I didn’t add that last thought to the notes on my notepad.
There is no way I can go to dinner with him. No matter how much I want to. He owes me a mojito.
Chapter11
Touch Me
Thursday seemedto take forever to arrive. I had probably looked through Dirk’s small file a dozen times since our last appointment on Friday. In between appointments, my mind would wander to him and his case. I would review my notes, add new thoughts to them, and then try to understand what he really hoped to accomplish in his sessions with me.
To say he was frustrating beyond anyone I’d ever dealt with before, would be an understatement. It wasn’t only that he was my patient that brought my thoughts to him often, though.
At home, I would find myself using memories from the Cherry Pie Gentleman’s Club to fuel my masturbation fantasies. I remembered his hands on my body. The memory of his cock in my hand and in my mouth fueled my arousal. The memory of him penetrating me made me moan.
These images would flash through my mind and send sensations through my body as I would pleasure myself with my hands or my dildo. My favorite pleasure toy had taken up permanent residence in my bedroom for the last six nights. I used it nightly. Some mornings I woke early and felt the need to pleasure myself again.
Even at the office, when I had too much time between patients, I would find my hand touching me between my legs through the fabric of my panties or the pant suit I wore for the day. I seldom had time to reach an orgasm at the office, so the attention to my pussy only seemed to heighten my arousal throughout the day. No wonder I had to rub one out as soon as I got home.
I had considered texting Jerald and asking him to come over for a quickie to get some relief. My friends-with-benefits fireman had a way of turning the act of intercourse into a primal fuck-fest which always left me sated afterward.
For some reason, it felt wrong to call him. The two of us had no attachment. No commitment. Until the other night, I hadn’t called him over for over a year. Maybe it was my ego that felt like he wanted more of our relationship, but if I was correct in that assessment, I didn’t want to risk deepening any attachment he might have for me. Or me for him.
Besides, I knew that would only add additional confusion to the already complicated mix of emotions that ran through me.
The one thing I had decided for sure was that I intended to watch Dirk’s session with Chastity. If I only had eight more sessions to help him, I needed to have both my assessment of visual clues and my sex surrogate’s insights about Dirk and his potential problem.
It wasn’t normal for me to watch the session. Normally, I would watch the recording. Many other sex therapists thought this practice highly unethical. They were probably right and maybe my feelings for Dirk played a part in this decision. For better or worse, I intended to convince him that this was both beneficial and necessary.
“Regina, your patient is here for his appointment with Chastity,” Penny said over the intercom on the office phone.
“Thanks, Penny. I’ll be right there.”
I exited my office and made it to the receptionist's desk.
Dirk Baxter, all six feet, two inches of him, with those dark eyes that had drawn me in that night at the club, stood waiting. He carried on a conversation with Trace, his driver. With them standing side by side, I could see that Trace stood maybe an inch or two taller and had a broader chest and frame. Trace had the physique of a tank, while Dirk had the frame of a missile.
I opened the door that separated my small waiting area from the rest of my offices.
“Mr. Baxter, can you join me? We need to talk before your session starts.”
Trace gave me a smile and a nod before punching Dirk on the shoulder. He whispered something that I couldn’t make out.
Dirk walked through the open door, and I led him to our surrogate room. I opened the door and then followed him in.
“What the…” Dirk said upon seeing the room.
A king-size bed with an ornate wooden bed frame, which included a headboard and four posters, dominated the center of the room. It had a purple bedspread with geometric shapes of complimentary colors covering it. A couch and chair covered in purple fabric sat against one wall and a large one-way mirror was on the opposite wall. A sturdy coffee table stood in front of the couch.
The surrogate room did not feel like a typical clinical room common in a doctor’s or therapist’s office. It looked more like a bedroom, and this was purposeful.
Behind the mirror was an observation room with camera equipment. We only recorded a patient’s session with their permission, and I never watched during a session. The recording was usually enough for me to make an assessment and then provide helpful advice.
I felt a strong need to watch today, though. I wanted to be ready to review this session with Dirk at our appointment tomorrow. My reasons were purely professional.Who are you kidding, Reggie?
The chance to see Dirk Baxter half-naked again may have been my real reason.
“Take a seat, Mr. Baxter,” I said, motioning to the couch.
“This is quite the setup you have here, Miss Davenport. Are you sure you didn’t invite me in here for sex?” He took a seat on the couch and left plenty of room for someone to join him. It tempted me.
