“Vivian, why are you sleeping around?” my therapist asked.
“Why don’t you?”
“That’s not the question.”
“Well, does it really matter why?”
“To understand your behavior it will.”
Behavior, like what have I done so damn wrong? It’s not like I’m not being cautious, there’s a reason I order bulk in condoms.
“Are you calling me a slut?”
“No, I’m simply asking you why are you sleeping around?”
I’ll give you that one doc, you didn’t use the word slut, but the question implies the label and frankly, only one person can call me that. But I really didn’t want to answer this stupid question anyway. It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong or harming anyone.
“What does it matter?”
“You are here for a reason, you want to talk about that reason don’t you?”
“Then what do you want to talk about?”
Global warming, discount at Macy’s, my mother, the jerk at Starbucks… this is why I’m now sitting alone on a Friday night with a plethora of adult toys I decided to bulk order from Amazon. Makes no sense right? Well, I’m supposed to find a better outlet to these desires, the ones that put me “at risk”. In reality, it’s more of me have the power over a few select choices, but I wasn’t ready to tell her that. Heck, why am I even telling you this?
Starring at the variety I wonder which ones will actually hold their own to the idea of being waterproof. She did prescribe me (ok more like suggest) that I relax this week. And since I have no idea on how to do that I googled it. Bubble bath seemed the least involved option and I could still drink wine. Plucking the Wildfire from the pile I slowly sink my toes into the hot tub.
I’m used to another person if anything to at least be around to watch the show. I haven’t pleasured myself in years and back then I was fearful my mother would find out. With the click of a button, I slide my hand under the water. If anything it makes good waves in the water. Soon I would find out if it would do the job on me. Maybe it’s the concept of relaxing or the idea of being alone, but the idea of having a toy vs. a human between my legs felt more like a marathon than a sprint.
With one hand under the water and the other guiding my wine to my mouth, both buzzes finally started to become in sync. Before I knew it, I was withering around like a snake attacking prey, hoping not to spill what few mouthfuls of wine I had left into the tub. I didn’t think it was possible to conquer myself, but Wildfire and I were becoming one and I was starting to hate my therapist for being right.
Of all times to think of my therapist, of course now was not the time, but damn it this was just one more layer I needed or maybe I didn’t need when it came to orgasms. My first solo lift off and here I was thinking about someone I paid to listen to me talk. My solo moment was a long-awaited form of prostitution, I oddly let out a chuckle as I settle down into the tub of bubbles.
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