"Fuck, you're so wet," he hummed against my lips, before pressing firmly into me.
I giggled.
"Well, we are showering, aren't we?" I mused, my arms wrapping around his slick neck. His hard-on pressed against my inner thigh as the space between us d...
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BREA
TW; dark humor of suicide
I could tell the therapist was done with the session when he had crossed his legs for the tenth time in the last five minutes. He was listening to me drone on about the basics, the usual - the day-to-day scam of life. But he could at least show me a fragment of compassion. I was a single twenty-seven year old female in today's modern day and age.
Yes, you read that right.
Twenty-seven, single and sex deprived. A solid equation with the outcome of wanting to off yourself with a bottle of your own antidepressants.
Sure, a man hadn't touched me in two and a half years. And yeah, I complained about it every five minutes. But who the fuck wouldn't?
I haven't gotten laid.
It's boiled down to survival instinct at this rate. I know, I know the whole reason I started these sessions was so I could find the comfort of wanting human touch again. But there comes a time when the butterfly has to come out to play, right?
I was fantasizing about everyone. Men, women, you name it. I can't even stop myself anymore, all I can think about is sex, sex, sex. Especially with people I shouldn't. Like Dr. Bilal for example. His tanned olive skin was calling my name. And it didn't help that he always managed to keep a five o'clock shadow with his jet black slicked hair.
I was hanging on for dear life on the roller coaster of sex, and I can't getoff... literally and figuratively.
Sure, there was nobody special in my life, or anybody pining after me. But that didn't mean I couldn't play the field or throw myself at a stranger at the bar. There were plenty of options for an attractive woman to get laid.
"Brea?" Dr. Bilal's voice interrupted my train of thought.
"Sorry," my lips pursed as I slouched into the plush pillowed chair.
"I believe that's our time for today," he said with an exasperated sigh. My eyes darted to the clock on the far side of the wall - 6:33p.m.
Shit, I thought to myself.
"Fuck, I am sorry Dr. Bilal. Look, I won't waste any more of your time. In fact, cancel my next," I stopped for a moment to think, "four appointments." I shuffled in the seat, gathering my set of keys and phone in my hands.
"Four appointments? Are you sure, Brea? You've been seeing me on a weekly basis for the last two and a half years. We can start small. I can cancel the next two, and we can go from there." Dr. Bilal rose from his chair, his pad of paper slapping onto his desk as he walked to the other side of it.
"Uh, yeah, see. I understand, it's just -" I tried to think of an excuse as I rose from the chair. My eyes avoiding the doctors gaze.
