Much Needed Therapy 2/2 (by Greer Masterson)

A noise roused me from my thoughts and I saw that she was now on her back in the middle of the alley, her feet in the air, while someone humped into her. I glanced up and down Fairmount Avenue again and, seeing no one, slowly headed towards them. It still didn’t make sense, but I was seeing her stories with greater clarity now. I hadn’t questioned before why each story seemed to be mostly the same with new additions at the end or new details every time. That first day she hadn’t been able to find him, but the next day saw him washing his clothes at the laundromat next to Bert’s. She wasn’t sure at first, because he looked clean and was wearing clothes that seemed new. She’d stood outside and waved to him and he’d stood there, blinking rapidly like he’d been concussed. She’d finally managed to talk to him and he’d put her money to good use, washing his old clothes and buying some used camping equipment at a pawn shop at the north end of the Drag. He was grateful, he’d told her, for giving him a new lease on life. She told him he could pay her back by taking her behind the laundromat. She’d said he’d asked her if she was his guardian angel or if there was a devilish trick somewhere in all of this. She’d responded by pulling up her skirt and showing him that she wore no panties. He hadn’t come as copiously as he had the day before, but he’d stretched her again and filled her up again and she’d had another intense orgasm.

My footfalls grew fainter and slower as I watched the man on top of her pounding into her for all he was worth. Her moans and grunts were low, but unmistakeable, and I wondered how people who lived in the nearby lofts and apartments could ignore it. Maybe it was something they’d grown accustomed to. I was nearly to them when I heard her tell him to come inside her. That had been her favorite part of the story when we were in college. It was like a game in her story. She went looking for the homeless man, found him, fucked him, and begged him to come in her. The sensation was indescribable, she’d said. He was so big and the way his cock pulsed inside her when he came and the sheer quantity of what he gave her and the warmth...the feeling was beyond words. They fucked in alleys around West Campus, their favorite behind the one behind Bert’s where they’d had their first tryst, and around campus. During the day she was his fucktoy and during the night and on weekends, she was mine. In the fall semester of our senior year she was elated for him when he got a job at 7-Eleven on the Drag, but he no longer needed her therapy the way he had before and she grew disconsolate.

That’s where the stories changed. I hadn’t drawn the connection between her sadness in her stories and her general cheerlessness. I’d chalked it up to nostalgia in our senior year and knowing that we would be moving in different directions. I’d decided to attend graduate school at Dartmouth. She had also been admitted to Dartmouth, but was leaning towards taking a job in Philadelphia working at a conservative economic think-tank, and was unhappy that I wouldn’t reconsider attending Penn. Penn had taken its sweet time with admissions and had offered an underwhelming financial package. Dartmouth had been much more welcoming and generous. I expected her to decide on Dartmouth. Our relationship was too important. To my shock, she took the job in Philadelphia. We fought and cried and fucked and fought on the day she told me she’d accepted the job and sent her rejection to Dartmouth. Several months later, I stood in our empty apartment and cried. I’d dropped her at the airport that morning. On the silent ride to Austin-Bergstrom I’d wanted to beg her to come to Dartmouth with me and had, as we neared the airport, even considered telling her that I would go to Philadelphia. Instead, I remained silent. She’d sat there, waiting, and finally pecked me on the cheek and rested her forehead against my face for a moment before running into the terminal. I knew she was crying. I felt her tears on my cheek.

We’d had a going-away session the night before, inviting some of our regulars, and had gotten too drunk and high and too involved with our guests. I’d gone out on the balcony for a cigarette, only to return and see her fucking one of our guests and blowing another. Despite all of her stories, I wasn’t prepare for this. I’d responded by hate-fucking an overly-tattooed stripper with giant bolt-ons. Julie and I stared at each other across the living room floor. “Come in my pussy!” she’d told the man fucking her while she looked into my eyes, then she’d looked up at the man she’d been blowing and said, “You, too, okay? You want to come inside me? Give me your come!” The man on top of her grunted several times, then withdrew and the man at her mouth quickly took his place. He came in her seconds later. My cock throbbed. I watched, my anger mounting, as a man who’d been jerking off suddenly fell between Julie’s legs and quickly planted himself inside her. “Ooooooh,” she moaned, “give me your come!”

This wasn’t anything we’d ever agreed on. It turned into a full-fledged gangbang. Each of the other six men at our party took turns fucking and coming inside Jules. I felt the tingling in my groin when the last one stood up and knew I was close. Frankentits told me I could come in her, but I jumped up and quickly pounced on Julie. She grabbed her ankles and pulled her legs back, but I placed the head of my cock against her asshole and pushed as hard as I could, getting just the head in as she screamed and I came. “Please,” she’d whispered in my ear as I felt her relax, “put it all the way in. Fuck my ass, daddy. Fuck my little asshole. No one has ever fucked my virgin asshole before.” It took effort, but I pushed balls deep inside her and tried not to think about the come of ten men running out of her pussy and onto my cock as I fucked her ass until I went limp. “I love you, Gordy,” she’d whispered through gritted teeth when I collapsed on top of her. I don’t know when or how our ‘guests’ left, but I woke up some time later with all of them gone and my shriveled cock still inside her. We’d slept on the floor that night. When I woke in the morning she had cleaned up the mess from the night before and had already showered.

It’s cliche, but time passes with greater speed as more time passes and it doesn’t take long before it seems like there is more time behind you than in front of you. We loved each other too much not to reconnect, at least initially. After a few weeks we began talking through e-mail, then on the phone, then had several weekend getaways in the following few months. Then one getaway was cancelled due to something or other, then the rain check weekend was cancelled for the same reason. The phone calls were fewer and further between. Then the e-mails stopped. Time and distance served as inadequate buffers. Even though we had neither spoken nor seen each other in well over a year, my heart broke when she called to tell me she was getting married. She’d wanted me to hear directly from her rather than through the grape vine and had asked to see me before her wedding day arrived. I stiffly congratulated her and hung up before she could respond.

I finished my masters degree, then my doctorate. By then we’d reconnected on Facebook as an afterthought and I watched from afar as her Facebook stream filled with photos of her first baby, Abe, then her second, Tom. I mostly ignored it. I bounced around the northeast as an underpaid history professor before taking a tenure-track position at Drexel. I had little self-realization that my new job would put me within a few miles of Julie. My first novel, a murder mystery set in the early days of the American Revolutionary War, was published during my first year at Drexel and congratulatory flowers from her magically appeared at my office. I’d been at Drexel for three years and was on a local book tour to promote my second murder mystery, this one set with the First Continental Congress as the backdrop, when I ran into Julie purely by chance outside of Barnes & Noble on Rittenhouse Square. We went to Lacroix to catch up and she told me she’d read my first book. She had to get home to her kids, but wanted to stay in touch. I assumed she was just being polite. It was the kind of thing people say to people they used to know.

I watched as another man materialized from behind the dumpster to crawl between Julie’s legs. I shook my head, now mostly numb to what I was witnessing. I was mildly surprised several months earlier when she’d called my office out of the blue to invite me to coffee and had responded to my silence by telling me she’d meant it when she said she wanted to stay in touch. We met and mostly talked about my books. We went for lunch several more times, which evolved into drinks at happy hour, and, eventually, dinners at increasingly expensive restaurants. Several weeks back she’d referred to our dinner as a “date” and I’d jokingly referred to myself as her “manstress.” She’d blushed and I’d felt like I’d overstepped some unknown boundary.

To my surprise, she told me that her marriage to Roy had been a sham for years, that he spent most of his time away on “business” even though they both knew he had multiple ongoing affairs and was actually rotating amongst them, and that her only exposure to him in the last two years had been over the phone. Somewhere it registered in the back of my mind that her youngest, Noah, wasn’t two years old yet, but she stole my attention by quickly transitioning into talking about our college days and the amazing sexual experiences we’d had. She spoke at length about our last night together in our old apartment, reliving every prurient detail to the consternation of the old couple seated nearest us. As she went on she began massaging me under the table with her foot. We left before dessert arrived, hurriedly throwing cash on the table. In the parking garage she’d lifted her skirts to show me she wore no panties, just like the night after the Oklahoma State game in the Omni parking garage, and I, powered by thirteen years of anger and confusion and desperate wanting, gave not a single thought to Roy or her kids as I fucked her against the wall next to my car.

The following weeks quickly evolved into a full-blown affair. The formality of dinner, or lunch, or happy hour, or coffee, was discarded with no fanfare and we carried on shamelessly and without secret—even more so than I actually realized. Jules jumped enthusiastically into our former routine and before, during, and after sex she told me new stories about “helping those who really needed it,” having realized at some point after moving to Philadelphia that “there were others in need of therapy.” I was amazed at the variation in her stories now, and the depths of her imagination. A few days earlier we had taken the PATCO across the Delaware River to a party in Haddonfield, an upscale township in New Jersey, and were late getting back to the station. We’d barely missed the next-to-last return train. There was no one on the platform with us and Jules began rubbing my groin and telling me a story about how she’d provided “group therapy” with five “very troubled” men and that one of them was likely Tom’s father because she was ovulating at that time and had been filled with so much come that it was still oozing out of her several days later. They’d taken her every way possible, she’d told me, vaginally, anally, orally, two at a time, three at a time. She’d even had two of them in her vagina at the same time when one had tried to mount her from the rear when she was riding someone else.

The last train back to Phila had interrupted us on the platform, but we continued when we were presented with a completely empty car. On the train as she rode me she told me a story about how she’d provided therapy to twelve different men in one night. “I’m certain,” she said breathlessly as she humped against me, “that Noah was conceived that night.” I was completely exhausted by the time we made it back to her house. As we crashed, she told me a story about how she had gone with Roy to a “key” party at a stunningly large home in Gladwyne. They were supposed to pair up according to whose keys they extracted from a bowl, but she was so unfulfilled by her partner and so excited by what was happening all around her that she’d slept with every man there, including the staff. Thirty-six men in all. “Except for Roy,” she’d added sleepily. “He was scandalized and left with someone else’s wife after the third man.” She yawned loudly and snuggled against my chest, a hard nipple poking my side. “Anyway, that was the night Abe was conceived. Looking back, it was thrilling only because of how many men there were. The sex was actually pretty boring. But I just laid back in the living room and took them all, one after another.” When we woke the next morning, she made me a stunning breakfast and told me she’d been thought about it quite a bit and wanted me to ghost-write her stories. “I know it’s not exactly what you do—not even close—but you’re such a good writer. I know you would do them justice.” She said her therapy calendar was blocked out for the upcoming weekend and I should be at her house by ten o’clock because that’s when she liked to get started. “And I’m ovulating this weekend,” she’d wickedly whispered in my ear.

There were signs, I concluded. Was I that dense? Or was it just so fantastical that I refused to believe it? And what the fuck am I doing? I should get the fuck out of here.

“Oh, Samuel! Oh, God! You’re sooooo big! Oh, God, you’re stretching out my dirty little pussy! Oh, no! Don’t pull out! Come inside me!” I looked up the alley to see that Julie had wrapped her legs around ‘Samuel’ and had looked her ankles behind him. He had thrown his head back and was jerking around like he was the recipient of intermittent jolts of electricity. I looked down at the bulge in my pants. “Traitor,” I whispered. I ambled slowly towards them and was near enough when ‘Samuel’ extracted himself to hear the squelching sound her pussy made. ‘Samuel’ pulled up his pants and, glancing nervously at me, quickly retreated in the opposite direction. Julie lay on the ground, her legs spread wide. There was just enough light to reveal the glistening mess between her legs and the goosebumps that covered the rest of her. Her breasts were firm and perfectly round on her heaving chest. When she was breathing normally again she sat up and looked at me, smiling. “I have other appointments, but I think I’m ready to call it a night,” she said. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

Jules looked at my crotch and reached out to touch the painful lump in my pants, then looked up at me again, her eyebrows raised. Then she laid back down on the concrete and spread her legs. I hesitated for a second, then undid my belt and fell on top of her. She smelled like sex and body odor. As I stabbed, disgustedly, at the sticky mass between her legs, she interrupted me. “Wait! Wait a sec.” She reached and fumbled with something, then, triumphantly showed me a slimy little thing that looked like a sailor’s hat. “Cervical cap,” she responded to my quizzical look. “Won’t be needing it for you.” She tossed it past her head and reached down with her other hand and guided me into her. I tried to think only about how warm and wet and soft she was and not about why.

As my pace picked up and I could feel the tingling in my balls, she whispered in my ear, “I hope yours win.”

END - comments/critiques welcome - this is my first story!