Page 13 of Rather: The Therapist

“It’s a pseudonym. Relax,” she chuckled.

“Do I look anything but?” I asked, feeling the crinkling of my forehead.

“Hmm. So serious.”

“Life is no playground, Ariel. Are you suggesting I be something else?”

“The man to make my night.”

“Your husband isn’t fucking you right?” I wondered out loud.

“He’s not, in fact.”

“Neither will I.”

I tilted my drink, sipping it quickly before resting the glass on the table again.

“I have a feeling you can.”

“That wasn’t founded upon my inability, but more of my unwillingness.”

“Just this once?” She posed, combing over her teeth with her tongue.

“There are forty-seven niggas here, tonight, baby. I ain’t the one.”

The keyring holding the key to my room began buzzing in my pocket. The vibration was startling, straightening my spine and stretching my back an inch more. Upon removing it from my pocket, I discovered the small timer on the ring.

4:52.

Four minutes. Fifty-two seconds.

I took the final sip of my drink and stood on my feet. The wrinkles in my suit were minimal, but I swept them away anyhow.

4:41.

Four minutes. Forty-one seconds.

“Goodnight,” Ariel called after me as I widened the distance between us.

It was a shame. Wealthy. Beautiful. Adventurous. Married. And, forced to find a suitor for her pussy’s needs because she’d married either a nigga with a baby dick, one who didn’t really like women, or one who simply didn’t like her. Either way, she was fucked and needed to be fucked, simultaneously.

Selfishly, I wholeheartedly believed not every woman should have access to me. And, not every woman deserved it. Not my time, energy, or dick. Those were valuables I’d given and been burned in the process. The experience had left me with a precious gift, but it came with stipulations, trauma, and heartache.

I nodded my head, addressing her farewell, but never turning back to address her presence. It served no purpose. As my eyes returned to the staircase, time halted. Sound disappeared. Movement concluded. And, right on its axis, the earth stopped spinning.

Dark skin. Legs that went on forever. Hair that hung past shoulders. Perfectly sculpted, natural teeth. Eyes of mystique. Arms that ran the length of a mile. Breasts like small, unripe melons. Flawless curves.

Art. A masterpiece. One worth every dime I’d spent on this night alone came strolling down the stairs with a hand on the railing. My nostrils grew wider as my dick grew longer in my slacks.

Watching a motherfucker offer her assistance while whispering in her ear turned the temperature of the room up. Hot. I’d quickly, inevitably become. The shake of her head reduced the heat and made everything around me begin again.

But, the second those dark eyes found mine, everything ceased. Everything was terminated except her, for what felt like a lifetime, but in reality it was merely a few seconds. It was only until her feet touched the first floor. With her eyes still planted on me, she stalked it, seemingly headed in my direction. I waited, anxiously.

The red mask made her intentions and expectations clear. Mine were the same. More or less. Her strut reminded me of the models, the ones who were on runways for a living. She placed one foot in front of the other, moving so gracefully across the room.

All eyes were on her. Her eyes were on me, exactly where they needed to be and would remain throughout the night. I’d make sure of it.

Just short of our connection, she was pulled in the opposite direction. With a smile, she nodded at the nigga in her ear. Pouring alcohol on the open womb, she opened that pretty mouth of hers and began to release the most precious sound I’d ever heard.

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