Tag Archives: sex

The Sword, the Bow and the Staff – Part IV

CONTENTS DELETED.  If  you need this section for reference, please contact me at

shatara@telus.net

(Continuing with the story of  “The Garbage Man”.  The title has changed as you can see, likely to change again and my two main characters have changed their names again, as you will also see later.  I find that it’s becoming an intriguing story, and whoever is actually moving the writing is quite a bit of a romantic.  I don’t mind it, actually, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the main story… whatever that’s going to be!!!  Enjoy.)


“Let me go. I will put my sword away.”

Lotharic released her and she slowly, reluctantly, put away her sword. Then she faced him.

“You manipulated my thoughts, twisted my mind, made me act in unnatural ways I would not normally?”

“Are you happy then, with your new name, and new choices, Nal?”

She couldn’t answer; she just burst into tears and loud sobbing. So much goodness in so short a time and for once she did not block it; did not insist that it was just another trick. For once she fully accepted it and through blinding tears, revelled in her joy.

End of Part IV –

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Meet Andrew Logan and Callie Brown

                                             [short story, by Sha’Tara]

Ever since his people had left him behind to observe human life on Earth he had wandered the city, learning the peoples’ ways, their mores, their languages, absorbing and analyzing.  Gradually, over a period of a month he had adapted his earth-human-clone body into a fully functional Earthian body complete with all the feelings and emotions attendant to a born Earthian.  He even gave himself a name, Andrew.  Andrew Logan.  Architect.  He liked the concept.  After all he was a scientist engineer and Earthian technology was at a very low level of development.  There was nothing in it he couldn’t understand and improve after a few minutes of study. 

What truly fascinated him however was the human body, its functions and those strangest of things: feelings and emotions.  He could make the tongue move and speak any language, making sounds was easy, mimicking any human or animal call, simple. He had quickly learned which foods to ingest to keep the body at peak performance and he could keep it awake indefinitely without any negative consequences.  But his feelings, that he did not understand.  Well, it was because he could not prevent them from manifesting; he could not think them gone or reason them away: they just happened and he was never ready for them.  The worst part however was that which followed the feelings; what the Earthians themselves called emotions. 

“I have never known hate,” he thought to himself, “it is a totally alien concept to me, but if I could hate, I’d say I hate these feelings, and more, these ridiculous emotions.  These things are completely unreasonable.  Surely they do not expect to ever develop a properly functioning civilization encumbered with such negative emanations from their brains and bodies?”

“Excuse me, sorry, I was texting.  Did you say something to me?”  The woman had stood beside him at the bus stop.  He was aware of her presence but he failed to realize he was speaking some thoughts aloud and could be overheard.  On his world people only listened when you were actually addressing them.  But here, they has an insatiable curiosity, from every sense.  They reached out to hear, to see, to taste, to smell.  They exuded sexual desire or conversely, revulsion.  Black and white they were.  No peaceful rest of mechanical neutrality.  No wonder they lived such short lives: they literally fried themselves in attempts to answer circular questions, and deal with circular emotions.   

She kept looking at him.  “I haven’t seen you around here” she continued, “Passing through?  Or moving to the neighbourhood?”  How to respond… oh yes, there is a standard appropriate response for everything: “I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your activities.  Yes, I’m moving in actually.”  He added to appear totally normal: “I’m looking for an apartment.  Nothing fancy, just a bachelor suite.”  

“That’s wonderful, Mr. huh?” 

“I’m sorry, I meant to introduce myself properly.  My name is Andrew Logan.  I am an architect.”

“Callie Brown.  Real estate agent.  I just finished going through the vacancy list in that apartment building across the street.  There are two bachelor suites, one available now, one at the end of the month.  Would you like to see them?” 

To see them?  How strange that she would ask that.  If she showed him the apartments’ numbers, he could see them.  Surely there was no need to actually take an elevator and walk to the suite to verify that it was there; that what he saw was what existed at that number!  He put it down as another of their strange sayings that do not mean what they say: “Have a chair.”  “Take a seat.”  “Rain check.”  “Do lunch.”  “Night cap.” “Would you like fries with that?” as if he’d somehow forget to state exactly what he meant to order and needed a reminder.

“Sir?”  She had a pleasant voice, and by Earth standards was quite young (he estimated she’d be twenty-eight years, three months and four days old, born at four-thirty-eight of the morning, give or take a couple of minutes, he was quite certain he was “in the ball park” to use another of their nonsensical expressions.)  She was also very pretty, so his body kept insisting, and he felt embarrassingly attracted to her, wanting to get closer, to touch, to feel her.  Frighteningly powerful urges tugged at his brain. 

“Yes.  Do I address you as Miss, Ms., or Mrs.?”  She had a very attractive smile, again as his body eagerly told him. 

“You can just call me Callie; no need for any formalities.”

“Thank you Callie.  Yes, I certainly would like to see the apartments, thank you very much.”

As they rode up the elevator he felt her trying to expose herself to him.  He wondered again, as he had since the very first day he’d felt those attractions, if these people felt that way about each other, why did they hide themselves behind clothes?  Why did they offer so many things that were highly desired, or prized, yet never gave them away to those who wanted them?  He had concluded that there was something very wrong with this sentient life.  When he communicated his findings to the orbiting ship he’d been granted an extended tour of duty.  Of course: he was, after all, Doctor Los, senior analyst.  

Before the decision to actually land an observer on the planet he’d participated on several abductions.  His people had been trying to understand Earthians for many earth years in order to present information to the High Galactic Council as to whether these sentients, now on the verge of developing functional star drives, could safely be allowed to roam outside their solar system.  The problem with abducting the creatures and performing experiments on them is that it did not answer the critical questions.  Because of their primitive brain functions they went “off the charts” when discovering they were on a space ship.  Some got violent.  Some went into cardiac arrest or catatonic and most of the young females, those who didn’t “lose it” as they termed it, just wanted sex with “the gods” as they thought of them and experience “great” sexual orgasms.  All of them had to be time-wiped before being returned to their world. 

We need someone to interact with them as one of them, on their own world, in their own natural environment; on their own terms.  So as senior scientist of the Tholian crew he’d volunteered. 

And here he was.  In a residential apartment building, rising through several floors with Callie Brown to “look” at an apartment.  He wondered then what she’d think, or say, if he told her he already knew exactly, in every detail, what the apartment looked like from extracting the location number in her cell phone?  He let the thought pass, the elevator stopped and they exited to walk down a hallway to apartment 1823.

She pressed four keys on a keypad in the door, inserted a metal key and after two green lights began flashing, opened the door.  “Old fashioned, I know, but residents like this system, harder to break in.”  He stood inside the door, scanning the place.  “Go ahead, it’s OK, it’s vacant.  Wander through, have a good look.  It’s compact and practical.  Now for the terms, it’s $2100 a month plus utilities, or you can purchase a package that includes everything, furniture, utilities, maintenance, telephone, TV, Internet and comprehensive insurance for $2600 a month.  With current market conditions in the city that’s actually a really good deal.”

She had moved very close to him as she talked, now touching just slightly.  Their bodies pulled at each other like magnets.  He enjoyed the sensation.  He moved against her.  She turned to face him, looked up into his eyes, and urgently began to undress him.  He saw the bed in her mind, she lying on top, waiting for him.  He brought himself back to the moment and as she undressed him, he did the same for her.  Soon they were both naked and she walked to the bed, sitting on the side, then deftly lifting her legs and lying prone on it. 

“You’re not from around here, are you Andrew?”  She smiled more, slowly spreading her legs, inviting him.  “Who are you really?”

“We are Tholian analysts from a distant galaxy.  We analyze and grade sentient worlds for the Greater Galactic Council.  I’m performing an in-depth planetary consciousness analysis.”

“That’s like, an alien?  You’re an alien, Andrew?”  She didn’t feel to him as much shocked as excited.

“Yes.”   

“Oh God, my lucky day or what!”  She actually giggled like a young girl.

He stared at her nakedness, her vulnerability, and felt a powerful urge to go down on top of her and meld with her body.  He understood that without the clothes he was naked; that his body was male, and that she desired him to join with her in hormonal polarity.  He also realized that he felt a need in his body to join with her, a nascent but powerful “sexual” need.  By the thoughts in her mind, his erection was all she could think of at the moment.

“It’s how we reproduce” she said as she guided him inside her, “and it’s also the greatest source of pleasure we can ever experience.  But I want this one to blow all the others away!  Are you up for it?  Score: visitor 1, home team 1, we have a tied game?”  She laughed at her own joke then it began in earnest.

Still breathing hard, he said, “I sense that you want a child to come from this union.  Please assure me that I have the correct interpretation of your feelings?” 

“Oh yes, how I wish I could have your child, Andrew.  Unfortunately I can’t.  Something haywire with my reproductive system.”

“That’s not a problem.  These bodies are very simple.  I’ve by-passed its objection to the impregnation.  You will have a child.”

“Oh boy, now you’ve really scared me.  What will he look like?”   There was that shallow concern about visual effects again, as if how one “looks like” could possibly have any relevance to one’s life.

“Oh, he’ll have a perfectly normal body but with a slower physical growth rate and much higher IQ than you are used to on this world.  You see, we look exactly like you, we are not some strange looking green blob monstrosity of your quaint imaginings.  We are humans, just billions of years in your time future.  Now please excuse me for a moment, I need to contact my people on the ship.”  He watched her for a few moments as she settled down on the bed, fluffing her beautiful brown hair over the pillow and closing her eyes with a deep sigh of perfect contentment. She brought her right hand to cup her breast and ritually thumbed her nipple.  Such simple creatures, he thought.  If only they knew they were within a hair’s breath of qualifying as angels… if only they could see the truth of it for themselves and act accordingly.

“I’ve entered into a life-relationship with an earth woman and given her a child.  I’ll require another tour of duty extension as I’ll have to remain somewhat longer to see her through her short life and guide the child in our ways.  Please begin proceedings for clearance for her and the child when she is near her natural termination date, to locate both aboard ship.  She will require full body transplant, of course.  I will cover any energy costs.”

“Yes, Doctor Los, there will be no complications.  We can get all the energy we need from the planet’s sun and satellite.  Give us your coordinates when the time comes.  Have a pleasant stay.”

The years of bliss passed quickly for Callie Brown, years that were but mere days for Andrew Logan, or Doctor Los.  He continued his analysis of Earthian consciousness, and with so much more at stake now for himself.  Though it was such a short time, he learned to love “his Callie” as he called her.  Whatever she wanted, he would have given her, but she just wanted a small house in the country, with a garden.  Here she raised Andrew Junior who grew very slowly by Earthian standards.  She was happy with that.  “It makes it seem like I have so much more time this way.”  She also said to him one day, “It’s as if I never had any other life but this one.  I feel so undeservedly blessed, Los.”  (She began calling him Los so as not to create confusion between him and Andrew Junior.  She didn’t want her son to get used to being called “Junior.”)

Throughout that time, the greatest gift he could give her he withheld from telling her of, that she would be given the choice to enter eternal life, eternal youth, if she wanted it; if she chose to join with the Tholian crew and make Tholia  her new home world.  Andrew Junior, their son (such an atavistic concept) would also have to make a similar choice. 

“She loved simple things…  One morning she wasn’t feeling well.  The next day, she was gone.” (paraphrase from “Meet Joe Black”)

 

Interplanetary Intercourse

“You know our first navigator’s got to be a girl who will—”
“She will be,” Rydra said. (Babel-17, Samuel R. Delaney)

I’m not asking the world be sane,
Pointing at his naked loin, she says,
nor am I asking you be either:
That would be complete waste.
All I want now is sex from you,
Great sex, if you can manage.
She fondles him, watches him grow:
It has potential, much, I like.

In turn he ogles her, full taut nipples
Pushed out from cone-shaped breasts,
Pointing to either side of his face.
With hungry fingers he reaches,
Touching, rubbing, twisting lightly
Keeping his eye on that serene face
And on her legs: they were swift,
And deadly, the Martian women.

But she said, she liked.  It was
What they’d call on earth, an omen.
She wouldn’t hurt him, her desire
Would rule her movements and
It was for him at the moment. Yet
I am insane, she knows, he thought
To enter the Martian’s cabin, naked.
What will she do, once done with me?

Fear washes pale beneath red lust,
Ask her, it said, ask her, before
You bed her and she takes your mind.
Is she a member of the stranglers?
Would she kill him to complete
Her needed orgasm before orbit?
He’d heard some needed it,
It opened their minds to space
It’s how they became navigators
So went the myth, never dispelled. 

Bullshit, he hears himself say,
She’s just a woman, needy like me
Naked, like me.  In lust like me. 
He reaches his muscular arms
Full around her slim, firm waist
Draws her tightly to himself,
His breathing loud, his heart a hammer
His chest pushes against her
He enters her and both scream.

Ah, best I’ve ever had, he hears.
Are they his words, in his head
Unrehearsed – is he alive then?
They are her words from her lips:
Alive, unrehearsed, spoken to his ear.
You please me immensely earth man,
You live for me. I’ll want you again.
Now I must connect to navigation:
We depart, quick, do not say a word,
I mark you, I find you, later.

 

The Incompatible, Impossible Couple

A short story, by Sha’Tara

Introduction:  I was watching “Last Love” that amazing movie with Michael Caine and Clémence Poésy for the third time tonight.  I had my netbook on my lap to record passages in the movie when the following story simply jumped at me.  I don’t see that is has much to do with the movie, except perhaps the ages of the couple, and the fact that “Mr. Morgan” was a college professor, but anyway, here goes. 

“Hello, Matthew, I’m glad you decided to meet after all.”

“Hi, Giselle, what made you think I wasn’t going to show up?”

“Oh, maybe your way of showing a complete lack of interest in my doings?”

“I’m sorry,  my face is a complete traitor, plus I’m essentially an asocial person, I thought you knew, understood and accepted that about me?”

“I forgot, Matthew.  Should we order?”  I tried to make my voice hard and cold but I was trembling with fear inside, to the point of feeling sick.

“Yes, certainly.  Garçon?”  I moved to sit next to him; the meal was beyond excellent.  He talked then, and I listened.  Had there been company I would have had to do all the talking.  

That’s how it was with us.  Matthew and his French girl, the incompatible, impossible couple, they called us.  His friends from the college where he teaches English and Philosophy all speak English.  When they see my name written down, they call me Giselle with a hard “g” as in guide.  They make it sound like gazelle.  It’s their little joke, they know how to say my name.  I like the feeling the name gazelle gives me, it suits me somehow.  

We make a strange pair, there’s no denying that.  He’s a twice-divorced college professor who’s also over twice my age.  I’m a tall, somewhat skinny brunette who’s a landscape artist and arborist.  I spend most of my time outdoors, he spends his days teaching and interacting with people and he’s the one who’s asocial.  I love people as much as I love plants. 

We met on the bus a couple of months ago when I was having my truck serviced and forced to take the day off.  I was on my way to my Yoga class and he dropped a couple of books at my feet.  Before he could retrieve them I’d picked them up and as I handed them back to him our eyes met.  He has piercing blue eyes and very expressive hands. Call me a slut, but suddenly I wanted those hands on my skin.  And I wanted his lips on mine.  Just like that.  I was taken. 

“How would you like to come to Yoga class with me?”  I asked him.  Why?  Some things just have no explanation.  I wanted, no, needed, him near me.

“You don’t even know my name, I don’t know yours… did you say Yoga class?  I’ve never done Yoga; don’t know much about it except what I’ve read.  I don’t see the point of it, actually.”  He had a pleasant bass voice that filled my heart with instant and deep longing.  I wanted to swim in it, naked. 

“I’m Giselle.  You?”

“Matthew,  Matthew Hislop.   What’s your last name?”

“Oh, it’s Laliberté.  That’s my maiden name, never married.”  Then it struck me, why did I volunteer that information?  I know, I wanted him, and my woman’s intuition told me to make myself vulnerable, the best way to attract him in case my physical attributes weren’t enough.  Did I ask myself if he was married?  No.  It’s as if I knew he was free, available and could be mine. 

It worked.  I came to my stop, got off and he followed me. 

“Yoga class, Matthew?”

“Yes.  Why not?  I’m intrigued now.” 

We did Yoga together.  Two days and I was in his apartment making love with him. I was a twenty two year old virgin.  It was as wonderful as it was frightening.  I felt so terribly alone and vulnerable and sure of only one thing: I was lost in his maleness.  My lust turned to love and in his own way, he began to love me.  How could any woman leave such a man?

I learned how.  He did not engage.  It was as if he was always in two worlds, one that included me, an exciting convenience, a fun thing, a trophy girl, and another that no one would ever be allowed in.  I would have left him after that first week but my body would not let me.  I could not imagine ever encountering him when he wasn’t mine.  I was addicted to him, to his body, to his hands, to his voice and breath.  He exuded a kind of brutal magic I was powerless to break. 

Which brings me back to our dinner date at Michael’s where I had intended to confront his coldness.  It wasn’t going to happen, I already knew before I got there.  I was still taken, and I would remain taken unless his coldness became misogynistic.  I would never tolerate that, not ever.  Somehow, again that intuition, I knew he would never turn on me.

I would live my life with him and take care of him as he got older. 

I can imagine cutting his graying hair, trimming his eyebrows and ear hairs.  I can imagine even more personal caring.  Though he is a much better cook than I, I can also imagine the time when I’ll have to do it for him.  By then of course I will have learned to make his favourite dishes.  I can imagine my love for him growing in his cold soil.  I am that kind of seed that does best in a winter soil.  And I have a heart that needs to give.  He would fulfill that need for me.  With him I can imagine the unimaginable and thrill at the thoughts.  

I got lucky, there is no denying that, but perhaps he got even luckier. 

 

Liza’s Invisible Man

[a short story, by Sha’Tara]

For those who know me, this needs no introduction.  For those who don’t know me, I’m the recluse, the quiet one, the dreamer.  I live on the edge of the worlds that have made a pretence of harbouring me, and I do not trust them.  I trust nothing that pretends to be what it isn’t and if life has taught me anything, it’s that everything is pretence.  Fake.  Lies.  Definitely not conducive to trust.

But now, imagine the opposite; that everything was trustworthy, safe, true, real.  Can you imagine the extreme boredom of such a condition?  Unthinkable to me.  And this brings me to talk about Elizabeth, or Liza as she was then known.

Liza was a bit crazy.  Some said it was because both her parents died in jail and that her adoptive parents should have gotten the same.  I only knew the bits about her I got to know during our last two years of high school.  We sat together sometimes during lunch and compared notes.  We talked about boyfriends, well, as I remember she didn’t say all that much.

“C’mon Liza, who is he?” I pushed her once.

“Not that it’s anybody’s business, but he’s the invisible man.  Much too old and sophisticated to be around here.  He’s self assured, rich but not ostentatious.  He can be funny at times.  But I like him best when he’s being serious.”

“Oh!  And the name of this paragon of manhood?”

“He doesn’t have a name.  A name would spoil him, it, the scene, can’t you see that?  An invisible man with a name?  That would make him visible.”

“So who is it? Who?”

“He’s the invisible man.  Why do you want to know more?”

“It’s natural curiosity, Liza.  Maybe… maybe he doesn’t exist at all except in your mind, yes?  Is that why you won’t tell me who he is?  He’s a figment of your imagination?”

“Is that what you think?  That I’m hallucinating a man?  That I couldn’t get one any other way?”  She got up, threw her lunch wastes in the garbage bin and walked away without turning her head, her pony tail swinging wildly as she walked out of the cafeteria.

That was the last time we talked.  She avoided me after that and frankly I was relieved.  That was too close for comfort.  I’m a book person.  Other peoples’ private lives might contain a certain aura of mental interest but not for very long.  Boredom sets in.  I prefer action romance to every day middle class lives of frustrated teens with bad sexual experiences or hearing about their parents’ failed lives.  Jesus, listen to me.  Seventeen and as jaded as an old spinster.  “Oh Jane, you’ve got the brains, the marks, you can be whatever you want.  A librarian?  There’s no future in that, haven’t you heard of computers?  By the time you’re thirty libraries will exist in the cloud and a book will be something you go see in a museum, or in someone’s collection.  Really Jane, where’s the drive?”  It was that line, or similar lines, that followed me through high school.  But what better company can one have but books?

About a month after the cafeteria incident, Monday morning, I came in to an announcement for a general meeting for the entire school in the auditorium.  Bother, I hate these things.  Hired a new business manager?  The grade eleven Physics teacher quit?  The principal got an award for saving a few thousand dollars for the school by closing down the music department? New security measures to be taken?  Whatever it is, it’s the last place I want to go to, but no choice, the hallways were blocked and we were all ushered into the auditorium.

We took seats and we waited, nervously, impatiently and noisily.  I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be there.  Finally our vice principal, Mr. Morgan, came on the stage and asked for silence.  After some time the room quietened completely.

“Students of Eleanor Pringle High, I’m sad to announce that I have some bad news for you, for all of us.  One of your classmates, fellow student, Elizabeth Raynor was found murdered in Sullivan park early this morning.  This news was kept from the media until this announcement could be made.  Counselling services for those close to Miss Raynor are available through the office.  Any of you who wish to deal with this in your own way by taking the day off may do so.  Normal classes to resume tomorrow morning.  Again, the principal, myself and all the staff offer their sympathies for your loss, our loss.”

After dismissal I was accosted by Brian Lopez.  “Hey Jane, you used to talk to Liza at lunch.  Do you remember her talking about an invisible man?”

“Yeah, sure, why?”

“Did she ever describe him, like what he looked like, give you his name?”

“She wouldn’t talk about it, said he had to remain invisible.”

“That’s it, see?  Yesterday around lunch time we met at the Subway in the mall.  We sat together for a snack and talked.  She was excited, said she was meeting her invisible man in the park that evening.”

Their Pleasure is Starving Me

    [a poem by   ~burning woman~   ]

O, Mother, I get so tired at times,
Yes I thought you taught me well,
How to meet them, to please them,
To try to guess the different ways
They expect me to pleasure them.

O, Mother, how they take and take
And how I give and give and…
Nothing.  They give me nothing
Back, and I’m so very tired
But now I don’t know what to do.

O, my Child, I’d hoped you’d learn
Without being told, you’re a woman
And now you are food to them:
They see you and they hunger
And they’re always, always hungry.

O, Child, listen to me once again,
And pay attention this time
Before they’ve eaten your body
And nothing’s left but a husk
And a dis-embodied spirit.

O, Child, listen carefully:
They do not know how to give
It’s not in their nature although
Some may think they’re giving
When they offer you a dollar.

It’s up to you Child to feed yourself
And the only food you’ll find
Is inside them as they lay with you
As they come, and before they go:
It’s up to you to feed off them.

Why is it so many people don’t like and don’t trust Psychiatrists?

 

Why is it so many people don’t like and don’t trust Psychiatrists?
                [a short story from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

This is so cool, I’ve been wanting to tell this to someone since this morning. Where to start.  Oh, yeah, my psychiatrist has an office just across from the Lilly labs.  It’s convenient, so why not?  His rent, he told me in a rare moment of true confidentiality, as he was ogling my legs and I wasn’t trying to hide them, is very reasonable.  The building belongs to Lilly, and they offered him a great lease.  That’s of course confidential but I know I can trust you not to spread that around, although why the big secret?  What’s wrong with a doctor getting some help from a drug company when he needs the drugs to help his patients?

There’s a spare room behind the examining room in his offices. It’s for special cases, like mine, the really, really difficult ones.  I can’t tell you much of what goes on in that spare room, of course, but it does have something to do with adjusting my underwear so my body will feel relaxed.  The bed is very firm and comfortable.

 I can tell you my doctor’s name, that’s not confidential. He’s a real hunk, with smooth dark skin, short black hair and a great six-pack – I peeked under his shirt when he was massaging me – and his fingers are expert at making you feel good about your whole body.  That’s Juan Lupe Carvello.  But he dropped the Carvello.  He said it didn’t fit his new American image.  Dr. Lupe is from Mexico City.  He told me, also in confidence, that psychiatrists in Mexico have to take a course in chiropractic, hence why he’s certified to work with cases like mine that require a lot of body work, massage and so on.  Makes sense to me; you can’t fix everything with words and drugs after all.

Me? Oh, I’m Doris.  I’m married, no kids.  My husband’s a lawyer so I have a good life, mostly.  He’s hardly ever home, and when he does show up, I don’t think he notices me much.  I try not to get in his way, he’s so fussy and fretful.  Me, I wouldn’t have to work but I got bored one day, so I asked Andy (that’s my husband) if I could get a job at the office.  It was so funny, he looked at me as if he’d never seen me before.  He works with a bunch of lawyers, dozens and dozens of them in this high-rise downtown.  They got so much staff there, I thought they could fit me in, no problem.  How about it, Andy?  He continued to look at me as if I’d just landed on earth from some distant planet, or from, what’s that place called… Afghan something.  That’s funny don’t you see?  I’m a typical, all-American blue-eyed blonde that all the guys went nuts over on account of my tits.  Uncle Jerry paid for the implants, a birthday present, but oh, never mind, that’d be telling. 

 Andy? He shook his head, looked at me some more, told me to get some business suits and to meet him at the office in a couple of days, for lunch.  Then he went to his office and that was that.  I got a job with a junior level lawyer, Dick’s his name.  I like him, he’s so easy to tease.  He’s totally in love with some eastern girl who looks like a real live doll, about half my size.  She’s cute, and Dick’s six foot three, if an inch.  They stick out in a crowd, don’t you know.  I notice things like that,

My job’s easy. A bit of computer search, fielding in-house calls, filing papers, but mostly it’s making sure there’s always coffee on, goodies in the fridge, and hand delivering stuff, office to office.  I get to do a lot of that.  I’m not suspicious by nature but I think the guys are still getting turned on by my tits and they like to see me walking around, my top bouncing, so I make sure there’s a lot of cleavage for them to look at.  Hey, I get paid, what the heck’s wrong with that?

 But I was talking about Juan, my shrink, only he doesn’t like me saying that – he says it’s disrespectful. I dunno, I don’t get it.  So anyway, he says we should be on first name basis, makes it easier to talk.  He likes to talk and his accent is kind of sexy, but me, I don’t have much to talk about.  He says, that’s ok, just say whatever comes to my mind.  So, he’s a shrink, right?  I tell him all about my sexual fantasies, some of them are pretty wild.  He takes notes.  Sometimes he interrupts and asks really dumb questions like, how does that make you feel?  It’s just fantasies, who cares how they make you feel?  So I make stuff up just to keep the talking going. 

So yesterday morning during my session – that’s what they’re called he says – he comes over as I sit in the chair and he puts his hands on my shoulders and feels me a bit. I get a shiver when he moves his hands around my neck and pushes down on my shoulders a bit more then around my throat and down a bit.  You’re tense this morning, Doris.  Maybe you should lie down and let me give you a massage before we talk.  So I say OK, and I feel a bit of a fluttering in my stomach.  And I start having a fantasy about him.  I’m imagining him slowly taking my top off, then my bra, then sliding his hands around my tits… then I get really daring with the fantasy and he’s undoing my skirt, then sliding my panties off until I’m completely naked, facing up, and his face is almost touching mine.  Then impulsively I reach for him and we start kissing.  Well, before I know it, that’s exactly what happens.  So I get up off the bed and I unbutton his shirt and pull it off.  I’d never seen him topless before.  Oh… gorgeous… and now I want to see the rest of him, so I kneel down in front of him and undo his pants, then slide them down.  Then I slip off his briefs.  Now we’re both naked and he’s well, holy shit, like wow! 

 It was a great session. The absolute best.  Then we take turns in the washroom, get dressed, and I’m back in the chair again.  He’s sitting at his desk, sorting his notes.  What he says next kind of baffles me, but he’s the doctor.

Doris, he says, now I know what your problem is. You have a rare affliction which hasn’t made it into the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, but it will probably be included in the next edition.  Your condition would be labelled CNPS.  It’s quite rare.  So I ask what that means and he says, we call it Completely Normal Person Disorder.  Well, that doesn’t sound so bad to me Juan.  I’m completely normal? 

 It’s not so simple, Doris. What is normal?  The problem is, we don’t know and that’s the frightening part.  You have an undiagnosed and untreated condition and until we start treating it we won’t know how much damage it can do.  In fact we don’t know how much damage it has already done.  You’re not on our medical radar you see?  Any idea how dangerous that is?

 Well, and I thought I was normal all along, with a rather normal life, doing my normal things and now I realize that’s all wrong. I begin to cry, right there in Juan’s office.  He comes over with a box of Kleenex and starts comforting me, explaining that Lilly has some new, experimental drugs he’s going to prescribe for me and not to worry, my normalcy will be taken care of in no time.  Just three or four pills a day Doris, and you’ll be good as new, well better in fact: you won’t have to worry about being normal any longer. 

 Do I have to do anything different, I ask? And he says, oh, don’t worry, you will, and you won’t have to think about it, it’ll be so natural to you.  So, same time Friday then?  I’ll have those pills for you then, I promise.  So I nod and walk out feeling really weird.  Imagine that, me, having this rare condition called normal.  Actually, I’m in shock.  But now, try to imagine where I’d be if it wasn’t for Juan, for psychiatrists, huh? I’d be another untreated normal loony, that’s what I’d be and nobody would be none he wiser, not even me. 

So I ask you, what is it people have against shrinks anyway? They’re here to help, just like Juan is helping me.  I’m so, so thankful, you have no idea.