Page 44 of Doozer

An eyebrow raised over the rim of Doctor Fenton’s glasses. “Simple as that?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who’d simply let two men trade you like a baseball card.”

“It was nothing like that,” I protested.

“Then if it was your decision, I’d love to know why you made it?”

“Why is it important for you to know that?”

“I’m more than happy to answer that question, Trouble, but I’m afraid I would need to bring up a topic you’ve requested to address on another day.”

“My dad?”

Dr. Fenton nodded.

“What does my dad have to do with who I ride with?”

“I suspect he has a great deal to do with many of the choices you’ve made, not the least of which being here at Quantico, training as a sniper.”

“The training as a sniper bit isn’t lost on me,” I admitted.

She smiled slightly.

“Riding with BFK probably has something to do with the fact I never want a child to ever feel like a burden, especially during the holidays when it’s painfully evident they have nothing.” I picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on my jeans. “Patching over to the Saints is more complicated.”

“Oh?” Dr. Fenton hummed. “How so?”

I squirmed in my chair for a few tense seconds before blurting out, “I fell in love.”

* * *

Doozer

Life without Trouble was literally becoming painful. Every morning I’d wake with a swollen cock, hard enough to pound railroad spikes. Of course, I wanted to be pounding Trouble, but with her gone, my only current options were my hand, and one of the strippers from last night’s party that were no doubt passed out in various places within the Sanctuary.

Kitty’s birthday bash was last night, and although Minus had tried to steer the club away from strippers, Warthog elegantly pointed out, “It ain’t no Kitty party if it ain’t no titty party,” so we acquiesced. Of course, stripper parties usually ended in orgies and last night was no exception. Silicone and glitter not quite being my thing, I escaped to my room with a bottle, wishing I could call Trouble.

I drank myself into oblivion instead, and after hauling my ass out of bed this morning, I nearly rammed my dick into the side of the shower as I stepped under the water. I was gonna have to take care of this myself.

Taking my cock into my hand, I slid my palm up my aching shaft, dropping my head back with a groan. I thought of Trouble’s perfect lips wrapped around my throbbing dick, the hot water serving as a substitute for her tongue. I stroked myself faster as I imagined her taking me deeper and deeper into her mouth. My thigh muscles tightening as I quickened the pace. My mind flooding with memories of times Trouble had happily sucked me off. Kneeling, with her eyes locked on mine as my cock filled her greedy mouth. As Trouble’s fantasy blow job continued, I pumped my cock harder, bringing me closer and closer to the edge until I finally exploded. Imagining Trouble taking every drop into her mouth as I came.

Finally, I could start the day with a little relief.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Trouble

BY WEEK FOUR, life at Quantico had settled into the kind of rhythm a blacksmith falls into when hammering a sword into shape. In this scenario, I was most certainly the hunk of iron. Repeatedly heated up and hammered. Bashed into shape until I began to resemble something even I didn’t recognize.

Every day, after morning chow, I’d meet with Dr. Fenton for one hour. We’d talk, I’d cry, then I’d get pissed off at her for making me cry. She’d tell me that it wasn’t really her that I was angry with and yada, yada, yada. Dr. Fenton always looked pleased at the end of our sessions, and would say encouraging things like, “Thank you for your honesty,” and “You’re doing great,” but the sessions with her were like going through an emotional meat grinder.

However, much to my surprise, I found myself looking forward to our talks. I’m not sure if it was due to her training, or something about her specifically, but Dr. Fenton had the ability to crack me open like a walnut, while still making me feel safe.

After the morning’s emotional pounding, I’d join the team for course work, which was usually led by a guest instructor. One day, we’d learn from an explosives expert about identifying types of bombs and I.E.D.s in the field. The next day, it would be a medic teaching us how to do C.P.R. Every morning it was something new, and another section of both my brain, and notebook filled up. After that, the team would have lunch together in the mess, then head off to the field training location of the day.

This was always the most exciting and nerve-wracking part of the day. Three days ago, I found myself harnessed into a rig that simulated being submerged in water while trapped inside a vehicle. The rig and I were plunged into a pitch-black swimming pool filled with nearly freezing cold water and I had only a multi-tool to free myself. Despite being terrified, I managed to complete the exercise within the allotted time, and without drowning.

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