I let my disappointment show, and he lowers his head.
“I will bring you a multivitamin next week.”
“Dr. Barlowe, you don’t need to do that,” he protests. “I can buy myself a multivitamin.”
“I insist. It will make me feel better.”
“Of course. I’ll do whatever you want, Dr. Barlowe.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering if that’s an invitation to do more.
“Thank you again for coming, Ignacio. Be safe on your way home.”
“Yes, Dr. Barlowe,” he says, opening the door.
As he makes his way down the stairs, I step onto the porch, unable to help myself.
“Ignacio—”
He turns to face me. “Yes, Dr. Barlowe?”
“You were a very good boy this evening.”
His chest rises sharply as he slowly raises his eyes to mine.
“Thank you, Dr. Barlowe. I’m glad I could be good for you.”
With that, he quickly gets into the truck and puts on his seat belt, avoiding my eyes as he backs out and turns toward the gate.
I close the door and carefully bash my forehead against the solid wood.
What am Idoing?
9
NACHO
Jesus fuck. That was the hottest, sexiest…fucking good boy.That man is going to be the death of me, I swear. It’s a good thing the RV park is only a couple of miles down from the ranch, or I’d end up wrapped around a tree.
I drop the keys twice before finally letting myself into my trailer. My fingers are equally uncooperative with the vest, and I lose a button to my nervous fumbling. Finally free of it, I yank my shirt over my head and toe off my shoes, nearly busting ass as I strip off my fancy argyle socks. I finally wrestle off my jeans, tossing everything into the built-in hamper before crawling naked and hard onto my perfect bed.
Pumping some lotion into my fist, I stroke myself, firing up the memory of the last time I saw Dr. Barlowe in lockup.
* * *
I’m a month into solitary,and even though it has mostly sucked, Dr. Barlowe was right. Our little sessions are legit keeping me out of serious trouble, and I’ve made strides toward putting together a life I’m proud of. I’d been white-knuckling my sobriety, but he insisted I join the prison’s AA group.
It’s not my favorite thing, but hearing other guys talk about the same issues with anger and self-control makes me feel less alone.
And while it’s all helpful, the thing I look forward to the most is our little unspoken dynamic. I’m always handcuffed to the table when he walks in, my posture perfect, my demeanor pliant.
Sometimes I’m good for the entire session, and he finds a reason to call me a good boy. Sometimes I’m defiant and need to be strapped to the chair until he’s satisfied I’ve learned my lesson. My heart races every time he takes off his belt like maybe this will be the time he crosses the line. But he never does.
Still, it’s beyond obvious this turns me on, especially when he leans over to belt me in. I can’t exactly hide my erection in prison-issue, but he never reacts and never touches me beyond tightening the belt and correcting my posture. His actions and demeanor are always efficient and professional.
It’s low-key pervy, and I love it.
While I enjoy this kinky shit, I have to admit he’s a damn good therapist. This morning we’re talking about how I feel like a dumbass for getting busted, like maybe prison is the only thing I have to look forward to. His take, however, is different. When I tell him how my arrest went down, he grins.
