by Alyson Belle
“With your libido? No way. I could definitely teach another girl, but I know that you can’t keep it in your pants, and honestly I have no idea what to do with all of…” She flicked a finger towards him and indicated his entire form. “That.”
Russ sighed dejectedly, and Allan reached out to pat him on the shoulder with one hand.
“Cheer up dude. At least this means Ol’ Righty won’t be lonely anymore.”
Allan and Krystal snickered together at the joke, and Russ flipped them both the bird, too disappointed and sad to think of a good retort.
There had to be a solution. He was tired of this nonsense—he just wanted to settle down in a steady, consistent relationship, and he wasn’t even picky with who, as long as they were reasonably attractive and could keep up with him. The one common denominator in all his failed relationships was his sex drive. If he could just find a way to turn it down… but that was the problem. He didn’t really know how to curb it. Sure, he could take a cold shower or imagine his grandmother in positions that would break her fragile hips, but it only lasted so long. He ended up right back where he started every single time, and it was exhausting trying to police himself every single minute of every day. Plus, he shouldn’t have to!
“Do you think I’m a sex addict?” he asked suddenly. His friends frowned at the question and exchanged a long look. It was silent in the room for a few moments before Krystal nodded her head slowly.
“I mean. Yeah. Probably. If it makes you feel any better, I probably am too.”
“You’re a girl. And you sleep with other girls. That’s not being a sex addict, that’s being sexy.”
It was his neighbor’s turn to flip the bird.
“That’s such a straight guy thing to say, asshole. You only think that because you watch too much porn.”
After a moment, he grudgingly conceded.
“…Yeah…”
She huffed, pleased with herself, but he’d only said it to avoid the fight. Privately, he’d always felt like having this crazy sex drive would have been a million times easier if he’d been born a girl. Then people would have thought he was fun and sexy instead of gross and needy. It would have been a bonus for anyone he’d have wanted to date—not a curse like it was now.
“Try reading a book for once instead,” Krystal continued. “But seriously, if you think you’re an addict, there’s like. Shit you can do to fix it.”
“Do they do sex addict rehab?” Russ asked, and Allan raised a finger in the air.
“Actually yeah. They’re like drug rehab centers,” he said, and both Krystal and Russ shot him a questioning look. He put his hands up in defense, as if guarding himself from their staring.
“I thought it was interesting! I was on a dive deep online and found stuff about it… don’t look at me like that! Russ is the one with the problem.”
“Suuuuure,” Krystal drawled, but she dropped the subject as she turned her attention back to Russ. “Rehab sounds expensive.”
He groaned.
“You’re right… assuming it would even work on me. And I can’t just quit my job for a few weeks and tell them I’m going to Sex Addicts Anonymous.”
“I think I’d actually pay you money to say that to your boss.” She gave him puppy-dog eyes, trying to talk him into sabotaging his career.
He stuck his tongue out at her before continuing: “Why don’t you say that to your boss? I’m sure she’d love to know about all the customers you have fun with on the weekends.” The banter sounded hollow though—his mind was elsewhere, trying to think his way through this problem that just wouldn’t go away.
Russ was trying to think of other things he could do about the problem that sounded more realistic, but was coming up empty. He couldn’t simply stop jerking off and think that his sex drive would eventually shrivel up and die from lack of use. If that worked, the pretty girls walking down the street in short skirts would never tempt the monks who passed them by. But sleeping with random girls every night also wasn’t appealing; sure, it was fun for a while. He’d been down that road during college, when he’d done more partying than studying and had known the name of every sorority girl on campus. He was still on that road while he was in-between relationships, at the club every other night to see if there were any new faces he could charm into bed with him.
Once he’d graduated though, he wanted something more than an endless litany of one-night stands. An actual relationship in which they cared for each other, and help one another with their problems outside of just being a little horny all the time.
The idea that he may not actually ever have a relationship loomed large in his mind, and he didn’t like the icy chill that settled deep in his bones at the prospect of being forever alone… lonely and horny.
Krystal waved her hand in front of his face to get his attention, and Russ snapped back to the reality of his dingy living room and friends, glad to get away from the depressing turn his thoughts had taken.
“You could try hypnotism,” Krystal suggested suddenly. “One of my friends went to this shop downtown so she could quit smoking, and she hasn’t touched a cigarette in like two weeks.”
“Hypnotism?” Allan asked in a skeptical tone, but she nodded enthusiastically.
“Yeah! There’s this psychic who owns the shop. She does the whole tarot card, crystal ball thing, but she also offers hypnotism to cure problems. She says she can keep you from snoring at night, help you quit smoking or drugs, hypnotize you into eating healthier… that kind of stuff. Maybe she can do something about your sex problem.”
Russ stared at her for a long moment, trying to gauge whether or not she was joking. It sounded crazy, but Krystal had an excited, determined look in her eyes—the one she got when she’d decided on a course of action and was going to see it through, come hell or high water. He knew better than to try to argue with her when she looked like that.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Allan for help but his roommate quickly shook his head and sank back further in the couch as if to physically take himself out of the equation.
“That sounds ridiculous,” he eventually muttered, but then he breathed a resigned, “Fine.”
He knew that one way or another, the next time he left the house, he’d be on the way to the psychic’s shop. Krystal was persistent like that. If nothing else, it would be worth it to prove to Krystal that kind of shit didn’t work, and it would get her off his back as quickly as possible. If he tried to protest or ignore her, she’d keep pestering him about it until he finally lost the will the keep fighting her. It was their neighbor’s way—if at first you don’t succeed, keep asking. He couldn’t say that he minded too much; they’d been friends ever since they first moved in, when he and Allan saw her out on the lawn of the house next door, watching them haul furniture. Russ had walked confidently up to her to ask for her number, overjoyed at the idea of a hot girl living next door who could come over for a good time whenever he wanted.
She’d laughed in his face and announced herself to be the biggest lesbian on the planet. Once he got over his mild embarrassment at the situation, he’d invited her to the local club with them and they’d been friends ever since. Krystal could be sweet when she wanted to be, and it was nice to have someone else around who matched his endless enthusiasm for casual hook-ups. Allan was a great friend, but sometimes Russ just needed someone who’d match every single shot he took and then some.
Krystal seemed to sense her victory, because she reached for her phone and spent a few seconds typing on the screen. After a moment, Russ felt his pocket vibrate and pulled his phone out to see a new text from her with an address.
“Wait, am I going right now?”
“Sure! What else are you gonna do tonight?” she asked, and made shooing motions with her hands. Again Russ looked to Allan for help, but his roommate made a show of the game he was playing on his phone, clearly indicating that he’d be of no use here. Getting on Krystal’s bad side was annoying enough that neit
her of them had any interest in risking it. All Russ could do was sigh and head for the door, stopping only to grab his keys from the little shelf.
The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could go back to thinking of real solutions for his super-charged libido.
Chapter 2
“Madame Orlando’s Psychic Readings” was painted an extravagantly garish purple, looking somewhat out of place smack in the middle of a pack of otherwise uniformly gray and black storefronts. Russ’s eyes felt strained just glancing at the building, never mind the blindingly brilliant spotlights she’d installed on the front to call attention to her not-so-humble place of business. It was like someone had taken a circus tent and set it down in the middle of a normal city, expecting that its inhabitants could just blend in with the rest of the world. The place had all the hallmarks of being a scam—he’d bet fifty bucks that she was just going to wave a watch in front of his face and talk in a low, soothing voice about chastity or restraint. There would be incense flooding every corner of the room, strong enough to make his eyes water, and she’d have some tea brewing that had a mystical name like ‘Ethereal Essence,’ and then when she was done with her little show, she’d usher him out the front door with nothing to show for his time but a little less beer money this month.
It was a testament to just how desperate he’d grown, and how annoying Krystal could be sometimes, that he stepped through the front door anyway.
The shop felt tiny with all of the shit crammed inside the room—huge, heavy drapes hung from the ceiling and stifled most of the light and air. They barely moved in the breeze blowing in from the open door, and he watched as dust particles rained down through the few streaks of light that had managed to sneak their way past the otherwise darkened interior. Along the walls were cabinets and bookshelves crammed full of knick-knacks and books, all brightly patterned and ‘mystical’ in nature. The books proclaimed themselves to be guides to Tarot, crystals, chakras, and every other new age magic thing he could think of. Russ briefly wondered why she’d have her practice guides out on display, until he saw the price tags on everything and rolled his eyes.
At least she’s honest about being a skeezy merchant, he thought.
He found himself scanning through the miscellaneous items for the type of things he’d seen at the bottom of the bargain bin of the Halloween store, but to his surprise everything seemed quite realistic. Candles made of real wax floated in brass candelabras, decorated with little shards of glass that were cloudy in the center. Springs of lavender and rosemary spilled out from an ornately decorated cup, and he realized that they were quite real; walking towards them let him inhale the scent of freshly picked herbs. Even the little glass jar with a section of brain floating in it didn’t have the plastic-y feel of a fake decoration. While he wasn’t entirely convinced it was real, there was definitely more work put into the display than finding an anatomical model and stealing the obviously fake organs from it. He had to hand it to Madame Orlando—she’d obviously splurged on her shop setting.
Russ stood awkwardly and continued to look around the room, unsure of what else he was supposed to do. No bell had rung when he entered, and he hadn’t noticed anything that said to ring for service. The thought crossed his mind that Madame Orlando might have been out, but that didn’t make sense since the door was unlocked. He trailed his fingers along one of the books and tried to pull it off the shelf, wanting to read the back cover—the whole case shook instead, and a small little figurine of a monkey with cymbals in its hands toppled to the ground. Quickly he knelt and gathered it up, checking it over for any broken parts. Just as he’d determined it was unharmed, a tiny woman came bustling through a back door he somehow hadn’t noticed in his careful scan of his surroundings.
In strange contrast to the rest of her shop, she was wearing quite ordinary clothes: pressed khakis and a cream, button-down blouse with her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. It wasn’t at all what Russ had been expecting. The soccer mom standing in front of him couldn’t have been older than thirty. She stopped in front of him, giving him a once-over with piercing green eyes that were unnaturally bright. It seemed odd that she’d put so much effort into decorating her shop and almost none into her appearance. He felt like she should have been wearing sweeping robes of purple and gold, with a feathered cap that engulfed her head and hid her face almost entirely from view.
“Madame… Orlando?” the young man asked, feeling like an idiot, but to his surprise she nodded once and gestured towards the table in the middle of the room. He turned to place the monkey back on the shelf, carefully standing it upright on its legs once more.
“Yes, you’re in the right place,” she said over her shoulder, as if someone could think they were anywhere else with the huge sign and spotlights outside. With surprising strength for her small body, Madame Orlando grabbed the edge of a huge armchair standing in the corner of the room and dragged it across the floor with a loud screech to stand behind the table. Russ watched her warily for a few seconds before he took his place across from her.
“What would you like today? I do tarot readings, palmistry, and crystal readings.”
“…Actually, my friend said that I should get hypnotized? I mean. That you do… uh, hypnotism. That’s what I’d like. Please.”
Inwardly he cringed at himself—he sounded like he was thirteen again and just learning how to talk to girls. Instead of laughing at him for the string of almost nonsense, she nodded sagely and sat back in her chair, hands steepled as she searched his face.
“Yes, that is something I can do. Why do you need it?”
Oh god. He’d forgotten the part where he actually needed to tell this woman what his problem was—say aloud to her that he was a sex addict, and that he’d come asking her to cure him. Russ had only recently discovered the fact about himself, an hour ago in his living room, and admitting it now to this woman felt like it would require a herculean effort. She was going to laugh at him, or make fun of him, or she’d tell him there was nothing she could do and that he needed to go to a professional for his ridiculous, gross problem. Not for the first time, he wanted to turn right around and head home. Krystal could fuck off for all he cared. If she thought hypnotism would work for sex addiction, she could be the one to try it first and tell him if it worked.
Secure in his decision to leave and never return, Russ opened his mouth and glanced at her, ready to apologize for wasting her time.
It was like he was trying to speak through molasses. Suddenly it became difficult to force words out of himself: the phrase ‘I’m sorry but I’m leaving,’ had become the hardest words he’d ever said. Madame Orlando was still looking at him with those strange green eyes and calmly expectant expression, and there was something about her made him close his mouth and swallow hard.
Inwardly, he chastised himself. This was ridiculous, letting a woman who looked like a generic soccer mom intimidate him into silence just by staring at him. She hadn’t even done anything. for fuck’s sake; just looked at him like she already knew what he had to say and was waiting for the formality of Russ saying the words aloud. It had to all be part of the show—if she acted like she was an authority, he was more likely to believe in whatever bullshit she tried to sell him. He knew that from marketing classes.
I’m being silly. I don’t even know this chick. Quit being a pussy and just get the words out. Clearing his throat, he tried again.
“I’m… I’m a sex addict. My friend said you might be able to hypnotize me to help with my sex drive, or something.”
Madame Orlando’s eyes widened slightly. Russ’s face immediately turned what he assumed was a brilliant shade of crimson, since he could feel the flaming hot embarrassment pouring through his veins with instant regret for what he’d just said. Why on Earth had he admitted that? He had wanted to leave; not reveal to her the most embarrassing fact about himself that he could think of. Under her steady gaze, Russ wished he could take the words back, rewind time, and reverse the s
econds until the point he’d first walked through the door. Krystal would never know if he’d just turned around, drove home, and lied about actually stepping through the door to talk to the psychic. If only he had magic powers, or at least a time machine lying around…
Seemingly unaware of the inner turmoil her guest was going through, Madame Orlando slowly nodded her head with a thoughtful expression.
“And your sex addiction distresses you?” she asked, as if they were talking about the weather.
“No,” Russ squeaked out, unable to meet her gaze. “I just… can’t find a girlfriend who can keep up and…”
He trailed off, unsure what to say next and still feeling like he’d already shared too much. He’d never had an issue with shutting up when he needed to before, but there was something about her quiet, unassuming gaze that made him want to tell her every single thing bothering him. She looked like a woman who would understand anything he was embarrassed about, and he felt his shame lessen as he realized he could talk to her safely. His muscles relaxed slightly as he waited to see what she would say.
“Ah! Good then.” Madame Orlando held his gaze with a slight, reassuring smile as she spoke. “My friend, that is not a problem with you. If you were unsatisfied with your sex drive and wished you weren’t this way, then of course I could hypnotize you. But it is not your sex drive that bothers you. You simply need to find the right partner to keep up with you and all your problems will be solved.”
“I can’t! I keep trying, but every relationship I’ve had has ended because the girl couldn’t handle how often I… uh, how often I… wanted… it. And I don’t want to keep being a problem for my partners like this, but I can’t just stifle it entirely! I like having sex and jerking off and…” He trailed off, certain he’d given her much more information than she really needed. When Russ got home, he was going to take a vow of silence. Maybe there really was something to becoming a monk and living in seclusion on a mountain, away from girls and strange psychics who made him feel relaxed enough to over-share.
