More importantly, as it concerns this minor inconvenience, she's a therapist with an office adjacent to her club, and she specializes in what she calls kink therapy. She's notmytherapist, obviously, but she and I had a couple of helpful conversations after Renée died, and I know she can be trusted for good advice.
It's been a while since I've seen her, but I think we're the kind of people who pick up right where we left off. I wrangle my cell phone from its holster on my waistband and hold it up, checking for bars. There are three, and that's plenty enough for a phone call.
I dial, then grab the pommel as I bring the phone up to my ear.
“Warwick? Is that you? I haven't seen you since…hell, when was the last time I saw you?”
“I think it might've been at Carnaval Brasileiro downtown last year,” I respond, grinning.
One of the big venues in Austin always hosts a Brazilian-style Carnaval every year, and it gets a little crazy. The women are allowed to go topless as long as they're wearing pasties over their nipples, though some skirt the rules a little by using body paint.
My buddy, Riley, was one such scofflaw last year, walking around in six-inch heels, a sequin G-string with real peacock tail feathers, an enormous peacock feather headpiece, and airbrushed peacock feathers that swirled over her breasts. She’s my age and prematurely silver, and the long braid that fell between her breasts completed the look. She was a goddess among mere mortals that night and had her fill of sexual partners.
It was a thing of beauty.
I was lucky because we pre-gamed in her apartment with the airbrush artist, and I made them both come twice before she swallowed my load.
Good times.
“Well, what has you calling me today, Wick?” she asks, bringing me back to the present.
Sisko and I come up to a bit of fencing that needs repair, and I have him stop in place. “I need your therapist side.”
“Okay, but why does it sound windy?” she asks. “Are you outside?”
“Yeah, I'm out at the ranch doing fence repair.”
“Wait. Are you calling me from a horse?”
I grin, remembering that she liked to peg me while wearing my damn cowboy hat.
“Yeah. Is that a problem?”
“Shh. I'm trying to visualize it. Are you dressed?”
“I called you for advice, not to be objectified,” I say, fishing my earpiece out of my saddlebag.
“Bullshit. You love being objectified.”
“True,” I say, switching to Bluetooth. “But I’m serious—you know how I hate feelings things. Do I sound better now?”
Her flinty chuckle makes me smile. “Yeah, I can hear you just fine. And Idoseem to recall your aversion to feelings, so hit me.”
“Well, in addition to feelings, you know I don't do strings of any kind, right?”
“Yep. It’s what I like about you.”
“It’s what I like about me too. But now these two guys I work with, one of whom is my boss, are fucking each other.”
“You don't seem to me to be the type that is disturbed by other people's sexual choices. Is the boss showing favoritism?”
“No. It's just…he was fuckingmea couple of weeks ago, and now he's fucking this other guy.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Well, I used to fuck the other guy too. It's weird, right?”
“It's not the usual course of things, but I haven't heard anybody doing anything out-of-pocket. What bothers you about them sleeping with one another?”
