“Dr. Bowler,” I said, standing. “Thank you so much for fitting me in today.”
“Of course,” she said, letting me into her office and closing the door.
The walls were beige. She had a normal desk, a little cluttered. There was bland artwork on the walls. I walked over to the brown material couch, sitting down and waiting for her to take the chair across from me.
“So, Ava, what brings you here?”
“I think I have transference.”
Her head looked up from her notes, her face trying to look impassive and failing slightly. “For me?”
Oh, ha. That was stupid of me.
“No, no. For my sexual surrogate.”
“Oh,” she said, looking relieved. Which was almost a little offensive. “Okay. Well, what makes you think that?”
“Because I like him. A lot. Way more than I should like my doctor.”
“I have heard stories about Dr. Hudson being very attractive.”
“Whatever the stories were,” I said, shaking my head, “I bet they don't even come close to how good looking he actually is.”
She offered me a conspiratory smile. “Alright. How about we start with how your sessions are going with him?”
“I think. I mean I know... they're going really well. And it's not just the stuff with the sex. I think just... my confidence is improving. I am agreeing to go out with coworkers and I am standing up to Jake.”
“That's amazing. I'm so happy for you.” There was a silent after all these years attached to that, a mix of pity and joy.
“Thanks. But yeah, I don't know. We are going on session five tomorrow and I just... needed to talk to someone before we go any further.”
“Transference is really common in just regular psychological practices. Patients share their deepest fears and desires with their therapists. The patient, therefore, feels closer to them than they do any other person in their lives. That situation is exasperated, I am sure, by an actual physical connection with said therapist. Not only do they know you mentally and emotionally, but they also know you physically. It is, essentially, a mock relationship. Which makes it all the more confusing to be able to understand the professional lines.”
“When it comes to transference, do the doctors ever...”
“Ava, no,” she said, very firmly, very finally. There was no question in her mind whatsoever. Chase was the doctor. Chase understood the lines. Chase did it for a living. There was nothing in it more than that. Ever. “I know, I sound harsh...”
“Harsh is good,” I mumbled. I needed harsh. I needed that smiting slap of reality across the face.
“But the fact of the matter is, transference is almost always one sided. And it usually fades as soon as the patient stops seeing the doctor, usually by force when they find out. I know this is a very confusing time for you, especially given your past. But you have to understand that while what you are dealing with is fairly common, it is still an unhealthy reaction. It is good that you are realizing it for what it is. That will help you get over it. And in... five more sessions, the feelings will likely dissipate and you will still be blessed with having the chance to have opened you up to a wonderful human experience.”
“Right. Okay. Thank you so much, Dr. Bowler.”
“Ava,” she called as I got up and made my way to the door. I turned back. “If you need to talk, please come see me. I would really like to see this therapy work for you. So if you need another ear, I am always here for you. Even if all you need to do is tell someone about your feelings for him, to help you sort them out. It's good that you are getting to the point where you want to share. And I want to make sure you don't backtrack because of something as impermanent as transference.”
“I'll keep that in mind, thank you again,” I said and left.
Outside, I ran my hands over my face. Frustrated. But I had no right to be frustrated. She had just confirmed what I knew was going on.
I sighed, walking back to my car.
I needed more gelato.
Enough to fill up the hole that felt like it was growing larger by the second.
I was just given an opinion from an actual professional in the field that transference was just a phenomenon. Common. Normal. That it meant nothing. But the fact was, it didn't feel like nothing. That was the problem. Transference felt real. I felt like I was falling for him. I melted under his praise, so much so that felt the need to do things to seek it out. I turned into his hands when, in the past, all hands made me want to do was shrink away. I felt a shiver at the way he said my name or when he called me “baby”, “babe”, or “sweetheart”. I was sad to leave him. I anticipated seeing him again. I fretted about my outfits, wondering what might please him. I dreamed about going with him places: the Italian place he took me again, the Italian place I had suggested. I dreamed of him returning my feelings.
His chest was the safest place in the world.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck me,” I grumbled, letting myself back into my apartment, ignoring Jake as I went to my room to change back into my fake-sick day wardrobe. I didn't even bother to stop changing when I heard him open my door and wait for me to face him.
“Why aren't you screaming at me to get out? I've never so much as seen you in a bathing suit before.”
“What the hell does it even matter?” I said, pulling pants up my bare legs, then reaching to pull my sweatshirt over my head.
I turned back to him, his eyes curious for a long moment. “You know,” he said, a trademark smirk toying at his lips, “you have some good raw materials.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, shaking my head and moving past him.
“You're gonna ruin them with all that ice cream,” he said, watching me take my half-finished gallon out of the freezer.
“Good.”
“So I'm guessing the visit didn't go so well.”
“I have transference. And I just have to grin and bear it until my therapy is over.”
“What does transference feel like?”
“Like falling in love with someone, but it's not real.”
“That sucks.”
“You're telling me.”
“You're seeing Dr. Sex tomorrow.”
“Yep.”
“That sucks,” he repeated.
“Yep,” I agreed again.
He had no idea. And it was only bound to get worse before it got better.
Fifth Session
To say I was less than thrilled for my session was probably the biggest understatement of the year. Not because I didn't want to see him, but because I did. I like, really really really wanted to see him.
But my stupid brain was just confused.
And I couldn't talk myself out of it either.
I tried.
For hours.
There was no use.
I dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a heavy black sweater and headed out. Black suited my mood. Black was like a way to hide from the world.
But there was no way to hide from Chase.
Because soon he would have me out of my clothes again.
And it also hadn't escaped my obsessive over thinking that our goodbye last time had been weird. Cold. Detached. Unlike anything that had ever been between us before. Which was the thought I had swirling around my head as I drove there, as I walked up to the building, as I opened the door. How things might be different. Chase might be different. And I wasn't sure I could handle that.
“Ava,” Chase said, nodding at me as I walked in and locked the door.
“Hey,” I managed, taking in his tense shoulders, the muscle ticking in his jaw.
It looked like my fears had been founded.
My Chase was gone.
Oh
my
god.
He was never mine to begin with.
“You look like you're ready to bolt.”
“Yep,” I agreed, beyond lying. It never got me far
anyway. He always knew.
“Care to tell me why?”
Oh, because I'm in fake love with you. No biggie. Totally normal.
“I don't know. Care to tell me why you're so tense?”
A look of surprise crossed his face, quickly covered by a smirk. “That was... snippy.”
“Yes, I have feelings other than anxiety, you know.”
“I'm getting a picture,” he said, smiling wider. His shoulders eased slightly, the muscle stopped ticking. “Jake on your nerves again?”
“Jake's been great actually,” I countered. It was true enough. He was still leaving clothes all over and being obnoxious. Now he just balanced it out with being a decent human being every once in a while.
“Work getting to you?”
“I took off yesterday. And it was my manager's birthday today so all we did was eat cake and gab.”
“You took off yesterday? Were you sick?”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “No. I just wanted a day off.”
“What did you do?”
It hadn't escaped my notice that I was still pressed against the door and he hadn't walked out from behind the desk.
“I ate enough gelato to feed a small village and watched TV with Jake.” And saw my other shrink who told me I am projecting inappropriate, misplaced feelings on you.
“Sounds like a good day.”
“It was much needed.”
“Are you going to stand in the doorway all night?”
“Are you going to stand behind the desk all night?” I shot back.
“Alright, smartass,” he smiled, moving toward his office door instead of toward me, “lets go get a drink.”
I followed stiffly behind him, taking my station at the stereo. He wanted a play list that matched my mood? Well, he could have it. Then, coming out loud through the speakers, was a heavy dose of female fronted metal music.
Chase's brow raised as he mixed my drink, but said nothing. He handed me my glass which I didn't even go through the pretense of sipping. I gulped it down. He watched me, throwing back his drink in one shot as well.
“I get it,” he said, taking my drink, “you're in a mood.” He brushed past me, going to the stereo and fiddling with it, “but let's listen to something a little more appropriate for the session,” he said, and some sensual r&b music started playing. “You haven't asked what tonight's session is yet.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to know?” he asked, his brows scrunching together like I wasn't making sense. I knew I wasn't.
But I was too busy freaking out about my fake feelings for him to freak out about what new sex act we were going to engage in. “Sure.”
“I am going to go down on you. And you're going to go down on me.”
Oh.
Well.
I should have seen that coming.
And that was a dirty thought when I thought about it.
Oh, my god. Seriously, what was wrong with me?
“Do you know what that means?” he asked, looking at me like I was daft.
“Yes.”
“Oral sex.”
“I'm aware.”
“Okay, enough,” he said, shaking his head. “What's the matter?”
“I'm fine.”
“No, you're not.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
Oh, shit.
That was the wrong thing to say.
He looked almost murderous for a moment before he pushed it away.
“Are you having problems with this situation?” he said, gesturing between us.
Just big, fat, ugly, can't eat or sleep without you popping into my brain, problems.
“I think things are going pretty well.”
“That's not what I asked, Ava. I want...” he trailed off, looking at me. “Oh, fuck talking,” he said, grabbing me and slamming his lips into mine. Hard. Full of all the frustration I had, no doubt, been bringing about. His teeth bit into my lower lip hard, making me open on a gasp and his tongue took the opportunity to slip inside.
His hands went up and under my sweater, running up my back, then swiveling around to the front, up my belly, grabbing my breasts hard, then slipping his hands into the cups and grabbing my nipples, pinching and twisting until they were hardened points. Until all my reservations fell away and there was only him. His touch. His lips.
He pulled away suddenly, making me stumble humiliatingly forward, having to put a hand on his chest to keep from falling into him. His hand went up to my jaw, stroking across my lips. “There,” he said, nodding. “That's better.”
Oh, the bastard.
“Don't think you can...” but the rest of my argument was muffled as he dragged my sweater up and over my head, my arms trapped in the thick material for a long moment before I got free again. “Listen...”
“Nope.”
“What?”
“No, I'm not going to listen. I am going to take the rest of your clothes off and bury my face in your pussy until you are screaming so loud you forget all about being in this pissy ass mood.”
Whoa.
Well then.
If he put it that way.
And he meant to make good on that because as soon as the words were out of his mouth, I was out of my bra and his hands went to my waistband, grabbing my pants and panties and tugging them down.
“Much better,” he said, stepping back and taking me in. And I didn't feel the urge to cover myself as his hungry eyes raked over me slowly. “Get on the bed.”
Okay.
He needed to stop being bossy.
Because I was pretty sure I was liking it way too much.
“You're still...” I started to object and he practically flew out of his jacket and started tugging aggressively at his buttons, pulling two off in the process. Naked from the waist up, he stopped.
“Now get on the bed.”
Well. Okay then.
I got on the bed.
I watched him, moving toward the foot of the bed, watching me, never taking his eyes off. His hands went out suddenly, grabbing my ankles and pushing them upward until my feet were flat on the bed. He moved to rest his knees at the edge of the mattress, then reached up, grabbing my hips and dragging me to the edge of the bed, my ass almost falling off. My legs flailed out as I grabbed the sheets. He grabbed my ankles again, taking them and placing them on his shoulders.
And I was completely exposed to him. And he was looking. Like... really looking.
Then his hands went up the insides of my thighs, pressing them further open.
“Chase...”
“Shh,” he said, glancing up at my face, then quickly away.
And before I could draw breath to think about objecting, his head moved forward and I felt his tongue slide up my slick cleft.
There was no more objecting.
There was no way I was going to fuck it up for myself.
No way I was going to miss out on Dr. Chase fucking Hudson going down on me like his god damn life depended on it.
His tongue worked up and down for a long time, stroking near my clit but never quite touching it. My hands fisted harder into the sheets, my back arching, my hips rising toward him. His tongue moved back downward, finding the entrance, curling in on itself, then thrusting forward.
“Oh my god,” I groaned, my hand slamming down on the back of his head, holding him there just in case he decided he was going to try to stop. He wasn't allowed to stop.
He thrust in and out of me until my body felt hot and sweaty, until the groans became choked begging. Then he withdrew, stroking upward and pressing his tongue hard into my clit.
Everything went fucking white.
My body pulsated, my thighs slamming tight around his head as I cried out his name over and over, until I felt drained. Until every last thread of desire felt spent.
Chase turned his head, kissing my inner thigh before rising hi
s head to look at me. “Fuck baby.”
I patted the back of his head, too awestruck to think of talking.
“Hmm,” he said, looking at me, “I don't think that quite cut it,” he said, glancing back down between my legs.
I found my voice.
“Chase... I can't...”
“Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?”
And then we did.
And, apparently, I could.
And I screamed loud enough to forget all about my pissy ass mood.
“You taste so sweet,” he said, sliding in beside me, pulling me across his chest.
Nestled in my little safe spot, I didn't care anymore. I didn't care if the feelings were fake. That he just saw me as a client. I didn't care. It didn't matter. All that mattered, like Chase had once told me, was the moment. And the moment was good. The moment was as close to perfect as I had ever known. I wasn't going to sabotage that for myself. I was going to lay with him and enjoy it. Let the memory get pressed into my skin so I could never forget it.
“You okay?” he asked, all his tension seemingly evaporated.
“Mmmhmm,” I murmured, kissing his chest.
“Little come drunk, huh?”
“What?” I asked, tilting my head up to look at him.
“Come drunk. Orgasm drunk,” he explained like it was a phrase everyone in the world knew but me.
I giggled, laying back down on his chest. “I guess.”
“You handled that a lot better than I thought you would.”
“Did you expect me to start yelling and push you off?”
“Maybe. Maybe something not so dramatic. I didn't think you would just... enjoy yourself.”
“I enjoyed you,” I corrected, biting my lip, hoping that wasn't too wishy washy.
“That's sweet,” he said, kissing my head. “God, you're like a teensy little oven,” he said, kicking off the blankets and sighing at the cooler air.
And then I looked down, seeing his cock, hard, straining against the material of his pants. My hand moved downward slowly. Very, very slowly. Still a little more unsure than I cared to admit.
“Babe,” he said, grabbing my wrist, “it's okay. We have all night. You don't need to...”
The Sex Surrogate Page 12
