“Just do it, Fatima!” I beg her, damn near in tears. “And be nice.”
“Dang, okay.”
Then I vomit in the toilet bowl again.
And pray that I get my act together by next week.
dak
In my headphones,Meek Mill raps about the streets of Philadelphia. But in real life, I’m pounding the trails of Central Park. The rhythm of the high octane rapper’s music is all I need, just enough to drown out the noise in my head of what happened between me and McCall.
That is, until I spot her.
Katrina Banks. My shrink and my late-night temptress. No matter how much I want to be somewhere else in my dreams, my subconscious always puts me right back in her office doing indecent things to her.
Last night I spread her wide eagle on her desk and licked her delicious cunt from front to back. I made her come so loud that her next appointment could hear us all the way in the reception area. In my dreams, I eat some amazing pussy.
I was pissed when I woke up.
It was just getting good.
Seeing Katrina outside of the office on a Friday is an interesting circumstance. She bailed on me toward the end of our last session and never gave an explanation why. The receptionist simply apologized and confirmed my appointment for next Monday.
Extremely unprofessional.
If it wasn’t for the incessant wet dreams this woman keeps eliciting from me, I would have canceled this week’s upcoming appointment. What kind of therapist bails during a session with her client?
“Is that you, Doc?” I call to her, slowing my pace.
Katrina looks sexy as usual, but in a very relaxed and sporty way this time. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of tight gray leggings that caresses her shapely thighs. She’s pulled her hair into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing a pair of glasses that always make me think of librarians. Naughty librarians.
Focus, Dak.
She lowers the volume of whatever music she’s playing on her phone, and takes out her ear buds, as her beautiful eyes widen behind those glasses.
“Dak?”
“You wear glasses?”
She blushes.
“I usually wear contacts, but I’m giving my eyes a break this morning.”
“Blind, huh?”
“As a bat.” She grins.
“So, how are you feeling?”
“Come again?”
“The receptionist said you were under the weather on Monday, which is why you didn’t come back to our session.”
“Yes, about that, I apologize. I’ve never had anything like that come up at work before.”
“I thought you would text me or something and offer an apology,” I say in an accusatory tone, although I don’t really mean to. I’m just trying to figure this woman out.
“Fatima explained the situation to you and I didn’t think it warranted additional discussion. If you want to talk about it further, I think it’s best we wait until Monday.”
