by Anne, Betsy
He drains his glass, slams a twenty-dollar bill on the bar, and walks out. I drove so I don’t know where he thinks he going. A beat later, I’m hot on his heels and he’s gone. When I go outside and look all around, he’s nowhere to be seen. There must have been a cab out front; that’s the only explanation.
I make the drive back to my place, I start my four-days-on schedule tomorrow. I took some personal time off to be with Lach, and everyone understood, but I can’t continue to leave them short-staffed. I keep looking at my phone, thinking I must be missing a call from one of my parents, but it stays silent. No parents, no brother, no woman or friend calling to check on me. What the fuck have I done with my life?
* * *
My mother takes it harder than I even imagined. I knew it would be bad, but she won’t even speak to me. Lachlan has been out of the hospital for three months, living in our parents’ house. He hasn’t been healing well after his surgeries, and his occupational therapy can’t begin until he’s strong enough to handle it.
I’ve had no communication with him, not that I haven’t tried. Our parents won’t let me in the house, and they won’t take my phone calls. They raised us to believe that there is nothing more important in this life than family. They both suffered hardship growing up, and family was all they had. Sometimes the hardship was the family, but you had to protect each other. I pray that someday, I’ll be able to repair some of the damage I caused, but it won’t be anytime soon.
Lauren moved away to California. Karen contacted me to let me know, but I haven’t been able to tell Lach. Karen has developed a sudden case of amnesia, too. She’s been texting me with more regularity about “meeting for a drink” and “want to hang out?” She’s crazy if she thinks I would get anywhere near her or her friends. She denounced me as the devil, and ratted me out to Lach. I don’t know what I’d do if I ever see her in person, so I make damn sure that never happens.
I’ve been a recluse through this situation. The union prevents us from working too many hours, so I’ve had a lot of time alone which for me, is dangerous. I’m afraid to go out to clubs, I don’t want to take the chance of running into anyone. I feel like I don’t deserve to have any fun. When I’m at the station, I workout or read, and when I’m home I masturbate. I haven’t had sex since the night with Lauren, another thing I feel I don’t deserve, but the tension is too much. Yesterday, I masturbated four times–I can’t seem to stop. My penis is sore from how much abuse I’ve given it. I’m going insane not being able to touch a woman, and the self-satisfying just makes me feel worse. I’ve always had a pretty constant stream of indulgent sex. I feel like a world-renowned chef that has to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for every meal. I’m getting the basic need met, but no satisfaction.
My boss calls me in for a meeting when I arrive at work to begin my four days. I can’t be reprimanded for not doing my job; I’ve never been so focused. I’m the first one to check in every shift, I’ve picked up chores from the other guys and I’ve excelled in training exercises. I’ve been the model firefighter.
“Wickham, I’m not going to sugarcoat this, we’re worried about you. You’re doing your job well, but at what cost. You can talk to me, son, we’re a family,” he says, looking earnestly at me for reaction. When he used the word “family,” I feel a pain in my chest.
“I know, sir, thank you. It’s been difficult with me brother. I just feel so helpless,” I say, hiding that I not only feel helpless, but I’m responsible for it all. “I don’t know what to do with me-self.”
He hands me a card with a doctor’s name on it.
“Call Dr. James. She’s one of the best psychiatrists out there. She’s there to help after job related trauma or personal issues. Guys here in our own station have used her with great success. I know your troubles can’t all be from your brother’s accident, there’s more. Wick, you’ve got too much to lose if you shut down your life this young. You have to learn how to cope.” He stands to indicate we’re finished with our conversation, “It’s not required that you see anyone, but I highly suggest it. You can’t properly do your job when your mind is elsewhere. This job is too dangerous and you need your wits about you.”
A shrink? Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Scottish men don’t go to shrinks.
I take the offered business card, and shove it in my back pocket without looking at it. My boss looks defeated, and he’s such a good guy that I don’t want to let him down.
“OK, I’ll call,” I say, with no intention of doing so.
* * *
Two more months pass, and I can’t stand it anymore, I have to go out. I’m so nervous before I leave home, I throw up twice. That’s never good when you’re planning on a booze-heavy evening, I need something in my stomach. I keep having flashbacks about that night with Lauren in the club bathroom. It makes me horny, and then I feel disgusted and ashamed. I have to have more self-control if I’m going to do this.
I go to a club on the North Side, where no one knows me. I need some drinks, and some sex. I took an expensive cab ride over, so I don’t have to drive home. The place is dark and loud, just like I need it to be. I sit at the end of the bar, and scan the place. There are some beautiful women in here. Not your typical club regulars, but nicely dressed, sophisticated women. This might have been a bad choice of venues. These don’t seem like the type of women I can lure into a bathroom for some casual sex.
Two drinks later, I have an impressive erection from watching all the dancing, but I decide it’s time to go. The whole vibe in here just doesn’t feel right, or maybe its just me. As I pay my tab, a gorgeous, long-legged blonde sits down on the stool next to me. I’ve already made up my mind to go home, so I try not to stare, but she’s boring a hole through me.
“Already leaving for the night? Isn’t it a tad early? You haven’t been here that long,” she says, as she takes a sip of her cocktail through a long, thin straw. Her lip gloss glistens as she purses her lips to sip; I can picture them on my cock. The image makes my pants move.
“Well, not much is happening, so I figured I’d head home.”
“We can change that, right?” Her eyes light up with possibility.
“I believe we could,” I say, holding my hand out to introduce myself, “Me name is Wickham, and you are?”
“Pam. It’s very nice to meet you, Wickham.”
“Pam. That’s a lovely name”
“I love your accent! Where are you from?”
We share small talk and have two more rounds of drinks. Neither of us share anything of a personal nature, just inane chatter. We both know we’re appropriately killing time before we can fuck.
“Now?” I say to her after I finish my beer. She gets the message, and nods her head. I pay for our drinks, and we leave. I love it when a woman is just like me, which is a rare find. She’s not playing games; she just wants to fuck.
I’d rather not go back to my place, and I’m thankful when she tells the cab driver her address. I have the control as to when to leave this way.
Her place is impressive. She lives in a high-rise, overlooking Lake Michigan. We never shared what either of us do for a living, but by the looks of this place she does very well. Shit. She could be a high-priced escort picking guys up in bars. Not that I think a woman would have to be a hooker to have a nice place, but she was there alone eager to leave with someone. Not typical behavior for a high-end club patron.
She walks over to a stunning white marble bar, and proceeds to make us cocktails. She pulls her long hair out of the high bun she was wearing, and it falls sensuously down around her shoulders. She carries our drinks to the sofa, as I join her. She hits a button on a remote, and soft music is playing. I feel like I’m being seduced in a movie.
“So, Wickham, do you have a good story?”
Now she wants to talk? Fuck that. Much of her body is exposed from the tiny dress she’s wearing, and I can see from where the fabric meets her crotch that she’s panty-free and hairless. No, this is ha
ppening now.
I set my glass down on the table, and take hers, too. I run my hand up her long bare leg until I reach the warmth between her thighs. Her full body relaxes and she melts into the sofa. She spreads her legs for me, granting me access. My mouth follows the same path as my hand, starting down at her ankle where her sparkly stilettoes are fastened, licking her sweet smooth skin, until I make it all the way to her pussy. Her dress is bunched around her waist, and her head is resting on the back of the cushion. I nuzzle my face in slowly to tease her lips, and she moans. She bucks and grinds her hips toward my mouth, trying to get me to move faster. I purposely slow down, just to drive her wild.
“Yes! Stop. Just like that. Tease me, and then stop … I like it,” she orders in a very loud voice. She likes to direct, and that’s just fine by me.
We move our session into the bedroom, where she has one of the largest mattresses I’ve ever seen. This had to be custom made, I’ve never seen one in a mattress store. We get naked, and climb in. She props me up on a large stack of pillows to be comfortable, as she spends an hour pleasurably torturing my cock. She strokes, massages, sucks, slaps and tickles it. She brings me to the brink of orgasm, then stops until my erection goes down, then starts the whole process over again. Every nerve cell in my body is humming. I’m accustomed to ejaculating whenever I feel like it, during sex, blow jobs or masturbation. This is the first time I haven’t had complete control over my erection.
She decides that it’s her turn, and swaps place with me. She’s splayed out at the head of the bed on the silk pillows I was just enjoying. She tells me what to do, another first, and I obey. I finger her, and suck her pussy aggressively, just as she asks, then stop. I finger her ass while sucking her nipples, then stop. We stay at this punishing rhythm for more than two hours. The sun is beginning to rise, and my head is spinning with erotic pleasure.
She lays me back down to my starting position, and climbs on top of me. My cock pulsates with the rhythm of my heart. She lowers her delectable body over me, and slides herself down, swallowing the full length of my cock with her soft pussy. She squeezes and releases her vaginal walls moaning with each movement. Everything about her and her motions are calculated for maximum pleasure, both hers and mine.
I try to grab her hips so I can fuck her, and she moves my hands. She folds her body against mine so that her pussy is tight, and she grinds her hips. Her pace becomes frantic and she grunts and groans from her exertion. She shoves a breast in my mouth and I latch onto it hard. I suck, and tease with my tongue as I feel her pussy grind even harder against my cock. She sits up and rubs her clit vigorously as she comes on my dick. Watching her amazing body writhe with pleasure makes my own begin to shudder in the most exquisite orgasm I’ve ever had. Prolonging ejaculation made for a highly sensual experience.
I melt into the mattress beneath me, I feel ready to pass out for a few hours or days. I hear her clear her throat in a not so subtle gesture. I open my eyes, and she’s holding my pants with one finger around a belt loop. Wow. I’m being kicked out. This is a new one.
“It was nice to meet you, Wickham, but it’s time to go before you get too comfortable.”
I slowly rise to my feet; my body is limp and exhausted. I shuffle into my pants, and haphazardly throw on my shirt. I suppose I know now how most women feel after sex with me. Getting kicked to the curb feels a little cold. It’s early morning, and there’s a nip in the air. The cold wind buzzes with electricity. Thankfully, she’s not too far from a train station, so I catch the early one that stops near my place. I dive headfirst into my meager bed, and fall sound asleep.
When I wake midday, my head feels clear and I feel renewed. Last night was the first indulgence of any kind I’ve had in months. It’s been said that time heals all wounds, and I hope that’s true. I do notice a strange sensation, though, an emptiness after last night. The sex was fucking phenomenal, but there’s something off. Pam was great, but I still feel unsatisfied. That session last night should have left me feeling perfectly happy, but I don’t. Anxiety creeps up my spine, and I suddenly feel awash with emotion. All the shit I’ve been trying hard to overcome in the past few months bubbles up and I can’t stop it.
The thoughts are relentless. “You don’t deserve to be happy … you don’t deserve pleasure … you ruined your brother’s life …” I feel queasy and lightheaded. I break out into a fierce sweat that drips off my chin. I go to the sink to splash my face with cold water, but it doesn’t help. I feel like I’m going crazy.
* * *
My shift was horrible this week. We had a number of calls, and I’m wiped out. Some of the guys were acting like assholes toward me and I have no idea why. I’ve worried someone will hear through the grapevine what I did, and my career will be over. Dad went back to work, I heard, after taking personal time to help with Lach. There must be buzz about why I haven’t been around his station to see him. We used to get together at least a couple of times a week. Our lives as firefighters are too interconnected to screw around with. If one guy messes with someone, he may as well mess with everyone else, too. It’s a brotherhood in every sense of the word for the men and the women.
On the first of my days off, I search for the shrink’s business card. The anxiety is keeping me up at night, and I’m barely able to function. I feel like a quitter having to talk to someone, but I’m all alone. If I don’t, I’ll snap.
The doctor has an opening the following day at noon. I have a feeling I’m encroaching on a lunch hour, but I think the receptionist is trained to hear for signs that could sound like an emergency. My boss may have tipped off that he had referred me to her and they’ve been waiting for me to call. Either way, I’m grateful.
The office is downtown in a nondescript medical building. A small sign reads, “Dr. James and Associates,” with no other telling information. Discretion is preferred in this line of work, I suppose. The office is small, but tastefully decorated. A mousy receptionist greets me upon arrival.
“Hello, Mr. Dunmore, Dr. James is expecting you. You can go right in,” she says, motioning to the door down the hall. A small embroidered placard dangles from the doorknob. I’m guessing it’s the shrink’s equivalent of a sock on the doorknob in college. Do not disturb.
I open the door, and a familiar scent catches my nostrils. It’s sweet, with a little spice. Fuck. Me.
“Hello there, Wick. It’s nice to see you again,” she says as her gorgeous long-legged body rises from behind her desk.
Our good Dr. James is the woman I fucked the other night.
I stand locked in place. This can’t be appropriate, right? I don’t know what the rules are, but there has to be some rule about not seeing a shrink that you’ve fucked.
“Do you mind closing the door so we can have some privacy?”
Well, maybe there isn’t. I close the door, and approach one of the empty chairs in front of her desk. No way in hell I’m lying down on one of those couches.
“I understand your hesitancy, Wick. Don’t worry I won’t be treating you. I saw your name on my schedule, and knew it had to be you. How many ‘Wickhams’ can there be?”
She’s trying to lighten the mood, but it’s not going to happen. I feel my nerves fraying with every word she speaks.
“Anyway, I wanted to talk to you, in an unofficial capacity of course, before I refer you out to someone else. I enjoyed our time the other night. I was sorry to kick you out so quickly, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I hate to give anyone the wrong impression.”
“No apologies. I respect it. Hell, it was a weird turn of events being on that side of the door for once. Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but I’m going to go. I can handle myself just fine, thanks.”
“If you could, you wouldn’t have called me to begin with. I’m not going to treat you, Wick, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. If you’d like to call for some friendly conversation, I’m happy to listen. Anytime, please,” she sounds sinc
ere.
I shake her hand, take her card with the personal number she scribbled down for me, and get the fuck out of there as fast as possible.
Chapter 15
It’s getting worse. I’ve called out my last two shifts, feigning that I may have mono. My boss hasn’t asked for any proof, I think he knows what up based on my behavior the last time I was at the station. I can’t sleep at night, and I’m a walking zombie during the day. Dr. James–Pam–has called and left a couple of messages with names of other doctors I can see. She’s offered herself as a friend; I’m going to take her up on it. I have to talk to someone.
We meet at a coffee shop a few blocks from her office. She wanted to meet on a Saturday so it would feel more casual. I see her sitting outside wearing big sunglasses, a large coffee on the table in front of her.
“Hi, Pam. Thanks for meeting me today.”
“It’s my pleasure, Wick. Just two friends having some coffee, right?” she asks, trying to ease the awkward nature of the meeting.
I sit and order coffee from a super-caffeinated waitress, and wait. I’m not sure if she wants me to start, or if I let her take charge. We sit in silence until my coffee arrives.
“I would have never pegged you to be a frothy drink kind of guy,” she says, as she laughs at my delicate looking concoction.
“I’m trying to be sophisticated here, gimme a break.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you sound like a sexy Shrek?” She laughs loudly, and the patrons at the next table glare, clearly annoyed. She rolls her eyes and gives them a “fuck off” look.
She’s my kind of woman.
“Would you rather go somewhere a little more private? My place isn’t too far from here,” she points down the street.
My dick swells.
“No, sir, not happening. Put it back in your pants, Wick. If I’m going to be a friend, then see me as a friend, not a sexual partner.”
