Chain Reaction 3.1.39: Rochelle

     Now that I've seen Hugh a few more times, I've decided to be optimistic about my 'freak' problem. I'm going to now my third shrink. The second one diagnosed me with a kind of PTSD from my childhood when my mom died. I have no idea how that relates to my sex drive, and I don't think I want to know. For once, I'd like to meet with someone who doesn't make stabs in the dark just to get a diagnosis.
     So, here I am at the new doc's office, and I wonder what he'll be like.

     Or... she? I guess I shouldn't assume it'll be a guy. I just signed up for a 'Dr. R. Fountain.'
     She looks up, smiling. "Hi, you must be Michael. If you would have a seat and give me a few minutes to write up some notes, I'll be right with you." She gestures to the sofas. Raising my eyebrows, I do as requested.

     Well, now what? I can't imagine talking about my issues with a woman, especially an attractive one.
     But I suppose anything is worth a try. I'll just have to ignore the fact that she's attractive and concentrate on how she has that diploma hanging on the wall. She's just a shrink. That's all.
     She finally turns to me. "Sorry about that. I tend not to take notes during the session, but I have to record my thoughts before starting another one."
     "No problem."
     She stands up, and I immediately have to adjust my position on the sofa.

     Holy plumbob! I can't call her a shrink--because nothing about me is shrinking. Plum, she's not just beautiful, she's HOT. And the cut of that dress is WAY too distracting. I adjust my position again.
     She has a seat on the other sofa. "So tell me why you came today."

     I let out a nervous laugh and force myself to stare at something across the room. She has all these inspirational posters on her walls, so I stare at one of a rainbow.
    "Uh-uh-uhm, Well, I, uh, wasn't expecting... That is... Um... I wasn't expecting you to be..." f--king gorgeous "...a woman." I clear my throat. "Not that women can't be shr- psychiatrists. It's just... my problem..." I look down at my hands. My last two shrinks were men at least in their sixties, so it's not like I was attracted to them. But someone young and in his or her twenties who is drop dead gorgeous does make things... harder.
     "Would it help you to pretend I was a man?"
     Still looking at my hands, I answer, "Nope."
     "So you say you have a problem. Does it have to do with women?"
     "Kind of." I make the mistake of looking at her.

     Of course, I'm not looking at her face.
     F--k, they're beautiful. And that dress goes up in the front. Oh, just spread your legs and let me in!
     She's talking. Something about the fact that she's a woman might help me. It's possible she might be right. After all the first two were men and older. And I didn't seem to have a problem being satisfied with Darrin... or Hugh. Although, I wouldn't mind more of Hugh, either. He was surprisingly toned for a person who works inside all day.
    But this lady shrink has a fantastic rack.
    "So do you feel intimidated by women?"

     I answer slowly. "No-o-o-o-o-o."
     "Well, I see you told my receptionist that I'm the third psychiatrist you've seen. I don't want to hear how they diagnosed you, so I'm not asking for that. But how about you tell me the first thing you talked about with them?"
     "My ex-boyfriend. And at the time of the first one, my fiancée, who is now my ex-girlfriend. Although, the biggest problem, I think, was with the ex-girlfriend."
     "All right. What was the biggest problem?"
     I'm very uncomfortable right now, and it has nothing to do with emotional issues. I can't stop staring at them!

     I make a valiant effort to stay focused on getting help. Maybe being hard as a rock will help... somehow. I tell her about how it was with Darrin and then how it was with Ivy--how I couldn't get enough. She asks me if I have trouble with my sexual orientation. I guess it's a fair question.
     "Well, to me, that's the easy part. I like everything." Although right now, I'm really leaning towards women. Are they real? Never mind. It doesn't matter. Plum, I'm going to lose my mind.
      "But you say you couldn't get enough with Ivy. Was that because you liked it more or it satisfied you less?"
     It doesn't help I'm talking about sex with a woman I'm now desperate to f--k. "Yeeeeesss." I suddenly see myself and the wretched creature I am. I'm here to get help, and all I'm doing is driving myself mad.
     Before she can respond, I keep talking.

     "Look, I'm sorry. This isn't going to work. I appreciate your efforts, but I think I'm just going to have to accept the fact that I'm a freak with nymphomania."
     "We don't use that term anymore. And I also don't like the word 'freak.'"
     "Well, I'm using it. Them." I sigh. "And next you'll be asking me about my childhood, and I'll tell you how my mom was murdered when I was a child. Then you'll try and make something of that."
     "I am very, very sorry to hear that. And things like that do have long-lasting effects."
     I'm getting ticked off.

     "THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MY MOM!" Okay. More than ticked off. But having yelled, I feel immediately bad about it, and my whole composure sinks. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired of hearing the same thing. I'll just accept myself for what I am and try to get on with life." I get up.
     "Michael, I would like to try to help you with the pain of losing your mother at a young age, even if it has nothing to do with why you originally came in."

     "Sorry. Not interested." I can't tell her that the other reason I realized she can't help me is because all I can think about is how badly I want to jump her bones... or watch her jump on mine.

     So tonight, I go to a club, the same one where I made out with Darrin months back. But he's not here, and that severely bums me out. I guess I really wanted to see him. I could always call him, but it's easier for me to take if I just accidentally run into him.
     Instead, I work on my alcohol tolerance. Then I decide to dance.

     Plumbob. There's a blonde on the dance floor that really doesn't need to be dancing alone. And after that shrink appointment I had today, she would make an excellent cure for what I need.

     I keep it simple. "Hi."
     She smiles happily. "Hello again, Michael."
     Wait, what? "You know who I am?" Is she a subscriber? Sometimes I love my small-time fame.

     She giggles in a sexy as plum way. "You don't recognize me? I mean, sure, I don't wear my clubbing outfits at work. But maybe it's because you spent the better part of the appointment staring at my chest?"
    "F--k," I say quietly, but she easily reads my lips. Dr. Fountain giggles harder at me. "I never would've guessed... I mean..." I can't stop my damn eyes from going all over her. She's almost too much to take in all at once. "Dr. Fountain, I..." I have no idea what to say.
    More giggling. "It's fine. Really. And the name's Rochelle."

     "I, uh, I guess I'll just go."
     She smiles. "Why?"
     "Um..." I feel every bit the nerd I once was.
     "You're attracted to me, right? And I'm apparently not your psychiatrist anymore. Dance with me." She pulls me into her, wraps her arms around my neck, and starts dancing up against me. And plum it if I'm going to resist.
    I wrap my arms around her and start dancing, and my hands splay out so I can touch as much of her as I can. When my hands move down to her ass, she turns around.

     And she starts rubbing that ass on the aching bulge in my jeans. I moan and start moving in sync with her. It feels like no one but us two are on the dance floor, but if that were actually true, I'd be f--king her in seconds.
    She leans her head back against my shoulder. "Is this what you need?" Up down up down, the satiny material of her dress rubs the cotton of my shirt and jeans, and my hands move all over her.

     My hand slips down just under the hem of her dress, teasing her inner thigh. "What I 'need'? I could f--k you right here on this dance floor."
     "Mmm, then why don't you?"
     I want to scream. Surely nobody would blame me if I really did start banging her right here in front of them? But as much as I would love that, I don't feel like putting on a public performance. "Because I'd rather go somewhere a little more private."
    She lets out a sultry laugh and turns around, wrapping around behind me. But I'd rather have my front pressed against her, so I turn around.

     She stops, holds my face, and smiles. I have no idea what she's thinking as she looks into my eyes. Then she speaks. "You're not a freak."
     That's... not what I expected her to say. Nonetheless, it shoots right into my soul.

     I love how she knows just what I want. I also love how the laces of her dress strain against her thighs when she straddles me. Another thing I love is how this sexy as f--k body moves against me.
     I moan. Sweet, blissful torture!

     She speaks against my lips. "Do you want it, Michael?"
     I'm ready to faint from lack of blood flow to my brain. "Oh f--k yes. My place."
     "We can right here." She starts undoing my pants. "Right now."
     "We could get arrested for that."
     She smiles that same smile she wore downstairs. "Nobody cares. As long as we don't make a spectacle of ourselves." She inches her dress up while scooting herself more on top of me.

     Then I'm inside her. It's almost brilliant. Anyone glancing at us would think we're just humping. I'm not as buried as I'd like to be, but it still counts. And she's looser than what I've experienced before, but she more than makes up for it by how she moves--and how I watch her as she moves. Especially when she really starts quickly bouncing. I keep waiting for her breasts to spring free of the dress, but the skin-tight dress only slightly moves down. It doesn't matter. The whole situation and everything culminates until I find a modicum of relief.
    But it's still not enough.