by Havana Scott
Don’t overthink it, her body tells me, too. You’re having a great evening. Enjoy it.
And I do.
I enjoy letting her open my shirt and lay her hands across my chest. I enjoy being the solid rock underneath her womanly form, the man she wants and needs. I enjoy watching her unzip my pants and slide them down partway, while those lustful, sexy eyes glance up at me, analyzing my every reaction. I love watching her get giddy just because she made me moan or throw my head back.
Stripping completely naked, she straddles my cock and slowly slides down on it. Her nipples tighten with excitement and I have to pull them into my mouth, run my tongue around each one, flicking and biting her. She groans. “Yes, doctor…” I still secretly love when she calls me that.
After fucking me like a slow dance for quite a while, she climbs off, sits next to me again, and I think maybe she’s going to stop. But Alice is all about the pleasure she gets from pleasing me, so I know she has something up her sleeve. “Will you do something for me?” she asks. “Please?”
I’ve done it all and have enjoyed getting more adventurous with her over the last week. “I’ll do it all for you, if it means hearing you come.”
She smiles like the devil and flips upside-down so her legs are hooked onto the back of the couch and her head hangs slightly off the seat. “I’ve thought hard about what you told me that day, how I need to be in a submissive position to feel love, respect, and adoration,” she says, widening her legs slightly. “At first it freaked me out, but I get it now. And I want it like that now.”
The sight of her open pussy while the weight of her tits pushes them to either side hardens me even more. I know exactly where she’s going with this. “You want me to fuck your face?”
“Yes, please, doctor,” she whispers. “With your cock…with everything.”
And by “everything,” I know it means she wants to get dirty. She wants me to make her feel dirty. I position myself over her, taking hold of those breasts and pushing them together as I sink my balls into her mouth. “Is this what you want, Blondie? You want your mouth full of my balls?”
Lapping at me hungrily, one hand holds onto my outer thigh while the other slips between her legs as she begins to masturbate. “Yesss…” She slurps on them, lets them out of her mouth to spill over her chin then catches them with her tongue again. Her fingers fly in a flurry. I have to stroke myself slowly, because I feel like I’m going to explode. I admired her bravery before, but then she says, “Now your ass, doctor. Sit on my face, and let me lick it. I’m so fucking dirty right now. I know I am.”
“That’s because you love it. You love when I use you, when I wipe your face with my balls.” Moving up so I’m sitting right over her mouth, she grabs a hold of my thigh and pulls me down. Then, her face is gone, her tongue burrows into my ass, and she starts licking and kissing me with such wet strokes, my eyes roll into the back of my head.
Holy shit, this woman. This perfect, bold woman who isn’t afraid of anything, as much as she claims to be. Her fingers work her clit, dip into her pussy to pull out strings of juice, then work her clit again. I watch as she lets them fly in a blur, the more she licks and kisses my ass, pressing her mouth and nose into me, even slapping me once.
“Yeah, get it, Blondie. Get that come. It’s yours.” I reach down and press my fingers over hers, and together, we slap her clit until it can’t take the pleasure anymore, and she cries out. I move away from her face immediately and bury my tongue into her pussy to feel the pulsations.
Beautiful. And so peaceful when she slides back onto the couch and fades away in a euphoric fog, one hand between her legs and the other holding onto her breast. She’s mine, this woman—mine. “Come on me, Roman,” she says, because she can read my mind. She knows I’m there. She knows I’m dying to come on her face, and she loves it. Digging a knee beside her while my foot props onto the couch, I stroke my cock harder and faster, watching her play with her tits, the happiest of smiles on her face.
I’ve loved watching her emerge from her darkness. Watching the fear melt away, replaced by curiosity and trust. I pat myself on the back for that. I’ll take credit for helping mold her into the woman she should be, the one I adore, the one I’m going to claim right now. From a scared girl to a happy-go-lucky woman who loves sex, feels passion, and worries about life, she makes me smile, makes me come so hard, I shudder every time it’s over.
“Here it comes…” I tell her, aiming straight for her open mouth—her accepting, open mouth—the one I fell in love with that first night. Queen of Blowjobs and So Much More. I spill onto her face and mouth, groaning from the tightness in my balls, from the radiating flush that spreads throughout me. I love this woman and collapse on top of her, sliding aside, then hugging her, as I fight to catch my breath.
Love her.
But for how long? How long can we last? She makes me look forward to seeing her at the end of the day. She knows just how to keep things fun without getting too serious. That’s key for me. It’s when the questions begin—Where do you see us going? When are we going to try for kids? When are you going to ask for a salary? Or… Who was that woman in your office today?—the questions I can live without. The questions I don’t have answers to. Questions I evade like the Black Plague, causing a disease in my marriage and a great divide in my life.
How was it I so easily diagnosed Alice’s dissociation to the point of obsession?
Because I have the same problem.
Because mine is a thousand times worse.
Because it takes a dissociated individual to know one.
I’m just as flawed as she is—and that makes us perfect for each other.
13
ALICE
“The light’s not blinking.”
“Yes, it is blinking, Aaron. It’s been blinking since yesterday,” I sigh, exchanging a secretive tired-of-this-bullshit look with Gunther.
“Well, I don’t see it blinking.” Aaron squats to examine the robot from all angles.
“That’s because it’s not blinking now. Trust me, when you’re not looking, it blinks.” So tired of this crap. And Gunther claims that Aaron likes me, feels threatened by me? Pfft, he doesn’t act like it.
The look Aaron gives Gunther, as though he needs confirmation that what I’m saying is true, makes my blood boil. “It’s fucking blinking, dude,” Gunther confirms, shaking his head. When Gunther isn’t trying to get me in bed, he’s busy being a good friend. We need more Gunthers in the world. Just not in my bed.
Standing there, watching Aaron micromanage our work, my mind goes back to all these nights I’ve been spending with Roman. It’s been great, and we’ve been having the best time. Yes, I have to constantly push my fear to the back of my mind, and worries about how long this will last nag at me, but I’m trying to focus on the positive.
Last night, though, I mentioned not getting married until I’m older. I think I stunned him. Did he think I’d want to get married anytime soon? Not to him, necessarily, just in general? Even if I was madly in love with him, which I’m not—I mean, I could be—I wouldn’t be able to think about marriage for a long while. First I have to make sure I’m on steady feet with a good job, good income. That didn’t mean we couldn’t conceivably be together during that time, though. I mean, I would be willing to wait.
For the right person, that is. Him, if it ever came to that.
Not that it will.
I swallow and shake the idea from my brain.
“Is the Cortex currently running an Autonomous Only user code?” Aaron asks, getting more and more frustrated, tapping on the laptop, accessing the software designed for programming VEX machines. We only have a few more days to finish this project, and we cannot have blinking lights, or we fail.
“Yes,” I tell him. “But we’re using a joystick, so we’re going to need to download a VEXnet-enabled project, like Default Code.”
“Using what?” Aaron eyes me suspiciously.
“Using a USB A
-A Cable,” I say. Duh, I almost add. Six eyes all stare at me—Aaron’s, Gunther’s, and Parker’s. “What? It works, guys. Try it and you’ll see. Should make the blinking go right away. I read it in a manual once.”
That’s a lie. I’ve never read it in a manual. I just know it works, because it makes sense to me. That’s what it means to be logically gifted. Why, then, do I feel the need to add documentation and supporting statements in order to make them believe me? If it was Aaron’s word, no one would have an issue with it.
When lab finally ends and we’re all feeling a little more relaxed about the state of the robot, we take our seats and begin writing down what we did in our logs. Professor Eckler says something about “getting her done,” meaning the project, and then Aaron turns on Asshole Mode.
“Speaking of ‘getting her done…’” Aaron snickers, glancing at Parker and Gunther, as though they’re in on his stupid inside joke. “We heard the campus therapist, that guy all the chicks lose their shit over—is banging a student from our school. You wouldn’t happen to know which student that is, would you, Alice?”
I feel my veins turn to ice.
“Dude, mind your own fucking business,” Gunther blows out a hard breath, running his hand through his curly hair.
“It’s alright, Gun.” I turn to Aaron wearing what I hope is a smug look on my face. “I wouldn’t know anything about it. Why? Were you hoping he’d bang you next?”
“Oh!” Parker muffles his blurted laugh-cry into his shoulder, and when Aaron takes a moment to glare at him, Gunther issues me a thumbs-up in my peripheral vision.
Fucker. Who does he think he is? I don’t know how he’d know about me and Roman unless Jilly has said something, which I doubt that she has, but he needs to shut the fuck up. My life is none of his business.
When class is over, it’s not soon enough. I storm out of there dying for fresh air, even if it’s hotter than a whorehouse outside. Sometimes I really hate guys, and then sometimes, like when I’m in Roman’s arms after a particularly stressful day, I feel immeasurable love and admiration. How can they be so polar opposite?
Gunther manages to catch up with me. “I’m sorry about Aaron. He’s a fucking idiot.”
“How does he know?” I keep up my pace toward the Student Union. “Have you told him?”
“Me? Alice, I swear to God, I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t.”
“Then how does he know?” I face him, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes, but I won’t give them the satisfaction of spilling over.
“He’s just guessing, based on what he’s heard, trying to get a rise out of you, I guess.”
“What he’s heard? Who’s been talking?” I ask. This smells like bullshit. Roman and I have only gone out in public once, and it was a place no undergrad would ever frequent, so it must be an inside job. Even if someone were to find out, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not like we’re officially therapist and client. He said so—plus, he said he destroyed the file.
We resume our hurried walk, and Gunther says, “Can I say something?”
“Gunther, I don’t want to talk about it—”
“Just listen. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, if anything at all, but just be careful. That’s it. Just be careful.”
“Careful of what, Gunther? Even if I was seeing the college therapist, I would know how to be careful. I’m a big girl. And, I happen to have a pretty decent IQ.”
“I know, but other people are assholes. They spread rumors, they try to take others down…I just don’t want to see anyone giving you shit. You’ve worked your ass off to get where you are, and I’d hate to see one stupid decision eradicate everything you’ve worked for, especially with significant internships coming your way.”
“Stupid decision?” I shake my head and take a sharp left, hoping to lose him behind. “Just because I might be interested in someone who isn’t you doesn’t mean my decision is stupid.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I just mean, the dude’s way older than you.”
“So? Lots of people have a ten-fifteen age difference,” I say. “It’s not a big deal.”
“He has a reputation for being a womanizer. He’s seeing clients a lot younger than him.”
I stop for a second and stare at him. He tucks his tongue into his cheek. Is that true? No, it’s not. He assured me there was no one else. He told me it was an occupational hazard, but he doesn’t actually see his clients.
“A reputation that’s false, Gunther. He’s never once slept with a client. He doesn’t do that. He doesn’t need to do that. If he wants a woman, he can get whoever he wants.” Which blows my mind, because that seems to be me, if I can get past believing it.
I don’t defend the womanizing part in his past, because Roman has never denied being with many women before. It’s part of his appeal, I hate to say. Even from Day One at Taco Paco, I made my way toward him in part because of how much female attention he was garnering. It’s a weird dichotomy. The feminist in me says I shouldn’t be attracted to men like that, man whores, as they say. But my libido has a different idea.
My libido says, “Give him to me. I’ll tame him.”
It’s a fucked-up dynamic, one that has me thinking all sorts of domesticating thoughts, starting with making him mine, as I make him dinner, and make him come all in the same night.
“Look, I’m just trying to protect you. You may not think you need it, but maybe you don’t have all the info. I know which car he drives. It’s hard to miss the Mustang, and I’ve seen a girl waiting by his car in the parking lot.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know, but you may just want to be careful.”
Wait, he’s seen a woman waiting by his car? But I’ve waited by his car. Maybe it’s me he saw from far away? But Gunther would recognize me a mile away.
If I hadn’t slept with Gunther once before, I would listen more, but I’m going to file this claim under “dismiss.” Gunther has a vested interest in making sure I don’t keep seeing Roman. He hated him from the first moment he saw him at Taco Paco, and he’s been wanting another chance with me since it happened.
I can’t trust him. He’s being a jealous twit.
“Thanks for your concern, but we’re just friends.” I feel my ears blush with the lie. What are we really? We’re not just friends. Possibly boyfriend and girlfriend, though that seems a babyish label for what Roman and I have.
“Alright, see you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
I turn toward the Student Union to have lunch by myself and process all that’s been said to me today. Aaron and Gunther have both given me a lot to stew over. I don’t know why, but now I feel the need to put on the brakes with Roman, slow down just a little to give myself time to cool down, convince myself that we’re not a serious couple. He might be addictive like any hardcore drug on the market, but I can stop anytime I want to!
I stop and cringe before resuming my walk.
I know—that’s what all addicts say.
14
ROMAN
Remember that part about things being too good to be true?
Yesterday, Alice and I came back to my place for another great dinner and night of TV watching, but no sex, which was fine, since I was exhausted anyway. Instead, she brought her sketchbook and started working on a drawing of my face. We were quiet the whole time, as she scratched out an image that looked like a glorified version of me, except the eyes seemed contemplative.
“Do I always look sad?” I asked her, to which she didn’t reply, so I added, “Maybe I’m reflecting you.” She didn’t argue or ask what I meant by it. She just kept drawing until I was done, kissed me, and hung the drawing on my fridge like a child.
Then, she asked me to take her home afterwards, which surprised me. Nothing was wrong, she said. “I need a night at home. Been ignoring Jilly, plus I need to work on my project.” I didn’t take it personally, but I wondered if she was beginning to dissociate again.
I’ve been telling myself all day it’s what we both needed.
We’ve been getting too close, and besides, I don’t want to distract her. She has work to do and I do not want to be the cause of her getting anything less than a perfect GPA at graduation. That’s that fucker Aaron’s job.
Today, work has been particularly trying. Ten female undergrads came to see me, only one of which had anything real to discuss. The other nine wanted to go on and on about their ex-boyfriends, friends, and school while trying their damned hardest to secure my cell number before they left my office. It reminded me of how much I want to start over somewhere new, and it cannot be a college.
Saying goodbye to Mrs. Gio and heading to my car, I spot the pair of legs on the pavement behind my vehicle again. Lately, she’s been waiting for me by a bench near the parking lot, so I’m surprised to see her sitting here like she did that day. “Hey, Blondie.” Hopefully, she’s feeling better today.
Only it’s not Blondie. A young woman I’ve treated before stands and fidgets with her hands. Her hair is long and stringy, and she’s thin in a malnourished way. “Hey, Dr. Lee.”
My inner alarm goes off. I’ve seen The Sixth Sense enough times to know that patients sometimes lose their shit and hold you personally responsible for their emotional pain. In the worst cases, they take their life—or yours—a therapist’s biggest nightmare. “Hi, how can I help you?”
“Do you remember me?” She hangs onto the strap of her backpack with both hands.
