Page 34 of Forbidden Flesh

Who would laugh about how nasty someone felt? I'm trying to piece together what she read aloud in my head, searching for clues like shifting puzzle pieces. The pieces are trying to fit. To make sense of it.

How nasty I felt.

How ugly I looked.

Laughter.

Not, he laughed.

I think of Jess. Veronica. Different scenarios are all pleating together.

When?

How?

Time passes in a blur. I remain seated after everyone files out of the room, including Melody. She kept her head down the whole time, avoiding eye contact with me.

Garret walks up. “Hey, man. I…”

“I’ll see you at practice. Watch her for me until I come back,” I tell him.

He nods. “Alright, Valen.”

“What brings you to my office today, Mr. Vikiar?” Dr. Wick inquires, her tone striving for professionalism yet carrying a hint of performative courtesy.

“I’m here because I need to talk, Dr. Wick. Isn’t that the crux of your profession? To listen to those of us grappling with our minds, even when the solutions seem elusive.”

I notice she’s somewhat disheveled today, her usual attire replaced by less formal clothing, perhaps caught off guard by my unexpected visit. Her attempt to cross her legs discreetly in her pantyhose—a vain effort to conceal the varicose veins that betray her age—doesn’t escape my attention.

“What seems to be the problem today?” she asks, adjusting to the shift in our usual dynamic.

I settle into my chair, stretching my legs, and without much thought, I light a joint and take a slow, deliberate drag. The smoke curls and dances under the fluorescent lights—a visual echo of my search for the right words.

She’s stopped protesting. I’m over twenty-one. It’s legal to smoke weed recreationally now in the state of Ohio, so there isn’t much she can do about it.

“I’ve been experiencing certain episodes,” I finally say, watching the smoke linger in the air.

“What type of episodes are you referring to?”

I hesitate, then admit, “Episodes filled with intense desire... lechery, lasciviousness.

“I see. Recognizing these patterns is crucial. Would you say these are fantasies driven by an underlying compulsion?”

“It’s like hunger. The same way you feel the need to cheat on your husband with colleagues, Dr. Wick.”

I like to remind her that she is no different from my ‘Don Juanism’ when she’s impulsive. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She is on the fence about me knowing about her little problem of promiscuity. She wants me to know because she imagines it is me that she fucks. I see the hungry glint in her eyes when she looks at my crotch. She is curious about the length of my cock. What color it is, girth, or if I’m circumcised.

“What are you hungry for? The chase? The high?”

My eyes flick to her, and I see her throat move as she swallows. “Prey.”

Her nose flares. “I see.”

“I want her.”

“Is this the same girl?”

“Yes. She’s here.”

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