, after I’ve been inside her and covered her with my scent.

  “I don’t know,” she says and looks sad. Her eyes are half open and her pretty red lips turn down in a pout. She’s unreadable and I don’t like it. She looks almost sly, like she thinks she’s in charge of something.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I do know,” I say and push her hand down, hook her panties and begin to slide them further down. She’s compliant and for half a second I believe she’s going to let me do this, let me fuck her.

  “Stop,” she whispers and places her hand on mine. “I can’t. We can’t,” she continues. Two pinpoints of red highlight her cheeks, her hair is mussed up and her eyes burn, fever bright. I know she wants this, I want this; I don’t know why we aren’t fucking by now.

  I lunge, push her onto the bed and put my forearm across her neck. She takes a shallow, gasping breath and rasps, “Alexandre.” I can see the whites of her eyes and feel her fear pulsing in her throat under my arm. I could have her here, like this. I could have my way and find my release through her destruction.

  But it’s Jane. I can’t force her, as much as I want to fucking tear into her cunt and hold her, pinned her to my bed as I drill into her, I can’t. Mistress. I can’t ruin what I have with Jane, even though I don’t exactly know what I have with Jane. I need her. I need her. In this I accept that I must stop. She presses against me and her hand hits the spot on my leg where Mistress gouged me with her fingernails. The pain concludes my hold on Jane; I know I must back down.

  I relax my grip and sit up again. She reaches up and holds her throat, rubbing it and making wounded animals noises. “I’m sorry Jane,” I offer and move away from her, “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You scared me,” she says and continues to rub her throat, “and that hurt like a fucker. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Her eyes calm as the moment of impact passes. I feel a little tic in my left eye starting. I hope she doesn’t notice the twitch. Strange, I haven’t had it since I was a boy; I learned to control it years ago. I rub my eyes and stand up, turn away from her and let her think I’m processing this on an emotional level.

  “Alexandre?” she asks, “Are you ok?”

  I turn back to her and smile. “I am and I need to apologize again, I don’t know what happened. It’s been a rough week at work, so many breakthroughs and successes, but so many people I worry about. You know what it’s like, wearing the weight of their pain on your shoulders.”

  I know I’ve gotten through to her when she wiggles off the bed, adjusts her panties and pulls her skirt down. She’s back to normal; we’re back to normal. Never normal fucking crazy. She takes my hand and says, “I completely understand. Can we go out and get something to eat? I don’t know if I feel like cooking now...this has all been so strange.”

  “Sure,” I reply, my voice slightly too loud and sharp, betraying my edginess. I still want to fuck her, but it’s wearing off. My cock has settled back down to the right leg, sleeping until the next tight cunt needs punishment. “Feel like Vietnamese? There’s an amazing little Pho place around the corner.”

  She smiles and visibly relaxes. She takes my hand when I offer it to her and we leave to get dinne
r. In the elevator I have the urge to push her against the wall and crawl under her skirt, but she’s managed to do what no woman has managed. She’s unsettled me and made me question myself around her. I am not sure how I should process this, so I am grateful that we’ve decided to go back to normal. I need normal.

  Friday, April 4th 12:08PM - Blythe

  “Alexandre, wait!” a female voice calls from behind me. I am walking down West Fourth towards Chico’s, my favourite lunch spot. It’s my usual Friday meal and I make sure to schedule my afternoon appointments late so I can take my time, catch up on the markets and sip my beer.

  I turn and see Blythe, her wide smile looking vaguely threatening, even in the bright daylight. I can’t imagine getting a blow job from her, all those seemingly extra teeth ready to gnash and grind your cock off. I suppress a shudder at the thought of her on the end of me.

  “Blythe, what a pleasant surprise,” I say and straighten my back. I don’t know what she’s doing here, she must know about my lunch routine.

  “Silly, you knew I was coming,” she smiles and leans in for a kiss. I dodge her lips and let it land on my cheek. Really, what was she thinking?

  “I wasn’t aware that we had plans,” I said and thought back over the last week. I couldn’t recall a single time I’d spoken to her about meeting up today. Strange.

  “This is our monthly meet up, have you forgotten?” she asks and watches my face for a reaction. I feel like she’s gone into clinical mode and is analysing this, so I plan my reply.

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten, I’ve had a really rough week...that’s all,” I say and scan her face. She buys it, I think, and looks concerned.

  “Are you ok?” she asks and reaches for my hand. I repress the need to pull away from her, or to slap it away. I have this oily feeling around Blythe, like she’s a snake about to strike. A snake in a woman’s body.

  I let her take it though and reply, “I am, just tired is all. So what are you up for?”

  “How about we shake it up a little and grab a burger at Romers?” she replies and walks along, her hand gripping mine like there’s nothing weird about this.

  “Sure, I’m always up for something different,” I reply, forcing myself to sound enthusiastic.

  “Only you,” she says and laughs, “would consider a hamburger ‘something different.’”

  We are seated by the window, the place is packed with the lunch crowd and the noise is almost overwhelming. This is good, I can’t imagine having much to chat about with Blythe and I still don’t know exactly why we’re here.

  We place our orders, get our drinks and make small talk. Blythe is prattling on about some new study her research lab is conducting. I tune her out and watch people go by.

  I tend to categorize everyone I see as one of two categories, yes or no. Would I fuck them or not? There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to my choosing, it’s something in the way they walk or a glint in their eye I suppose. See? I’m not entirely driven by the aesthetic form. A very fuckable woman in a form fitting suit jacket walks past, catches my eye and shoots me a long, lazy, seductive smile. I look back and wink, she blushes and looks away.

  “Alexandre? Hello? Did you hear my question?” Blythe’s nasal voice breaks into my train of thought. “I said are you ok? Have you had any weird headaches or anything lately?”

  “Uh...no. Why do you ask?” I reply. Our food arrives and Blythe watches me as I unroll the cutlery and lay the napkin on my lap. It suddenly hits me; Blythe was the one on the phone the other day, the mysterious girl who wanted me to call her. Why did she call and why would she be so familiar with me? She must have fucked up and dialed the wrong number. Or did she say my name?

  “You seem a bit...off. And Jane was telling me—”

  “What did she tell you?” I cut her off, feeling oddly vulnerable. I don’t want to think of her and Jane talking about me. Perhaps that’s why she called, to check up on me for Jane.

  She jumps and says, “She just said you haven’t been acting yourself. That you seemed disoriented.” She reaches out to touch my arm, but I slide it away from her before we make contact. She narrows her eyes and watches me. I hate her watching me.

  I play it off like it’s not a big deal though. I can’t have her knowing how annoying this is to me, then she’d read way too much into that. “I’m seriously ok,” I tell her and reach for the ketchup bottle. I remove the lid and tip it up to cover my french fries. Nothing comes out. I hate that so fucking much I feel a red hot spike of anger rise up behind my eyes. When did they talk? Did Jane tell her about last night? I tap the bottle and say, “I’ve just had a rough week at work,” and hit the bottle harder. Still nothing.

  “You know you have to tap it in just the right spot,” Blythe offers and reaches for the bottle. “Here, let me show you.” She tries to take the ketchup from me but I pull back and move her hand away.

  “I’ve got this,” I say and pop the bottle again. Still no ketchup.

  “Seriously, let me help you,” she says and once again reaches for the bottle.

  I grab her wrist and hold her in my grip. I tighten my hand around her little arm and feel her bones roll under the pressure. She tries to pull away but I’ve got her trapped. I look into her eyes, she’s fearful but defiant. I grit my teeth and say, “Don’t fucking touch the bottle. I do not need your help. Got that?”

  “Yes,” she whispers and starts to tremble. I can feel it in her arm, in her skin and that adds to my anger. I need to know what the two of them have been talking about. I want to twist her arm until she’s dropped to the floor and screaming my name, telling me everything. It’s strange, most of my knee jerk fantasies about women involve sex...not with Blythe though. The thought of ramming my cock into her poisonous cunt makes me feel sick to my stomach. The thought of covering her lips with mine, feeling her teeth crash into mine...all of it, it makes me fucking sick.

  “Good,” I say and loosen my grip the tiniest amount. Just enough to let her know I’m not going to break her arm here in the restaurant. “Now don’t forget that, I don’t need you to help me. You need to stay out of my shit and stop talking about me behind my back.”

  “Ok,” she bleats like a little lamb. Her face has twisted into a mask of pain.

  “Is everything ok?” Our waitress breaks into our stand off.

  “Yup, it’s fantastic,” I say and let Blythe go. “Although I’d like some more water please,” I add and hold up my glass. She looks at Blythe with a question in her eyes and Blythe nods her head. The waitress takes both our glasses with her when she leaves.

  Blythe starts rubbing her wrist, I can see my red fingermarks on her pale skin, it will probably bruise. “I’m sorry, Alexandre,” she says and looks me in the eye. Defiant to the last, she continues, “I was just trying to help.”

  “It’s ok,” I tell her and watch the ketchup ooze out of the bottle at a snail’s pace to cover my fries. “I just do things differently than most. I like to take my time but end up with the same result. See? Ketchup! We have success!” I continue with a cheerful little fist pump over my plate. I set the bottle down on the table and watch as she eats her salad with shaking hands.

  She can’t help herself though; she throws me a glare here and there when she doesn’t think I see her. God this woman sets me on edge, but I can’t pinpoint why. If I had spent any significant amount of time with her perhaps I could figure it out, but that’s not going to happen any time soon so it will remain a mystery. Why does Blythe’s presence make the small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and make me feel like punching something? Why do I have the sneaking sensation that her and Jane whisper about me whenever they get together?

  *****

  We both survive lunch and she insists on walking me back to the office. She doesn’t come up, so I breeze through the building without her. At our front desk I stop and meet the new girl. She’s Bea approved so I don’t pay much attention. She’s definitely not fuckable, but that’s
probably deliberate on Bea’s part. Most women won’t hire an attractive co worker when given the choice. They hate competition.

  “Hi there,” I say as I come in, “I’m Doctor Dane, but you can call me Alexandre. You must be the new girl.” I smile and see the blush creep up her cheeks. I know I’m dazzling her with my charm and good looks. It’s a talent.

  “Hi,” she says and gives a little wave, “I’m Meredith.”

  “Meredith,” I reply and extend my hand, “so pleased to meet you.” She gives me a limp handshake and giggles as I pull back. “I would like to ask that you no longer schedule patients before nine in the morning though. It was rather startling to have a visitor the other morning at seven.”

  She goes redder and looks guilty, but says, “I haven’t done any of your scheduling yet.”

  “Ok, well can you look on the calendar and see what her name was? If Bea added it, her information should be in there,” I say.

  “Ok, here let me check,” she replies and looks intently at the computer monitor in front of her. She leans forward and squints, scanning the words. “I see nothing here for you on Wednesday at that time. Your first appointment was at nine.”

  “Ok then,” I say, “I don’t know who told her to come in and see me at seven, but just a heads up that I don’t take patients that early.” I smile to let her know I’m being friendly about this, but it does disturb me. How did Mistress manage to get into my office that early?

  “Oh totally, Doctor Dane,” she replied and smiles, a lopsided grin. “I would never ever ever add anyone without checking with Bea first anyways.”

  “Thank you,” I say and turn to leave. A short distance away, I turn back and say, “Remember, call me Alexandre.” I hear her nervous giggle as I make my way back to my office. I just made her day a little brighter. She’ll probably carry this with her for a while...the time the hot doctor told her to call him by his first name. I do what I can, although I can’t say I remember her name even now, moments after hearing it.