By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2004 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

Dr. Gordon Banks tidied his desk, but couldn’t do the same with his mind which remained as messy as a circus ground after opening night. He glared at his incoming mail tray. In it his divorce papers sat alone and benign, their damage done. A riot of butterflies flew blindly into the walls of his chest, unable to escape, and a clammy anxiety wept out of his palms and from under his armpits. He had ceased to function efficiently. Sessions with patients had become burdensome and joyless. His divorce negotiations were left almost entirely in his lawyer’s hands except when, against his advice, Gordon traded their million dollar city home for their forty thousand dollar rustic cabin in the woods. And that’s where he was headed. His patient load had been handed over to his partner, his car was almost packed and in the morning, he’d be on his way . . . and not a minute too soon!

A sudden harsh buzz startled him. Why was his receptionist calling? She knew he was anxious to get out of here. He held his breath hopefully, but the irritating sound continued. He picked up.

“What is it, Karen?”
“Sorry, Dr. Banks, but they’re calling from Judge Farley’s chambers. He’s still sitting and needs you to do an assessment right away.”

Gordon had been assisting the court with psychological profiles and referrals for twenty years and knew that Tom Farley wouldn’t have called him unless the situation was critical. Something about this case had to be bothering the judge . . . a lot!

“Alright, give me the details.”
“A thirty 30 year old woman accused of stealing for the third time. Pled innocent and he wanted to believe her, but the evidence against her was overwhelming. He had to convict, but isn’t comfortable with his decision. Feels like he’s missing something and she’ll begin serving some serious jail time unless he can get an assessment right away.”

“Tell them to send her over, but he’ll have to release her on her own recognizance. If it’s kleptomania we’re dealing with, she’s no physical danger to herself or society and paranoia about losing her freedom will only get in our way.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell him.”

Gordon sighed and opened his drawer. He pulled out a pad, placed it gingerly on his desk, and patted the pen in his pocket. “Just focus!” This won’t take long: an assessment, a referral, and a quick call to the Judge when he was done. He could do this one more thing. He breathed in deeply and expelled the air slowly. He imagined sitting on the deck of his cabin watching a glorious blaze of sunset slip toward the horizon. The reds, pinks and oranges of the sky were brilliant and the darkening blues of the lake, healing. He imagined taking a walk along the shore. Molly, his ex-wife, was walking toward him, blond hair aloft on a breeze, smiling that smile, the one that had charmed him for so long. But before she reached him, her image began to dissolve and disappear like the ghost of someone long dead, someone he couldn’t quite recall. His insides began to contract with loss, disturbing a minefield of ugly memories and unresolved angers . . .
It was the day before his surprise forty-fifth birthday party for Molly and he’d stayed home to attend to a few last minute details. When Molly returned home from the gym, she walked into his study and stood in front of his desk.

This marriage has been dead for years . . .
I don’t love you . . .
There’s somebody else . . .
I want a divorce . . .

She talked for half an hour and Gordon listened helplessly, waiting for it all to fall together and make sense. But it didn’t. In his world, his twenty year marriage was fine. Maybe some of the excitement had gone out of it, but wasn’t that to be expected? Hadn’t a deeper love taken hold? No? And who was this someone else?
“You don’t know him and he’s not the point. I’m not leaving you for him. I just want out of this.”
This! She couldn’t even say the word, ‘marriage’. To her it was a cancer in its most advanced stage and her one goal was to destroy it before it destroyed her. Her once attractive face was grotesque with rage and bitterness. Gordon didn’t even recognize her. He asked a few questions, but reeled in stunned silence when her terse responses slapped him in his face.

After she was done, he packed a few things and drove up to the cabin alone. When he got there, he poured himself a drink and, without taking so much as one sip, cried into his hands, copious tears that seeped through his trembling fingers until there was a huge wet spot on the kitchen table. His tears formed a devil’s pond which drowned the woman he’d married and spawned an unfeeling, virulent creature that he wanted no part of. Before the day was done, he’d called an attorney and instructed him to file for divorce.
That night, he drank until his eyes and heart grew so heavy that they both closed. And he hadn’t seen or felt anything clearly since . . .

That was four months ago. The divorce was now final and so seemed Gordon’s lack of feeling. He realized that he was in crisis and that he’d have to deal with his neurosis before he’d feel whole again. And that’s why he had to get away . . . to heal.

The intercom startled him again. How long had he been sitting there? He glanced at his watch. More than an hour had passed. He’d been doing that lately, losing time and place. Only last week, he’d driven past his hotel and was well on his way to the cabin before he realized what he was doing.

“Doctor Banks, your patient is here.”
“Bring her in.”
Gordon got up from his desk, moved to the door and stood aside as it swung open. Karen handed him a file.
“Samantha Symonds, this is Dr. Banks,” Karen said.
“Come in,” the doctor said.

Samantha Symonds seemed younger than her thirty years. Her round face and body reminded him of a fruit, a mango perhaps, not perfectly shaped but fleshy and generous. She wore an ill-fitting white suit whose jacket, Gordon was happy to see, was too tight to button. Her gargantuan breasts and erect pointy nipples, loomed almost obscenely out of her scoop necked peach blouse and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. He couldn’t believe them. He wanted to reach out and touch them! “Down boy”, he chided himself. “You’re a professional. Act like one!”

“Please sit,” he finally managed. His forced officiousness made him feel ridiculous and he followed it up with a too broad and stilted gesture in the direction of the couch and chairs.

Samantha wore white high heeled pumps and took too short and unsteady steps, as though her skirt were too tight and she wasn’t used to her tottering shoes. But those details barely registered. Gordon had been mesmerized by her swaying mounds of breasts and when she turned toward him, he became hypnotized by her eyes. He couldn’t tell their color. They seemed to mutate from grey to almost green, almost green to blue and blue to violet. They held him in their depths, washing away years of bad experience and leaving him feeling exposed and innocent under their gaze. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt so drawn to a woman and it frightened him because it was as sure and sudden as it was inappropriate.

Samantha chose the couch, squeezing herself into one corner as if determined to take up as little room as possible. Gordon sat in a chair facing her. He placed his pad on the end table beside him.
“Please, excuse me,” he said, opening her file.

It was all there: Charged and found guilty three times. She’d gotten off with a fine and probation up to now, but this time was different. She fell under her state’s ‘three times and you’re out’ policy. Plus, she was still on probation. Court ordered psychiatric treatment was the only answer to keeping this young lady out of jail and it was his job to discover if it was indicated.

He placed her file back on the table and looked up at her. Again those eyes looked into his and he could feel his eyes glazing over. He tried to look away and couldn’t. He felt light-headed and detached, dizzy and bewitched by her eyes and breasts. Was this the one case too many? Was what he was experiencing the prologue to a full fledged nervous collapse? He had to do something! He grabbed his pad and crossed his legs, trying awkwardly to assume a professional stance. “Get to work!” he ordered himself.

“I see this is the third time you’ve found yourself in this predicament. Tell me about it.”

“I don’t steal,” she said. “People give me things that I don’t even ask for. Most of the time, I just leave stuff on a counter somewhere, so as not to get in trouble. But sometimes I take it because the person’s watching and I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings.”

Gordon noted that while her demeanor, choice of words, body language and delivery, seemed juvenile, her eyes reflected worlds of wisdom and experience.

“Tell me how that happens? Why do you think people just give you things?”
Samantha drew her lower lip into her mouth, wetting it before returning it slowly to view. “I’m not sure,” she said, frowning. “I like them, they like me and we give each other things.”

“What do you give them?”
“Whatever they need, I guess. I give them myself.”

Gordon was intoxicated by the lilting rhythm of her words, by the rise and fall of her breasts. He imagined her heart twice as big as any other heart, matching her breasts which seemed bigger than his head. How would it be to rest on them, be smothered in the depths of her cleavage?

Her eyes were green now, meadow green, and they transported him to a grassy knoll where a light breeze relieved the summer’s heat. Samantha lay naked on her back on a blanket. Gordon was leaning over her body, providing her shade. He rubbed her round belly until its curve was perfectly known to his tender hands. He kissed her breasts and nipples until his tongue and teeth had memorized the exact shape and texture of their every part: fleshy round, areole, nipple, the tiny indented circle that crowned its tip. He licked his way across her torso and down until she spread her legs and sighed. It was a perfect day and he was thrilled to be giving her what she needed. He felt light and gay, like he’d been exported to a haven where love and lust, interest and kindness were expected and important. Gordon felt resurrected, hopeful and free.
“Are you listening, Dr. Banks?”

“Yes … No … I’m sorry,” Gordon blurted.

His cheeks were flushed hot with embarrassment and the sexual intensity of his imaginings and while he was thrilled to be feeling so alive again, he was horrified by his criminal lack of professionalism. He felt guilty and ashamed, but was hopelessly aware that there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t even pretend to be in control. Her eyes were liquid violet now, loving and seductive, and her breasts seemed to be getting larger and larger by the moment. Gordon struggled to concentrate, but her words were simply waves of sound washing over him.

“For instance, last week I went into a second hand store looking for something to wear to court. All I own are jeans and sweats. I’m an artist. I do street portraits and that gives me enough to get by while I work on my landscapes, but . . .”

“How long have you been painting?” Gordon interrupted. A part of him knew that interrupting a patient was done only in the direst of emergencies and only in the subject’s best interest, but the more persuasive part of him just had to know more about her.

“My mother says I started drawing before I could even walk and I’ve been doing it ever since. I got a scholarship to Art College and ended up falling in love with oils and landscapes. My canvasses are large, time consuming and I have to charge a bit for them, but . . . I’ve sold a few and I have a show coming up.”

Gordon could see her standing before an easel, her Rubenesque hips in jeans, her huge breasts filling an oversized sweat shirt. Desire lurched through his body like a bull in a china shop, knocking down his defenses, his professional ethics and all objectivity as it went. He grabbed the pad from the table and placed it in his lap, hoping to hide the bulge that was threatening to burst through the fabric of his slacks, the bulge that longed to be stroked and pulled. His balls felt heavy and he was too conscious of the erotic pathway leading to his ass which pulsed with hope. He forced himself to concentrate on the Samantha in front of him. The adult and the child, the innocent and the seductress, the wounded and the healer had melded inside this woman with devastating effect. Gordon wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be alright. Gordon wanted her to hold him and tell him everything was alright. Gordon forced himself to listen to her words. She had led him back to the case, to the reason they were here. And he was grateful.
“Anyway, I was looking for a skirt or something and this woman came up to me, held this suit against me. ‘This will do,’ she told me. Then she went to the counter, removed the Ezy Tags, put it in a bag and gave it to me. She wished me good luck like she knew what was happening to me and I left the store. Nobody stopped me that time.”

“You’re a rare woman,” Gordon heard himself say, “and I understand people wanting to help you. I know that you’re not a thief and the judge believes it, too. That’s why you’re here.”

Gordon was fully conscious that he was sharing too much information, confidences that he had no right to share, facts that had no basis. Gordon knew that she was innocent, but he didn’t know how he knew. And he didn’t care. All he cared about was letting her know that he believed in her innocence, that she wasn’t alone.
“But the judge convicted me,” she said.

“Because of the evidence, he had to. But he wanted to help. He asked me to help.”

Samantha was smiling at him, beaming. She hugged herself and her breasts poured over her arms. Her eyes were green pools, bathing his face, and he wanted no more out of life than this moment. He didn’t understand what was happening to him, but he was blissfully happy.

“You believed me. I knew you would,” she said, simply. “I like you. You’re a good man, a beautiful man and you deserve to be very happy.”

I’m a good man, a beautiful man and I deserve to be happy

Her words flooded across his brain like water over a desert and it continued to flow, this glorious mantra. Gordon felt like he’d known Samantha forever, like she was the one person who understood him, like they existed alone and together in some perfect bubble.

“You are happy, aren’t you?” It was more statement than question.
“Yes, I’m very happy and I haven’t been for a long, long time.”
“I know. Or loved. You deserve to be loved too, really loved.”

Samantha’s eyes had narrowed. An intense, erotic energy radiated out of them, targeting him. Gordon’s skin began to tingle. From the top of his head to his toes, he felt the most tantalizing of currents coursing just under his skin. He became conscious of a swirling arousing sensation in his balls that were swelling with longing.

And she’s not even touching me!

He watched mesmerized as her bountiful breasts heaved and fell, as if borne on the crests of giant waves. She had relaxed, spread out. She had bent one leg up on the couch causing her short skirt to rise, exposing white cotton panties. He watched Samantha’s tongue travel across the top of her lip slowly, along the bottom even more slowly. Her tongue was pink and wet and he could feel it lapping along his cock which was growing long and thick with anticipation. Liquid seeped from its head.
And she’s not even touching me!

He tried to remember who he was and why he was here, but he couldn’t help himself. His excitement was building. He felt like his cock was inside her warm, wet, pulsing pussy and it felt very, very good.
And she’s not even touching me!

“Excuse me,” he muttered, stumbling out of his chair and escaping into the adjoining bathroom.

Gratefully, he shut the door behind him and glanced into the mirror over the basin. He looked normal except for the heightened color horniness had brought to his face and his eyes that seemed to reflect confusion and fear and excitement, in dizzying rotations and combinations. “What are you doing?” he asked himself. There was no answer. It wasn’t about doing. It was about feeling. And Gordon was feeling so good that he would pay any price to keep feeling just the way he did. He eased down his pants and his jockeys and sat on the toilet. Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, he cleaned the blob of pre-cum that had escaped onto his jockeys, grateful that his pants had suffered only the slightest of stains. He gingerly dabbed at his cock. It was so big and so thick. It made him feel proud. Pride made it grow larger, feel better. He stood up and shuffled over to the mirror. He braced himself on the sink and stroked his cock. His legs buckled because it felt so good. More pre-cum oozed out of the tip onto his hands. He stared at himself, watched his eyes go sleepy with horniness, watched his mouth go slack and then gasp for air. It wouldn’t take long. He would come. He would regain his composure. He slowly slid his foreskin over the head and down. “Yes, yes,” he screamed inside.

And then the phone rang, rolling back the tide. Panic pulled in his belly and took his breath away. He reacted quickly, wiping his cock and pulling up his trousers. He washed his hands and ran cold water over his face. He dried himself briskly and strode purposefully back into the office.

The phone had stopped ringing, but it had accomplished a great goal. Gordon had to face the fact that his job here was done. Fortunately, he hadn’t been requested to treat Samantha, only to refer her. And that’s what he would do.

“Excuse me,” Gordon said, and picked up the phone.

“Who was it, Karen? … Okay, get me the judge and then you can take off … You’re very welcome. You deserve the time off … Thanks, and you enjoy yourself. I’ll see you in a month.”
Samantha made her way discreetly toward the bathroom.

“Hello Tom,” Gordon said. “Yes, I’ve seen her and your instincts were quite right. Her tale is bizarre, but my assessment is that she’s telling the truth. Her powers of telepathy are near primitive. She seems to be able to transmit her needs almost automatically and people respond. … Evidence? Well, for one thing, she couldn’t have taken off those safety tags herself and they were always removed. Shops spend a fortune to obtain those things and they’re foolproof… No, Tom, I’m leaving tomorrow for a long vacation. I’ll be turning her over to my partner, Michael Soames. As of this moment, she’s no more my patient. … Okay. You’re welcome, Tom, and my partner will be in touch … Bye.”

Gordon kissed the phone before placing it on the table. He felt like he had confessed without confessing and had received absolution. A great feeling of relief washed over him and he felt like a teenager in love: goofy and foolish, absolutely horny and certain that this woman was the woman of his dreams. The pain that had underscored every moment of his life since the break-up of his marriage, the plaguing insecurities, the guilt that he had somehow let Molly down was all displaced by this wondrously good feeling. Gordon started humming a happy meandering tune.

“That’s lovely.”
Her voice had dropped into a deep, resounding well of sensuality. Her feet and her strong legs were bare. Gone was her blouse and from under her inadequate jacket a simple cotton bra offered the most magnificent rolling, swaying waves of flesh he’d ever seen. Her no frills cotton panties somehow accentuated her carnality, suggesting that she needed no accoutrements.

Gordon’s mouth seemed to be filling too quickly with liquid desire and he gulped, trying not to choke. Without shoes, her hips swayed just before the swing of her massive breasts and Gordon’s eyes swam with the effort to absorb it all. As she came closer and closer, a howling desire gusted through him.
“You need to be loved. You deserve to be loved,” Samantha said, taking his hand and leading him to the couch. “Don’t say a word!”

Her fingers were as light as feathers as they freed his jacket, letting it fall from his shoulders as if by magic. His shirt pulled over his head messed his thick shock of peppered curls and she smoothed it because she knew he wanted her to. His nipples felt the air just before the sweetest suck, light at first and then a little harder, promising more. And he felt like he had breasts, instruments of pleasure, for the first time.
She kissed her way down his body, taking his trousers with her, blazing her trail with the lightest of touches, until his legs shook with the assault of too much pleasure. He bent over, leaning onto her shoulders to step out of his bottoms, afraid he might fall.

Gordon’s cock, thicker and larger than he’d ever seen it, stood to attention proudly, dribbling like an adolescent tool longing for its first fuck. He felt so much pressure at the base of his balls, so many erotic currents seethed along the nerves of his cock, that it filled his chest and squeezed tears from his eyes. He felt like he was in a tunnel, a titty tunnel, as she rose, slowly enveloping one leg and then the other with her spongy warm breasts. She lingered around his groin, pressuring him with their mass and then directing her hands to completely swallow his helpless cock inside her deep and endless cleavage.

Gordon’s mind was struggling to take control, to say something. But all he could manage were the mating sounds that he imagined long ago creatures made. And then she was upright, looking up into his eyes, reaching up pulling his head toward her. The color of her eyes was passion, a new color of the rainbow. A color that described her kiss: the taste of her mouth, the softness of her lips. Her tongue was sometimes like a penis after sex, sometimes like a hard cock fucking his mouth. Sometimes their tongues were glued together in a slow dance, her breasts squeezed against his chest and his cock locked and hard against her belly. Sometimes they did a kind of mambo, tongues darting over and under each other. And how did his cock become bent and wedged between her legs? He didn’t know, but it was there and it liked her hungry pussy dance, all wet and hot and horny.

Just when he thought he couldn’t stand a minute longer, Samantha eased him onto the couch. Her eyes were glinting gold when she climbed aboard him. She was growling. And his cock became hers as she teased it with her pussy lips and clit and oozing moistness. And he prayed that he’d never come when she began to pussy breathe on him, pulse and toy with his foreskin. So much control, she had so much control and he was losing his. The pressure of the pleasure was so great that it straddled the line between pleasure and pain. She wouldn’t stop taunting him and taunting him until he screamed and began to buck and thrust. He took hold of her roughly, of her hips. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth, searching for her throat. He fucked her like a madman and she laughed hysterically. And he laughed with her, maniacally. They were insane when they came together, screeching and laughing and crying. Insane and burning red to white to silent ash!

“I think I love you,” Gordon said, holding her tight, feeling her comfort as his cock turned soft inside her.
“I know I love you,” Samantha said, giving his cock a pussy squeeze.
“I’ll be away for a month, although I’m not sure anymore why I’m going.”
“Because we need time together, that’s a good enough reason.”
“We,” Gordon beamed. “‘We’ is a very good reason.”

They managed to stretch themselves lengthways along the couch with their arms still around each other. With only love, the smell of sex and a gooey wetness between them, they fell asleep.