by Ws Greer
Me: Ava, where are you right now?
I keep my eyes glued to the street in front of my house, waiting for the car to return while I await a response from Ava, but it doesn't come.
Me: Ava, answer me.
Five minutes goes by with no response.
Me: Was that you sitting in front of my house? Answer me, Ava.
The response I’m looking for never comes. Ava doesn't text me back at all, and I’m forced to go to bed without ever getting confirmation about who was sitting outside my home. But, even without knowing for sure, something tells me it was Ava, and that thought alone is enough to make me question the decisions I’ve made regarding her. Decisions that may be coming back to haunt me.
Dose
15
~ Sean ~
My living room feels different today, although it looks the same: cream-colored sectional couch, dark gray ottoman and end tables, cream and gray rug in the middle, with a gray entertainment center holding up an eighty-inch TV. I’m home alone, and I know Becky won’t be here for another hour, her return home being pushed back by a staff meeting at Bayhealth that got a late start. We’ve been in touch since the moment the meeting was pushed back, even setting up our dinner plans while I wait at home for her, which is a reversal of how things usually are. I’m used to coming home to Becky standing in the kitchen or sitting on the couch awaiting my arrival. Today is different, and it almost feels like destiny—like the universe is telling me to do it. It has been a few days since we had sex on the couch, and I’m thinking tonight is the night I can make up for that debacle.
Masturbation is a controversial topic in today’s society. While men are more known for doing it than women are and often condemned for it—because certain pervs out there take pleasure in pulling out their penises in front of women—women do it, too. In relationships, however, things get even more complex. I can't speak on other people’s situations, but Becky is more conservative when it comes to this. Like some women, she doesn't like the idea of me masturbating to images of other women. I can understand that, I suppose, although I don't think masturbating to porn constitutes cheating by any stretch of the imagination. Out of respect for Becky’s wishes, I won’t open the internet browser on my phone and go to Pornhub, but I do take out my phone and go to the photo gallery.
Before Becky and I moved in together, we were just as adventurous and lustful as any teenage couple. We would sext when we weren't able to go see each other, and Becky didn't shy away from sending videos of her being naughty to help carry me over until then next time we were together. That kind of thing has come to a stop now that we live together and get to have sex whenever we want, but I played it smart and kept every picture and video Becky ever sent me. It seems that decision was one of absolute brilliance as I open my phone, scroll to the bottom of my photo app, press the button entitled Hidden, and am greeted by dozens of pictures and videos of Becky in the nude.
There looks to be about forty thumbnails, and fifteen or so are videos of Becky rubbing her clit, flashing her breasts, or bending over and spreading her butt cheeks apart. There are two videos in particular where Becky doesn't just rub her clit, she inserts a dildo and caresses herself to orgasm while staring directly into the camera. It’s as if she’s staring right into my eyes as she comes, and just seeing the still of the videos is enough to stiffen my cock.
Dr. Colson told me he was giving me a prescription when he suggested I masturbate, and while I could ignore that and try to get through this rough patch in my sex life all on my own, I think I’ll take the therapist’s advice and take my first dose of his prescription. With just under an hour now until Becky gets home, I reach into my shorts and wrap my hand around my stiffening cock as I open the first video of Becky with the pink dildo.
The video begins to play, and I get a full view of my insanely beautiful woman. She’s naked and laying atop white sheets on the bed she owned before we moved in together. Her brown hair is free-falling and lying on the bed behind and beside her, her breasts are perky and full, and her pussy is obviously wet, as I can see the sheen on the dildo as it slides in and out of her.
The sound of her moaning reaches out from the screen and wraps around my cock like a hand of its own, and I respond by stroking my shaft. I go slow at first, mimicking the speed Becky uses in front of me. Just seeing her gorgeous face and body with her legs spread already feels like I’m on the verge, and I pull my hand away from my cock so I don't come too soon. Just like Dr. Colson said, I can practice control by pulling away. I feel the orgasm recede like waves pulling away from the shore. Once it’s gone, I’m free to begin again.
This time, I grab some lotion and add it to the situation, coating my erection with it so that each time I stroke it, it’s as slick as Becky’s pussy when we have sex. This feels as close to the real thing as I can get. My dick fills with blood until there’s no room left. I’m fully engorged when I begin stroking again. Becky penetrates herself with the dildo with one hand while rubbing her clit with the other.
“It feels so good, baby,” she says from the phone, her voice soft and sultry. She’s not here with me, but she’s still talking to me, still able to turn me on, even from the past.
“I wish you were here with me,” she says, and I feel myself wishing for the same thing as if she’s not about to be home in sixty minutes or less. “Are you stroking that cock for me? Is that cock hard for me, Sean? I wish I could see it. I wish I could suck it right now. Stroke that cock for me, baby.”
I do as Becky demands and stroke my cock vigorously. The lotion spreads all over, squishing itself between my fingers and making the entire situation that much better. I watch the screen, unable to peel my eyes away from Becky’s body. Her tits jiggle as she picks up speed, rubbing her clit with the tips of three of her fingers, and I can tell she’s starting to get close. I recognize the look on her face and the rhythmic way she uses the dildo, keeping a cadence as she rubs herself.
When I see her moving closer and closer to the edge, I feel myself doing the same. My cock throbs as I stroke it, and Becky’s moans let me know it’s about to happen.
“Oh fuck, baby. I’m about to come,” she advertises from my phone. “Oh yeah, I’m about to come. Oh fuck!”
I keep my eyes glued to the screen as I watch Becky come all over her pink dildo, rubbing her clit the entire time. She moans and writhes on her bed, and watching her come is all I need to send me careening into my own orgasm. I’m rocked by the explosion as cum shoots out of my cock and lands on my stomach. I keep my eyes open and look at Becky, who’s panting and still rubbing small circles on her wet clit. As my orgasm finally begins to subside, I don't regret taking Dr. Colson’s advice for a second. The masturbation was good, but watching Becky masturbate in front of me made it that much better.
When it’s all said and done, I lift myself off the couch, making sure not to drip anything anywhere, and clean up in the bathroom. I wash my hands and dick off, before going back into the living room to put the lotion away. Since I used the sultry video of Becky, I don't have to worry about clearing my browsing history or anything like that.
I sit back down on the couch and put on a Netflix original, while I wait for Becky to come home. It’ll still be over half an hour until she’s back, and then we’ll eat the fast food we decided on when she texted me before going into her meeting. By my calculation, it'll be another couple of hours before we have sex, plenty of time for me to recover and put Dr. Colson’s prescription to the test.
Forty minutes later, Becky walks through the door holding a McDonald’s bag. She looks exhausted from her long day, probably a little stressed out from the late meeting, but still just as flawless now as she was in the old video I just watched.
“Hey, baby.” She greets me with a smile as she places the bag of food on the kitchen counter and makes her way over to me, wrapping her arms around me like she’s been waiting to do it all day. Her hug feels like she really missed me, and the feeling is mutual.
“Hi, beautiful,” I reply as I nuzzle her neck, pulling an adorable giggle from her. “How was your day?”
“Annoying,” Becky answers. “Stupid staff meeting was a huge waste of time, but that didn't stop the administrator from forcing everyone to wait for him. Such bullshit. I’m just glad to be home. I missed you. It’s nice to come home to you for once. How was your day? What have you been doing?”
I keep my arms wrapped around Becky tightly as I smile to myself. “My day was fine, baby, and I haven't been doing much since I got here. Just thinking about you.”
16
~ Sean ~
Becky and I sit down on our cream-colored couch in the living room with the bag of McDonald’s wide open. On the TV, Netflix streams an Adam Sandler movie that offers us an occasional chuckle, while the two of us pull at wrappers and grab at fries. The smell of delicious-tasting but totally unhealthy food fills up the room, and Becky and I take glances up at the screen between bites. My mind, however, isn't on the movie. I’m thinking about the sex I plan on having with Becky tonight.
After having masturbated an hour and a half or so ago, I wonder what it’s going to be like. I’ve never had an orgasm this close to having sex, so I don't really know what my body will do in response to masturbating so recently. I’m following the doctor’s orders, so all I can do is hope that Dr. Colson hit the nail on the head, because if he’s wrong and things get worse, our last session will be just that—our last session. If I have trouble getting or staying hard, it could be the last straw for Becky. I feel a little nervous now that I think about it.
There's a part of me that wants to confess everything. Dr. Colson says communication is always the best way to go about things like this, and he may be right. Deep down, I know he is. If we remove secrecy from our relationships, things would get better. Nine times out of ten, it’s the secret that sends a relationship to the grave.
Secrets are equivalent to lies in the eyes of significant others. Your loved ones want to be included in what you have going on, and if you're a sexual person who wants to open things up in the bedroom, it’s always better to communicate that desire, rather than seek an outlet for your desires elsewhere. Tell your significant other what you want, after that, all you can do is hope they’ll appreciate your openness and at least try what you're asking for, at a minimum. I know this is the best way to go about it, but it’s easier said than done.
How would Becky feel if she knew I sought the help of a relationship therapist? What if she knew the reason I sought out this particular therapist was because I knew he specialized in sex therapy? Would she judge me for needing help sexually? Would she still want to be with me, even though I’m being tutored on how to please her? Doesn't that make me look ridiculous?
Or, would Becky like the fact that I care so much about trying to please her that I pay a man to teach me how? Would she want to join me in my therapy sessions with Dr. Colson so that both of us could communicate our desires and take our sex lives to a whole new level?
I feel like I already know the answer. I’ve known Becky a while now, and I know she’d appreciate me being open with her. I bet she’d want to attend therapy with me, however, there’s something buried inside me that won't risk being wrong. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s toxic masculinity that tells me she won't think of me as a man if she knows I need help with sex. Maybe I’m just an idiot who’s making the mistake of standing in his own way like so many other men do. I don't know what it is exactly, but I know the strength of the feeling within me, and it always wins.
I know what I should do, but I don't do it. I keep my eyes on the screen in front of us, stuffing my face with french fries, and when I hear Becky’s phone vibrate, it only pushes my desire to open up to her further down my throat.
Becky stops chewing to look over at her phone. She glances at the screen without picking it up, then goes back to chewing and watching the movie. I let it go the first time, but then it vibrates again, and I wonder why the ringer is turned down. Is she trying to hide something from me? Is that Dr. Bishop doing more cabinet flirting?
The thought of Dr. Bishop alone makes me feel like telling Becky everything is a bad idea. I know how masculine he is, and if the whispers within the halls of Bayhealth are to be believed, his masculinity makes him incredibly desirable. Women like a man who’s masculine—a man’s man, and a man’s man wouldn't ask a professional sex counselor for help, he’d just fuck his woman the way she wants it. So, I swallow down all the things I know I should do, and decide to continue down the path I’ve already started, and by the time it’s over, Becky will think of me the same way women think of Dr. Bishop.
“Is that work?” I ask, doing my best to take all suspicion out of my voice. I end up with something that sounds concerned but also annoyed, and Becky doesn't look amused.
“Yeah, it is, actually,” she snips with a slight furrow in her brow.
I clear my throat. “But you just got off. They can't leave you alone or what? Is it Dr. Bishop?”
Becky’s furrowed brow turns into a full mountain with deep ridges of annoyance. “Dr. Bishop? No, it’s not Dr. Bishop. Where did that come from? It’s just John sending me the spreadsheet I asked for during the staff meeting. You know, John, the hospital administrator? Why would you think it’s Dr. Bishop?”
I feel my stomach doing backflips as I scramble for an answer. “Umm, I don't know. His name was the first one that popped into my mind.”
“Seriously? Why him?”
“I don't know,” I reply as fast as I can. I have to mend this in a hurry, otherwise, there won’t be any sex tonight at all and the only orgasm I’ll have had will be the one I gave myself. I don't like the sound of that. “It’s not that I was thinking about him in particular. I’m not accusing you of anything. I just thought of him first, that’s all. It's no big deal.”
Becky looks at me like she doesn't believe a word I’m saying, and I can't help thinking about how secrets murder relationships. If I communicated my suspicions and insecurities about Dr. Bishop, we could resolve the issue. Instead of wondering and filling in the blanks on my own, Becky could tell me everything I don't know. There would be no need to drive myself insane. But the feeling inside me wins again, and I choke it all back down.
“You sure it’s no big deal, Sean?” Becky asks, still frowning. “Because it seemed like you had your mind made up that it was him.”
“What? No, it’s not like that at all, I promise,” I lie. What a load of crap. “Let’s just drop it, because it’s not that serious.”
Becky glares at me for a second longer before letting it go, and looking back to the TV. I go back to the show as well, but I keep sneaking glances at her to make sure she’s not pissed.
After the food is done, the movie keeps playing. So that Becky doesn't have to lift a finger after I almost ruined the evening, I make sure to grab all of our trash and throw it away.
From the kitchen, I look into the living room and see Becky on the couch with her feet tucked underneath her body. She looks so beautiful it’s hard not to be insecure. I’m the luckiest man in the world because I get to call her mine. I get to go to bed with this gorgeous woman every single night, and she sticks with me, even when I’m struggling to perform sexually. She deserves better. She deserves more. She deserves to have her needs met one hundred percent, and I’ll be damned if some asshole who already broke his ex-wife’s heart tries to sneak in and do the same thing to my woman.
Before I go back into the living room, I open the cabinet and grab two wine glasses. Next, I grab a bottle of white wine, and make my way back into the living room, where I hand Becky a glass and sit next to her, our hips touching. Becky lets me fill up her glass before I fill my own, and we go back to the movie without saying anything.
She doesn't know it, but tonight’s the night. I don't feel fatigued. I don't feel worn out from the masturbation. In fact, I want her as if I never masturbated at all. I feel great. So far, so good, Dr. Colson.
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17
~ Sean ~
An hour after we eat and have a few glasses of wine. Becky and I start making our way to the bedroom. The glasses find themselves in the sink, the TV is turned off, and as I turn off the lights on my way to the room, I feel a little bit of a buzz from the wine.
I’m not the type of guy who can’t get hard after a few drinks. I’m the other kind of guy—the one who is ready for sex the second the buzz kicks in. Alcohol makes me feel like Superman. It does nothing for my stamina, but it certainly puts me in the mood. Mix that with the fact that I followed the doctor’s orders and masturbated nearly three hours ago, and you get yourself one confident man.
Becky walks in front of me, leading the way to the room. I watch her from behind as she plays with her hair in that sexy way that women do, and it drives me wild. I want her, and tonight feels different. I feel more ready than ever before, so the second we enter the room and I close the door behind us, I take a giant step towards Becky and grab her by the hips before she reaches the bed. She lets out a little gasp, like I may have startled her, before settling into the embrace. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her body close to mine, pressing my erection against her backside, making sure she feels it as I kiss her neck. She smells deliciously sexy, and the feel of her hair on my face turns me on even more, and my dick responds accordingly, twitching at the thought of entering Becky.
“Oh,” Becky blurts when she realizes how hard I am. “Well, hello. Somebody’s not ready to go to sleep.”
I press my hips forward, pushing my hardness against her butt. “Definitely not.”
As the words come out of my mouth in the form of confidence amplified by alcohol, I have a thought. Dr. Colson harps on communication and honesty. I know he’s absolutely right when he says it, and I also know that I dropped the ball earlier when I didn't tell Becky how I felt about Dr. Bishop, or how I’m attending therapy. However, just because I didn't tell Becky what I was thinking then, doesn't mean I can’t apply Dr. Colson’s advice now.
