“I haven’t seen you in a while.” She slowly raised her head up as the belt fell to the floor revealing her naked body, hot pink garter belt wrapped around her mid-thighs. “So I brought this to you.” She posed as if she were a gift, delivered especially for me.
Gliding herself across my desk, files spilled to the floor and my coffee cup clattered behind them. She placed one heel on each arm of my chair, her glistening pussy on display for me. She leaned back on her elbows and tipped her head back, her chin pointing to the ceiling.
I shoved my chair back, causing her shoes to drop off her feet and her legs fell limply to the floor. She dropped her chin, her confused expression searching for the interruption to her plans. Grabbing the blanket I kept on my couch, I opened it and draped it over her body. “Goddamnit, Shayla! What in the fuck are you thinking?” I demanded, crossing my arms and retreating to my bank of windows.
Her face transformed from shocked to pissed as she scrambled to get off my desk, the silkiness of her stockings making this a difficult task.
“I haven’t seen you in a while. You’ve been ignoring my texts and voice messages. I figured you were too busy, so I decided to come see you.” She snapped as she pulled the coat back on, her movements forced and hurried. “Which is not the fucking way to treat your girlfriend, by the way.” She cursed, anger lacing every word.
I’d been worried this would happen. Our last encounter had included a more tender and traditional form of fucking. Just another reason I didn’t do relationships. Women became too clingy and needy, expecting a big declaration in the light of day.
“Tell me one thing,” I demanded, watching her flinch from my raised voice. “How the fuck did you come to the conclusion we were in a fucking relationship?”
Her eyes grew wide and her mouth gaped like a fish struggling to find water. She started several times to respond, yet had no success.
“Answer me, Shayla.” My words were spoken through gritted teeth, anger rising in my chest. “When did we sit down and share our feelings? Confess how we only wanted to see each other?”
Shayla, for as long as I’d known her, had always gotten what she went after. By the look on her face and her lack of response, it was clear she was in a state of complete confusion. She had always played her cards correctly, taking from men, and admittedly women as well, everything she could. With her looks and willingness to fulfill any fantasy, she’d always managed to come out on top. This, a relationship with me, was not going to happen.
“You think because I stuck my fingers inside your pussy, wiggled them around and caused you to see fucking stars I’m now your fucking boyfriend?”
Standing before me was the shell of the woman I once thought I knew. Pools of tears filled up the lower half of her eyes and glistened in the light from the windows behind me. I didn’t want to imagine the ideas she had floating around in that head of hers. My truthful words acted like a machine gun, shooting down every balloon-filled fantasy she had. No doubt at least one of them included a white dress and a church.
“Y-you bit my neck.” She cried, pointing to the area on her shoulder where I had indeed nibbled on her skin. Tears fell down her cheeks as she lost her battle to keep them at bay.
Granddaddy once said, “If a lady is crying, chances are it’s your fault. Only pansy assed men make a woman shed a tear.”
“You’re right. I did bite you on your neck.” I crossed my legs at the ankles and leaned against the credenza, which displayed a photo of my brothers and granddaddy. “But I didn’t do it because I want to be your boyfriend.” My tone changed as I tried to lower my voice. Making a girl cry was a puss move and I was no pussy.
“I did it because I needed to remain in control, not to give you false hope or imply I was the least bit interested in the kind of relationship you are looking for “
Her face contorted and a frown formed, giving me the first indication a full on sob was about to erupt. When her shoulders started to shake and her face fell into her hands, I knew I had to be the man Daddy and Granddaddy raised.
Crossing the room, I carefully pulled her into my chest, as you would a small child. As we swayed back and forth, I spoke softly of everything being all right. Her body shook harder, and I knew I had to remain calm for her; reassure her this would all be a fading memory, one she would roll her eyes at some time down the line.
“Shayla,” I whispered when her sobs had subsided. “When I was younger, my granddaddy used to share with us these phrases of wisdom.” Just the memory of the way he would pull us boys in, stand tall and look deep into each of our eyes made me smile. He made the message he wanted us to understand as clear as glass.
“I think it was my brother Chase who had eyes for this little filly he met at the state fair.” I pulled Shayla back to look into her eyes, as Granddaddy had done. “She was a pretty little thing, but had a reputation for being a bit…free.” I brushed her remaining tears off her face and held her face to keep those eyes directed to me. “Granddaddy told Chase, ‘Son, never buy a rental car, it’s like marrying a whore. Everyone has had a turn in her.”
She tried to remove her face from my hold and divert her eyes from mine, but I redirected her. “He was right. If you want to have a relationship with a man, stop acting like a whore. You have to respect yourself before you can expect anyone else to.”
After several rounds of apologies and a promise to always be friends, Shayla said an embarrassed goodbye. Deep inside I knew she would make a good companion for some good ole boy, just not this one.
“Celia, I’ll be out the rest of the afternoon.” I passed her desk, as I spoke the words, securing my handgun and cell phone.
“Dylan?” she called, using that motherly tone that was not to be ignored. Her eyes held a hint of sadness and concern. “I want a phone call when you find out everything is all right, do you hear me?”
Rounding the desk, I placed a kiss to her cheek; making her the third woman I had ever placed my lips on in respect. “Yes, Ma’am.”
After my inability to keep an erection, I did the worst thing ever, I Googled it. Nearly every web page spoke of a number of possible reasons for it to happen. The one thing they all had in common was a word no human ever wanted to hear: cancer. Needless to say, I immediately called my physician I saw every couple of years for my work physical. I spoke frankly with his nurse who ordered a great number of blood tests for me. Today, I would sit down with Dr. Clarkson to discuss the results.
I purposely avoided telling my parents, knowing Momma would have driven me there herself and created quite a scene when the results took longer than a few seconds to come back. It was better if I had a firm understanding of what was wrong with me before I included them.
Celia knew I had an appointment and because it wasn’t time for my physical, she strong-armed me into telling her what was going on. I gave her enough information to appease her, without telling her I couldn’t keep my cock hard with a beautiful, naked woman before me—talk about the epitome of embarrassing.
Dr. Clarkson’s office was located in the professional building of University Hospital. He shared the space with four other doctors, though I had never had call to meet any of them. His office staff was pleasant enough, most definitely proficient in their jobs. The girl at the front desk didn’t even let me sign in, took my identification and insurance, smiled and told me to have a seat. Less than five minutes later, Patricia, his nurse, stood in the door calling my name.
“Dylan Morgan.”
She wore blue scrubs and a matching jacket with her name stitched on the left side. A smile, made up of red lipstick and white teeth, welcomed me.
“How are we doing today?” She questioned as she directed me to the third door on the left of the hall.
“Well…” I paused as I took a seat on the paper-covered table. “That all depends on what those papers you have in your hand have to say.” I knew she wasn’t the one who could tell me the results; we had discussed this when I called the first tim
e.
“I understand completely.”
Patricia took my blood pressure and my temperature, all while keeping the smile on her face.
“Well, your vitals look great,” she praised, trying to encourage my mood, I was sure. “You’re his last patient of the day, so feel free to ask any questions you have.” She placed her hand on my shoulder; her eyes and voice warmed me.
“He is more than likely waiting in the hall for me to leave,” she whispered jokingly. She was correct; the door hadn’t completely closed after her departure before he walked in.
“Dylan, what brings you into my office this time of year?”
My chart was closed in his hands, his starched, white lab coat over his dress clothes. Dr. Clarkson was about ten years older than me, with no signs of gray hair or wrinkles. I knew from previous visits he was an avid runner and the father of four boys. We always talked about any competitions we knew about in the area and if we would be seeing each other on the Bridge, which we never had.
“Well,” I adjusted my seat, the crinkling paper cover sounded so loud in the quiet room. “I don’t know how much your nurse told you, but I’ve been having some problems with my…”
I swallowed hard; trying to force the lump in my throat back into the pit of hell it had come from. I had no issue telling a girl to suck my cock or ask how good it felt in her. Put me in front of a man of medicine, though, and I became a virgin on prom night.
Dr. Clarkson sensed my apprehension and chose to open my chart, nodding his understanding. “Well, Dylan, I will put your mind at ease. I had the lab do a number of tests on you, including some for sexually transmitted diseases and cancer.”
My body stiffened, breath held as he paused a second too long with his answer.
“Everything came back negative.” His brown eyes met mine behind his black-rimmed glasses, his blue shirt meeting the middle of his neck, a matching tie securing it. “Hell, Dylan, I wish half of my patients were in as good of health as you are.” He leaned back in his chair; ankle over knee and his left hand pulled his leg closer to his body and rested it there.
“The issue you are having maintaining an erection isn’t from any disease.” He closed my chart and laid his pen haphazardly across it. “Let me be very frank. I have a feeling I know what is going on with you, but would you allow me to ask you some personal questions?”
His enquiry felt odd to me. He had given me some detailed exams in the past, a few in some areas no one explored.
“Doc, you have seen places on me that I have not. Ask away.”
I could tell he tried desperately to hide the sliver of a smile and keep his professional disposition in place. “Well, when you first noticed the…lack of ability to perform, were you inebriated?” He turned his hand over in a wave in my direction.
“I had been drinking earlier in the night, but this wasn’t a case of drunk dick.” I shook my head, slightly embarrassed to be using phrases normally reserved for the locker room.
“What about the person you were with at the time? Maybe not someone you found…”
I shook my head before he finished. “Come on, Doc, you were a single guy once,” I argued. “A girl shows what’s under her skirt and you could give a shit what her face looks like.” I looked pointedly at him. “Sex is sex —all we care about is getting it, no matter the packaging.”
He went to say something and I remembered another one of those lessons I learned when I was younger from Granddaddy. “Besides, aren’t all cats black in the dark?”
This time, his smile could not be contained and a shaking of his head followed the rumbling from his chest. “So, you had control of all of your faculties and attraction wasn’t a factor.” He counted off each point on his fingers.
“No, Sir.”
“What’s your stress level at work, at home, and in other aspects of your personal life?” He tipped his head to the side, resting his elbow on the table beside him.
“Well, Granddaddy died recently,” I admitted, never considering the stress from that could cause this situation.
“I did hear about his passing, I’m sorry. Was this the first time you had relations since his death?”
Just as I had crushed Shayla’s hopes of a relationship, Dr. Clarkson fired his own shots at mine.
“No. Uh…the night of his funeral, I had one of the best orgasms of my life with a girl.”
His brow furrowed. “With the same girl you had the issue with?”
Like a rocket to my chest, the memory of closing my eyes and picturing Claire on white sheets, hair all around, calling out my name over and again, hit me like a ram. My overwhelming desire to make love to her, and those mental images, directly resulted in the release I’d had that night. I was trying to bury myself in Shayla, but it was Claire who haunted my thoughts, keeping my focus away from an eager, aching ass and on a girl who wouldn’t give me a second thought. What was even more pathetic than the realization of what caused my inability to fuck who I wanted, was the sudden erection slowly forming from the memory of Claire and those white sheets.
I shook my head in response to his question; the lump I had shoved down rising once again.
“Have you been successful in attempts at self-gratification?”
I sucked in several deep breaths, not wanting to believe the truth behind the issue.
“Yes, but…”
Dr. Clarkson leaned in my direction, forearms resting on his thighs. “But?” he prodded.
It wouldn’t matter if I kept her name off my lips or burned her memory by avoiding her at every pass. She had reached inside of me, touched my soul in a way no human, much less some random woman ever had. Claire Stuart, with her gentle voice and heart of pure gold, had changed me, all while never intending on doing so.
“A girl. No, a woman…a beautiful, wonderful, selfless woman. One who has affected me like no other.” As I said the words, my back straightened and my mind cleared. Shaking my head from side to side, I was still unable to kill the smile emerging on my face.
“Not the one you were with when this happened obviously,” Dr. Clarkson clarified.
“No, she was there, just not physically in the room.”
Market and King Streets were the heart of the tourist section of Charleston. With their brick paved roads laid out to greet the sightseers, couples and families strolled along the sidewalks taking in the history the town was famous for—it was a portrait picture anyone would admire. As a child growing up here, Momma would bring us to the market every summer and let us watch the basket makers create works of art, which they sold to the many patrons who passed through the doors.
Nothing much had changed since the last time I strolled down the streets. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, I’d changed. More than growing to the height and profession I had, but also the newfound truth I’d admitted to myself.
“Sir, would you like a rose for ya girl?”
Several young men stood on the street corners selling roses weaved from the same material of the baskets. Momma had an entire vase full of them at home, collected over the years, as each of us boys would proudly give her one.
“How many you got?’
The boy, who I guessed to be no more than fifteen, looked around to his buddies. “Two dozen, Sir.” A younger boy answered, excitement in his voice.
I reached into my pocket, my badge reflecting in their young eyes. “I’ll take them all.” I handed a wad of cash to the shocked boy and took the straw bundle from his outstretched hands.
“Thank ya, Sir,” they collectively announced retreating to collect more roses or spend their bountiful earnings. As I watched them cross the street, weaving in and out of the horse and carriages waiting to take visitors on a tour of the city, I thought back to the time my dad met us in one of the restaurants on this street. How my brothers and I ran around those horses, scaring our poor momma half to death.
I wasn’t sure how to proceed with Claire. She and Shayla worked together, though I knew they weren
’t friends from the way Shayla spoke of her. Besides the fact I was certain Claire thought of me as a player. Granted, that was true; I still wanted to keep my word to Shayla about being her friend.
The issue was: Did I want a relationship with Claire? The bigger question was: Would she even consider one with me?
I knew one person who had experience in how relationships worked. I pulled out my cell phone, hit speed dial two, and continued to walk down the street, my bouquet of flowers in my other hand. The phone rang twice before I heard his standard greeting for me.
“Who’d you piss off now?”
Normally, I would come back with some smart-assed slur, but not today. Today, I needed to talk with my dad, seek his guidance on what to do.
“Are you busy?”
“Not if this relates to one of my children. Do you want to come over for dinner?”
One of the many qualities I loved about my dad, we always knew what came first in his life. It didn’t matter, if he was in the middle of a million dollar deal, if one of us needed him, he was there.
“No, this is a conversation I’d rather have without Momma present.”
I crossed the intersection and neared the garage where I parked my car earlier, needing a good walk to try and clear my head.
“Dylan, please tell me you haven’t gotten a girl in trouble.”
I clicked the remote, tossed the grass roses on the back seat and slid behind the wheel. “No Sir, no one is pregnant.” I started my engine.
“I’ll tell my secretary to clear my schedule.”
Thirty minutes later, I sat in my dad’s office, scotch in hand as I finished telling him everything. How I was disappointed in my performance as a Detective, confused as to how to handle Shayla and Claire, and frustrated with the judicial system as a whole.
Dad listened as he always did, never interrupting until I was finished. No judgment crossed his face and there was no furrowing of brows in disappointment.
“Dylan, when I was first introduced to your momma, I was seeing another girl from time to time, much like the way you’re seeing your assortment of young ladies now.”
Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 Page 12