by Hart, Romi
“Damn, woman! Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
“I did.”
“And did you enjoy it?” I say, snickering, still picturing her naked.
“I did, actually. And the answer is still no. No dating, no therapy, and definitely none of this FREE therapy anymore. If you want to change, go find a qualified therapist to talk to.”
“Well…”
“Or in your case, maybe a team of doctors.”
I laugh hard.
“Sorry,” she says. “That was not a professional therapist speaking. That was just me being a bit cruel. Sarcasm is my own issue I’m working on.”
“No problem, I’m bulletproof.”
“I doubt that. I gotta go, Byron. Talk to you later.”
“Why? I’m just sitting here in my pajamas. NOT naked, but you know, anything’s possible.”
She sighs. “Not falling for that.”
“Okay. I agree, no more free therapy. But can we talk for a few more minutes?”
“As what? A therapist or a friend?”
“A friend. Maybe it’s true what you said, I don’t have a lot of friends, or at least, close friends. I have business acquaintances, childhood friends, and friends that hate me.”
“Because you scored with their girlfriend?”
“Well, I promise you, it really is more complicated than that.”
“Hmm. Tell me then.”
“Tell you what?” I say, squinting my eyes, trying to figure out if she’s getting off on this at all, maybe even a little sliver of attraction to me?
“Tell me your sins, I’ll be your priest. But only for a few minutes.” She laughs softly.
“Well, her name was Annette. She was my best friend’s wife. And she was really unhappy.”
“Well, that’s terrible. If they were married…”
“No, like I said, it’s complicated. My buddy and his wife were married but in an open relationship. Like swingers, you know?”
“Oh! I see.”
“So, it wasn’t actually that big a deal that a guy was banging his wife. I mean, sometimes he would even show me naked pictures of her, you know, they were very liberal that way.”
“Umm, okay.”
“So it’s like if I wanted to hit that, my buddy would have been fine with it. And we did flirt a lot, me and his wife.”
“You live a very open lifestyle, don’t you?”
“Well yeah. I’m not a saint, honey. I mean…Doctor. I mean, Father.”
“Oh, shut up!”
“BUT the problem was, she was really unhappy. So, she confided in me and the more she would talk to me about her life, and her unhappiness, and well whatever it was, the more attracted I was to her.”
“Okay?” she says, sounding a bit miffed.
“What? I told you, my friend was fine with me banging her.”
“I just can’t fathom someone not caring that you were scoring with their partner! I mean, who lives like that?”
“Dude, I just got through telling you that sex doesn’t matter to people like us. It’s like, people make such a big deal about nothing.”
“Alright, just tell me the story then,” she says, still sounding sore about it.
“Well one day when I felt really attracted to her, I reached over and kissed her. And the mutual attraction between us was so intense, we couldn’t stop, and within seconds we were just ripping each other’s clothes off.”
Silence.
“You there?”
“YES. I’m here. Go on.”
“Well, she had really big breasts, so half the fun was just like trying to get that red bra off of her chest!”
“BYRON! I’m not asking for details of the affair. I’m asking why the friendship suffered. Especially if you were all swingers or whatever you call it.”
“Oh. Sorry. Well, basically we had sex and then uh, not to brag or anything…and uh, how should I say this politely…in a politically correct way…” I laugh heartily.
“Just say it,” she says begrudgingly.
“I last a really long time. I joke with my friends that I have an indestructible cock.”
She sighs. Then laughs for a good thirty seconds. “I take it back, Byron. Please don’t subject another therapist to these terrible stories!”
“I know, right! So anyway, I make this girl come so hard that my friend actually gets really mad. NOT because I betrayed him, but apparently, he was getting jealous that I made his wife that happy in bed. I apologized profusely. I really thought he was cool with it, but apparently, he was only cool with it on the condition that he was the best lover she ever had. And I can’t really promise that. I mean…”
“I…don’t know what to say about any of that,” she laughs. A little nervously, a little curiously. I can’t help but feel aroused at the idea that I’m slowly corrupting her. But it’s not even what I meant to do! I just really do like talking to her. And yet everything about my life, is all about reckless sex, money and partying, isn’t it?
“I ask you as a friend. Did I do something wrong in this scenario?”
“In theory, no. I suppose what happened was that you took your friend up on his foolish ‘offer’. And then he decided that he wanted to withdraw the offer, after finding out about your…staying power.” She laughs. “I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation.”
“Sorry if it’s too much information, but that’s like, one example of why my friendships go sour. NOT because I enjoy pissing people off, but because people are just…uh…I don’t know, what’s the word?”
“Most people are highly insecure. When you’re dealing with volatile emotions that result from sex -”
“Well, I just meant more along the lines of, people are jealous…of me.”
“Oh, are they now? Well, now you’re getting somewhere. You think everyone is jealous of you, your money, your free lifestyle.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s it.”
“That’s certainly the impression you gave me when we were arguing about the car. That you’re entitled to something because you’re so rich and so famous. You think you’re special and the rules don’t apply to you.”
“I wasn’t bragging. Just saying.”
“Just saying what? Go on, admit the truth.”
“Hmm, that my character, it intimidates people. Right? I mean, that’s why you won’t have sex with me.”
“Sex has nothing to do with what we’re talking about. But as you just said, you intimidate people and from what I can tell, you like that about yourself. You like throwing money at people. You like exploring and surpassing sexual mores. In simple words, Byron, you like being a young, reckless, sports car riding playboy. Does that make you an evil man? No. But it does affect the way people look at you.”
“Hmm, I guess you’re right. Hey, you want to hear about the time I had a threesome with two of my former high school teachers? Don’t worry, I was of legal age.”
“NO. I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Does it turn you on? A little bit?”
Silence. She didn’t say NO, did she?
“I just prefer not to talk about things like that. And as I said before, I think this conversation is over.”
“Okay. Thanks for talking to me. I do feel some real progress was made.”
“No, it wasn’t progress. You’re just doing what you always do. This is exactly why I will never have you as a patient, Byron.”
“Well-”
“And no, I’m not mad at you or messing with your head. You’re not really that important to me either way. I’m bored of this conversation and your endless stories of loveless sex. So goodnight.”
“G’night.”
God, what’s wrong with me? It’s like I get turned on by rejection. Am I really that spoiled that a woman-hating me is the ultimate aphrodisiac?
The weird thing is, she keeps saying that I dump women after I have sex with them. But that’s not true. As I always said, we just go our separate ways.
So, one of my weirdest fantasies would be to have wild, crazy sex with Laura, mmm yes, and then just stick around to see what would happen.
What would happen, I wonder. Would I get bored of her and then go on womanizing like always? Or would she get tired of me? Or would we keep talking into long hours of the night, of the way boyfriends and girlfriends do?
Christ! don’t be so sentimental. You’re a Gallows boy, man! We’re not built for love and marriage. Well father was, I suppose, but he’s always been a cowboy who plays by his own rules.
Maybe Laura and I would just have amazing sex over, and over again. And keep going at it like rabbits, and then realize we have nothing else left to talk about. Maybe we’d fuck a hundred times and get annoyed at each other.
But would I regret it? Hell no! It would be friends with benefits like she calls it. Only thing is, she doesn’t want that. She told me so and I have to respect her wishes.
All right, I’ll play ball. If Laura really doesn’t like me, even a little bit, I won’t keep bothering her. I’ll let her go. I’ll give her one chance to forget me forever. And if she doesn’t call me or text me or contact me somehow, I will never write or call her again.
BUT, if she sends me the smallest and most insignificant signal, then it’s on baby. It’s on like Donkey Kong.
I owe her that. But part of me hopes, prays and dreams that she’s wanting me even a tenth as badly as I want her.
Chapter 4
Laura
I decided to text Byron after a seven day “fast” of communication. Part of me really thought about not messaging him at all, maybe let this weird thing between us die a dignified death.
But I had to say one more thing to Byron before I let things die down. I felt I had to explain something to him, for his own good, and for my own comfort.
* * *
Byron, I am writing you this one last time because I want to set the record straight. I am not interested in you. I will admit that you probably are an attractive man to the type of girl looking for a wild and sexual relationship. But that person is not me. I’ve been there and done that, and I’ve learned from my mistakes. I just don’t want to give you any impression that I’m interested in you romantically or sexually. Just to be crystal clear.
As far as your “therapy” goes, I take back what I said. I still do think you should see a therapist, it will help you sort things out in your mind. But to be honest, I think you need a really smart doctor, not just a part-time therapist with minimal education. The reason being, you have a lot of issues you need serious advice on and possibly some moral guidance. You strike me, NOT as a narcissist, which I have jokingly and cruelly called you before, but as a man who doesn’t really understand concepts of right and wrong. But I think you do have a good heart. Don’t stop wanting to be a better person. That’s really the start of a brand-new life, one you can be proud of.
P.S. I still haven’t gotten your check for the insurance claim. You know what? I’m not bitter about it. I never really asked you for that favor, but I think this does show a lot of your true character. All promises, but never serious about doing anything you promise. I also admit I’m starting to wonder whether your “rich” shtick is all a lie too.
I mean, a lot of people are “Famous” nowadays. Like Mike Tyson and Gary Busey are famous too but hardly worth any money. But please, save your money. I’m just fine taking care of myself.
For what it’s worth, you WERE very fun to talk to, I’ll give you credit for that. We always seem to have a very interesting conversations, however bizarre it may be!
Have a good year, kid.
Back to work today and wearing stuffy clothes, glasses and as lily white an outfit as possible, to make my patients feel at ease. Today I’m scheduled to meet a new couple for a relationship counseling session. It will be a good change of pace, since I have been way too easy on Byron, letting him overtake my mind. I’m far too old to be dealing with his shenanigans.
I also dropped him a text this morning, reminding him that I sent a message and that he ought to read it. Hopefully, that will get some things straight between us.
I sigh and push all that silliness out of my mind as I prepare for the session ahead. Their names are Bob and Tiffany and according to my notes, they are experiencing communication problems. Newlywed couple. This should be fairly easy, I’ve always found newlyweds to be more communicative than couples who have been married for decades. Their minds are more open, or at least that’s been my experience.
I page my secretary and give her the word. I clear my throat and assume my formal position as we begin the session.
In Bob and Tiffany walk…
HOLY SHIT! Bob sure looks familiar. That’s Byron all dressed up in slacks and a sports coat. And who the hell is with him? His WIFE? Dressed in a low-cut dress that shows way too much cleavage and belly button? What is going on?
“So you’re Bob, huh?” I ask in annoyance.
“Yeah,” Byron says, “and this is my wife.”
“So, you’re married?”
“Oh yeah, I’ve been married for a long time. Her name is Terri.”
“My name is Tiffany!” she corrects him.
“Sorry, I meant Tiffany.”
“You don’t even know your wife’s name?”
“Sure I do. Tiffany!”
“And is Tiffany here going to corroborate your story?”
“Umm if she wants her money, she will.”
Tiffany cracks up laughing. “I am way too stoned for this!” she blabs.
“Okay, Byron. So, what I am sensing is that you went and hired an escort to pretend to be your wife. Am I right?”
“What choice did I have?” he says, grinning. “You wouldn’t see me, and you wouldn’t take me as a client. I had no choice but to get a fake wife and report to you for relationship counseling.”
“You’re an asshole!” I suddenly blurt out, looking quite pissed.
“Don’t disrespect me in front of my wife.”
“Get her out of here! Prostitutes are not welcomed in my office.”
“HEY!” she says defensively, “I am not a whore, I’m an escort, honey. The choice is always mine.”
I roll my eyes as Byron and his whore high-five each other.
“Did you pay her already?” I ask him.
“Of course.”
“So, you made your point. Now please ask her to leave. For god’s sake, Byron. If you want to talk to me just say so.”
“Well honey,” he says to Tiffany. “Thank you for a wonderful three hours of marriage.”
“Thank you, big daddy!”
I shake my head as I watch Tiffany leave. I glare at Byron who seems quite pleased with himself.
“This is your problem, right here. You think everything is a joke.”
“Not at all. I wanted to talk to you, you know for therapeutic reasons and you banned me. That’s racial discrimination.”
“How is it racist when you’re a white guy?”
“Reverse racism. White women hating white men.”
“Shut up. All right then, talk. I’ll give you fifteen minutes. What do you want to know? Why you drive people away? Why you alienate people? Because you pull stupid shit like this. Because you throw money at everything so that you can always get your way.”
“I agree.”
“Good! Now get out of here.”
“I still have fifteen minutes, right?”
I sigh and chortle to myself. What a dick, but a funny dick, I admit. “Fine. Fifteen minutes. What do you want to know?”
“What color are your panties? You know, since we’re not really a doctor-patient thing. I’m back to being a rich douche you won’t sleep with. I accept that.”
“It’s none of your business what I’m wearing. And no, we’re not doctor and patient. We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. I’m not even interested in dating you.”
“Fine, I accept that. But let me ask you this. Am I attractive? If I was a nicer guy, you know,
less of a douche, would I have a chance with you?”
“No, you wouldn’t,” I answer firmly.
“Really? So you do like a little bit of an asshole.”
“Nope. I don’t. Anything else?”
“What kind of man do you date? Just so I can understand what I’m lacking. And don’t say the opposite of me because the opposite of me is…well, I guess Angela Basset, since she’s black, female and really nice.”
“First answer me this, why do you want to know? Isn’t it enough that I say you’re not my type?”
“Is it the age difference? I mean, I basically want to know if there is something that disqualifies me from dating really amazing girls like you? Something I can change? Or is it something I can work on?”
I exhale slowly, a bit miffed, this time for his flawed logic instead of his ridiculous persistence. “Why are you obsessing over me so much? Let’s start with that. You could have any woman you want, if you’re as rich as you say you are.”
“You know why.”
“Why? Because of the conquest thing?”
“Absolutely not! I told you, I never really talk to the women I date. We just screw. We don’t talk, we don’t share anything besides bodies. And most of the women I do talk to, like seriously… well, they don’t want a relationship with me. So it’s not conquest but mutual masturbation. I’m just confused as to why, you know, everyone finds a really sweet girlfriend except me.”
“Oh really? That’s why you’re here?” I laugh. “Because you can’t find a girlfriend? I find that ridiculous.”
“Not at all. I could get a girlfriend for sure, I know that. Most girls would love me for my money, but what I want is a woman who I actually find interesting. And you’re interesting.”
I shake my head. I can’t even contemplate this. “It’s not the age thing.” I blush a little bit at the thought. I’ve honestly never even thought of dating a younger guy. I don’t think I’ve ever been propositioned by a younger man before him. I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to doing that, even if it does feel a bit scandalous. “Okay? That’s not it.” I respond.
