"Something like that."
I wanted to tell Keith the whole story, and I was sure someday I would, but discretion seemed the better part of self-preservation at this point.
"Gertie's taking it hard," said Keith. "I mean, what happened with you two."
I wasn't sure what to say – mostly because I wasn't sure what my friend knew.
"Why didn't you tell me, Aiden?"
"I wasn't sure how you'd take it."
"I'm supposed to be your best friend."
"But you always sort of had a thing for Gertie, didn't you?"
His stiff shrug told me I'd hit the mark.
"But she always had a thing for you," he said. "When you turned hyper, it was all over."
"Anyway, I'm sorry, Keith, for keeping you out of the loop."
"That's okay. It's not like you chose to be hyper. From what I've read, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner, and with a lot more people. Shoot, you could've nailed Sonja Wilson if you wanted. Still could."
"Maybe. But it's not as if I'm wandering around looking to nail people."
Keith flopped down on the lounge chair next to me. "So how are you holding up in here?"
"Good. Great, really."
"You're not getting all heated up without, you know..."
I didn't want to lie to Keith, but this was a time to practice my power of discretion. "I'm managing to hold it together."
We jumped in the pool for a while, fiddled around in the gym – Keith remained stubbornly uninterested in working out or any physical activity apart from riding his bike – and talked about some stuff they were studying in his psychology class. Turned out the main subject was Male Estrus Syndrome and its effects on all levels of society. Keith confided that psychology might just be "his thing," but he'd said that before about medicine, biology, and even math. He was one of those restless brains who never seemed to settle on one thing. I wouldn't be surprised if he changed his mind several times, and ended up spending a decade in college before graduating with a half-dozen degrees, much like my Uncle Art, whose true avocation had been "professional student."
It was fun talking to Keith, but I couldn't escape the uncomfortable feeling that for now at least we were moving apart, living in two different worlds. Still, everything was in flux now; when things settled down, I had a feeling that Keith and I would be back on track to being lifelong friends.
Keith's mom picked him up around five. Perfect timing for me, as Aleesha would now be waiting for me in my room.
Upstairs, I knew the instant I entered my room that Aleesha was not in a happy place. Instead of being in my bed hungrily waiting for me, she sat slumped on the sofa nursing a melancholy frown.
"What's up?" I asked her.
"The same thing that's always up." She eyed my groin, which was in fact upwardly inclined in anticipation. "And it doesn't know the difference between me and all your other women."
"There's only one other woman."
"For the moment," she said. "If you had your way, you'd have a dozen or more of them, wouldn't you?"
I dropped down on the edge of my bed, fighting a sense of doom. If I didn't say the right things – and quickly – my pheromones weren't going to be enough. But what was the right thing to say?
"Never mind," Aleesha said with a sigh, standing up. I thought I was seeing my afternoon session disappearing in the mist, but then she started unbuttoning her blouse. "I'm an adult – I knew what I was getting into. Or being got into." She rolled her eyes. "It's not your fault. I'm just finding it hard to separate sex from the feeling it should matter."
"It does matter," I said.
"Of course it does – to Mr. Eternally Horny." She glared at my crotch.
"I'm more than just a dick!" I protested. "I've got a brain, too, you know! Probably just as big or maybe even bigger than yours!"
Aleesha sighed, and her scowl relaxed with resignation. "I know you're intelligent, Aiden. This isn't about that."
"I'm interested in other things besides sex, you know." It was my turn to glare at her. "Lots of other things. It's not my fault my genes or whatever turned me into a freak."
"I know." Her voice and eyes softened. "I know you've got depths, and that you're a good man...well, a boy still, but getting there. If I didn't genuinely like you and see the potential there, it would probably make this a lot easier for me."
I was having trouble focusing on her words, because she was standing maybe four feet from me and no longer wearing clothes.
"I, uh, understand," I said hoarsely.
Later, as we lay in each other's arms and I breathed in her scent – which beat out by a mile any perfume I'd ever smelled, including Alice's – I flashed on the idea that what made sex with Aleesha so good was the fact that she did care about meaning, about something more than the act itself. When we stared into each other's eyes as pleasure consumed us, I had to admit that the challenge – maybe even accusation – in her eyes turned me on even more. And this was after only a couple of days. What would it be like between us in a few weeks or months?
The tap on the door jolted me from my reverie. My mom's voice – "Aiden, we need to talk" – jolted me out of bed. This time, at least, the door was locked. Aleesha made very sure of that every time we'd gotten together.
Aleesha looked even more scared than I felt. She'd let slip once or twice that she found my mom "a little intimidating." Now her eyes were saucer-shaped, and her heart-shaped mouth was forming the words: "Should I hide?"
I shook my head – not that I thought her hiding was a bad idea – but because I wasn't sure what to do. Maybe if I didn't answer, my mom would go away?
I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could, but in my haste my feet tangled themselves in the sheets and thumped the floor. D'oh!
"Aiden, I can hear you're in there," said my mother. "Or someone is in there."
"Can I meet you in your office or somewhere in a few minutes?" I called to her. "I need to get cleaned up a bit."
"I can wait."
"I think it might be better if you didn't."
"I think it might be better if I did."
I drooped back on the bed. So she knew. Knew something, anyway. Aleesha was sitting up – so tense that I thought she might shatter if I nudged her. I shrugged at her. With a bitter exhalation she came to life, sliding off the bed and gathering up her clothing.
"I'm not going anywhere," my mom spoke through the door. "Just in case I wasn't clear about that. And yes, I know you have someone in there. That's actually the reason I'm here."
I dressed, grimacing as my personal grunge met my clean clothes, and wishing I had showered after our session. But then I'd figured that I'd just get soiled again in a few minutes, so why bother?
When both of us were "decent," I moved with heavy reluctance to the door, envisioning my mom's stern face and judging eyes. I opened the door, and wasn't disappointed.
After one scathing look, she pushed past me toward where Aleesha stood hugging herself in the center of the room.
"Dr. Stevens, I can explain."
"Good. I would love to hear why a degreed professional would agree to be my teenage son's personal prostitute."
"It's not like that." Aleesha's lower lip trembled. "I care about your son."
"You mean you aren't being paid to do this?"
"That's – that's..."
"What? Unethical? Criminal?"
"Mom..."
"You should really talk to Dr. Blumenthal about this, Dr. Stevens. I'm sorry, but I need to go."
Hugging herself and lowering her body as if expecting an attack, Aleesha squirmed past my mom and out of the room.
Which left me to bask in the heat of my mom's Spanish Inquisition glare.
"Sit down," she commanded.
I sat on the bed. She lowered herself in the chair, her eyes never leaving me, as if worried I might bolt.
"I received a call from Dr. Landon this morning," she said. "Apparently, she was approached by Alan Blumenth
al – or should I say 'propositioned'? – regarding you."
I lowered my head.
"Aiden, look at me." When I forced my gaze upward, she continued, "Please tell me this wasn't your idea. This was all Dr. Blumenthal, wasn't it?"
"Um, well, not really." I debated not naming the true author – I didn't want to rat Ragnar out – but then he probably wouldn't care and it might be the best option for everyone concerned. "Actually, it was Ragnar's idea, and he called Dr. Blumenthal about it."
A momentary surprise shifted to a look of knowing disgust.
"Of course," she said.
"He was just trying to help," I said. "He didn't believe I could keep myself under control, and he didn't want me to go back to jail."
"And everyone knows the best way to avoid jail is to commit multiple felonies."
I tried to brave past the icy shudder introduced by the word "felony." "Oh come on, Mom. It's not like any of us are going to call the cops."
"Stephanie Landon could."
I stared at my mom. "No. No way would she do that."
Mom let that horrific thought fester for a few seconds before she shrugged and settled back in her chair.
"You asked her – your therapist – to become your sex toy, Aiden. What in God's name were you thinking?"
"I don't know. Dr. Blumenthal kept asking me if I could think of someone – anyone – who was trustworthy and that I had the hots for. He kind of pried her name out of me."
"That's a rather shitty excuse. But what I can't believe is how poor Alan's judgment was – not only despicable, but almost indescribably dumb."
"What are you going to do? What do you want me to do?"
I was surprised when she didn't declare: "Stop all this nonsense, obviously!" Instead, a thoughtful expression warred with irritation on her face.
"How are you feeling about all this?" she asked.
I doubted that "Freaking fantastic!" would be the answer she was looking for.
"I don't know," I said. "It's kind of a damned if I do, damned if I don't situation. At least this way I don't constantly feel like I'm going to burst out of my" – I started to say "pants" – "er, skin."
My mom shot me a withering look.
"I honestly don't know what to do," I said. "Everything I do seems to lead to some kind of disaster."
Mom nodded, compassion replacing most of the irritation in her face. "It's a very difficult and tricky situation for all of us. When I see one of my coworkers in bed with my sixteen year old son – " She cut herself off with an angry shake of her head. "That brought the insanity of all this crashing down on me."
"I think it scared the crap out of Aleesha, too," I said with a quick laugh.
"Good." Annoyance flashed in her eyes again. "She should be scared. This kind of thing could destroy her career."
My mom was starting to make Debbie Downer seem like Mary Poppins.
"Have you talked to Dr. Blumenthal yet?" I asked.
"I thought I'd better get the full picture before I threatened him with police action or a law suit." Her smile was more rueful than threatening. "And no, I wouldn't do that. But I might ream him a new one."
I allowed myself a small breath of relief.
"I wish I could just tell you to come home," she said. "You shouldn't be living like this."
"But then we'd be back to square one, wouldn't we?" I frowned. "How is Melanie doing?"
"Moping around, missing you."
"I wish I knew what to do about her, too."
"I've been wishing that for about sixteen years." My mom managed a threadbare smile. "I'm hoping your being away will help her cool off, though I'm afraid it might be a case of absence making the heart grow fonder."
STEPHANIE REQUESTED a meeting with me in her home office, not at CellEvolve (she was very specific about that!). My Mom drove me to her place that Saturday morning.
I had to admit it was good to get away from CellEvolve, despite how paradisiacal life there was on paper. Nothing major had changed in the three days since my mom had burst in on Aleesha and me. I wasn't sure what she'd said to Dr. Blumenthal – all she'd tell me is that he'd agreed to consult with her before doing anything that could affect my welfare – but aside from Aleesha getting tearful during sex, everything continued as usual.
Mom dropped me off at Stephanie's, saying she'd return in an hour or when I called her. Later, we'd scheduled some driver training. I was hoping to get my license and a new car before school started.
Dr. Stephanie let me in to her office with the grave expression of an undertaker instead of her usual warm smile. I sat in my spot on the couch, and she lowered herself into her chair. Hesitantly, as if she regretted having to face me.
"Thanks for coming, Aiden," she said. At this point, she'd normally be meeting my eyes with her warm gaze, but now she only glanced at me once before staring at the floor. "I know you're probably angry with me for calling your mother. I'm sure you view that as a betrayal."
"Not really," I said, surprising myself as I realized I felt neither anger nor betrayal. "I'm mostly embarrassed and sorry if I made it seem that I think of you as a sex object. I thought you were beautiful from the moment I first saw you, but there's a lot more to it than that."
She surprised me again by closing her eyes and giving a slow nod, as if she were battling her own emotions. I was sure the only emotion she'd be feeling was contempt for me – and maybe a bit of concern about the fate, legal and otherwise, of my immoral soul.
"I know," she said. "And, unfortunately, there's a lot more to my feelings toward you than what a professional therapist should feel toward her client."
I sat forward, not daring to believe my ears.
"From the first time I saw you, I thought 'What a beautiful young man!' You were sitting in that school office, and I was sweating desire from every pore in my body. And I endured that feeling, and more, for every minute of every day I spent with you over the course of months."
I became aware that my mouth was hanging open. I forced it closed.
"Oxytocin?" I muttered.
"I'm sure that's part of it," Stephanie said with a thin smile. "But over the course of months I came to know you as an intelligent, funny, passionate young man with a good heart. So few young men have passion these days. The old guard, such as your Dr. Blumenthal, still may rule the roost – clinging to the passion for power they cultivated before the change – but men my age seem more often than not to be shuffling through life."
"Oh," I said.
"I'm just saying that there's more to my feelings than thinking of you merely as a 'sex object,'" said Stephanie. "There is much to love about you that isn't hormone-related."
"Love?" I croaked.
Stephanie laughed softly. "Yes, Aiden. I do love you."
"Ah..." I cleared my throat. "I think I love you, too."
"But that's what they call transference. It's not uncommon for clients to project their desires and needs onto their therapist."
"Can't a therapist experience that with a patient, too?"
"Countertransference." She frowned. "Yes, that's not terribly uncommon, either. Maybe that does apply, but I don't believe it's the main thing."
"I don't think it is with me, either." I regarded her defiantly.
"Perhaps not. I do have my small charms as well." She smiled at me. "Regardless, we have no future together, Aiden. I believe, however, that we both made each other's lives richer. That's not a small thing."
"We can still keep seeing each other, can't we?"
"No, Aiden. I don't think that would be good for either of us."
"Who's to say we couldn't be together?" Panic was shuttling through my veins. "I mean, really be together."
"I'm thirty-five years old. You're sixteen."
"I won't be sixteen forever."
She smiled. "I could say the same about being thirty-five."
"It's not fair."
"Few things are."
Stephanie stood up. She held o
ut her arms. I didn't want to get up. If I stayed in my seat, this wouldn't have to end. I felt a desperate desire to stay frozen in time – right when she said she loved me.
But staying frozen in time was trickier than it might seem. At last, I slogged to my feet and across the carpet to my ex-therapist's waiting arms. If I'd wanted time to freeze time before, now – feeling the warm curves of her body against mine, smelling the sweet scent of her skin – I longed for it to petrify. And speaking of hard wood –
"Okay," said Stephanie, leaning back from me. "I think that's enough."
Without thinking, I kissed her on the mouth. It was like kissing a live voltage wire – except instead of electricity it was some pulsing form of erotic energy. I wanted to suck it in like some greedy...erotic energy vampire?
For a few mind-blowing seconds, Stephanie not only returned the kiss, but redoubled it, if such a thing was physically possible. Then against a tide that seemed irreversible, she drew back sharply and pushed against my shoulders.
"Aiden," she said. "Seriously. We need to stop now."
Her fingers dug into my chest. I released her.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"It's okay. This is hard for both of us." She shot me a small smile as her gaze dipped for an instant. "Literally, for you."
"Sorry about that." I backed away on rubbery legs. Or maybe the floor had grown spongy? I felt lightheaded and slightly sick.
"Don't apologize. You know I wish you all the best, Aiden, but now it's best for you to go. Do you have your cell? Shall I call your mom?"
"No," I said, holding my stomach as if I'd been punched. "I'll just jog home. Good for clearing my head."
"Goodbye, Aiden."
She moved ahead of me to the door. I raised a weak hand in farewell as I stumbled past her into the street.
Back home, I found my mom in her study.
"That was quick," she said. "Why didn't you call?"
"I felt like taking a run."
"How did it go with Dr. Landon?"
I stood by her desk, debating whether to sit down or remain standing. Sitting down meant that I was consenting to talk to her, but this wasn't the kind of thing you talked to your mom about, I thought.
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