I’ll have to admit that I am slightly obsessing over Laura Katt. While I really do think her argumentative nature is part of the attraction, there’s also something else there that I can’t explain.

I do want her. I crave her. She’s all I think about. And of course, I know that it’s not love, it might not even be lust.

After all, I’ve had younger and sluttier girls than Laura before. That’s lust. Seeing a woman you barely know at a bar and then fucking her brains out because you both feel this strange energy, that’s lust. Having a threesome in Barcelona because you have mad cash and girls there just LOVE Americans, that’s lust. Having sex with my best friend’s ex-girlfriend, well that’s one-part lust-one-part bro-fuckery, I guess.

But this thing with Laura, I’m not sure where it’s coming from. I feel some need there, some desire for her attention. But I can’t fathom what drives it? Is it just me being a dick again and wanting to fuck a girl madly, just so I can form an opinion about her?

I don’t know what it is but all I can really do about it now, especially since she rejected my proposal for friends with benefits, is keep piquing her mind. Maybe she’ll help me realize why I crush so heavily sometimes.

I check my account. New message from Laura. Awesome, got to read it twice!

---

Byron, the reason you’re OCDing about me is because of something you feel about yourself. It’s entirely you and you’re projecting onto me whatever it is you feel. I have already told you I don’t want meaningless sex with you or anyone. So why are YOU so provoked about this?

---

Almost unconsciously I write a sarcastic, insulting response, and then another comment about how I want to slide her panties off with my teeth.

But then I stop. As I delete the comment, I wonder what’s come over me. Deep down, I know that whatever this is, will pass. But it’s all I can think about right now.

As I stroke myself thinking about her tight mommy-jeans and what I could do to her if she just lets me, even for a second-

I suddenly realize what the issue is. She’s a therapist, and I’m one fucked up human being. Maybe what I felt all along is the need to talk to someone, share my problems and my rambling thoughts. Maybe that’s why she’s so damn good at what she does because she’s an expert at reading men, figuring out their stupidity, and then making them cry for their mommies.

Maybe I need her for a different reason than just another rough fuckathon. Maybe it’s time, to be honest with myself.

---

NO. I will not take you as a patient, Byron.

---

I react in surprise at her instant message, not sure why I was rejected for THAT, a legitimate inquiry into what she does for a living.

“Why? Isn’t that what you do? You even say on your website that you talk to couples, or men and women individually. I’m an individual. So why not?”

---

Yes, but it’s strictly unethical to combine a person’s business life with their personal life.

---

“Umm, correct me if I’m wrong, Laura, but I don’t think we HAVE a personal life. We’re not dating or shagging. So, unless you plan on pounding some stress out of me later tonight, wearing some sexy lingerie, I think my interest in you is purely professional at this point.”

---

No, it’s not professional, because you’ve already confessed your attraction to me. You wouldn’t take any advice I give you seriously because you insist on turning everything into a sexual context. I didn’t go to school for five years to just sit and listen to a man talk about my body while I give him sincere life advice. I could have been a whore if I wanted that kind of life.

“Call me, please. Nothing sexual, I promise.”

---

I’ve been waiting for about ten minutes and finally, she gives me a call. I don’t know if she’s calling me as a therapist, or as a woman who’s just sick of my bullshit, or just maybe a woman who is kind of interested in me. But whatever pity this is, I will take it!

“Thank you,” I say. “Seriously no more come-ons. I really just want to talk about stuff.”

“Then go find a qualified therapist, Byron,” she says.

I ignore the constant sexual thoughts going through my head. I promised her not to make things sexual, and I have to mean it this time.

“I want you AS my therapist,” I say. “I like you. You bring something out in me. I honestly don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing, but I feel the desire to talk to you.”

“That’s good but I am not qualified to give you professional advice.”

“Then DON’T,” I say firmly. “Not as a therapist. Talk to me just as a normal human being who cares about my life.”

She sighs again. “We don’t even know each other! You’ve already confessed the sole reason you’re interested in talking to me.”

“So what? Big deal. Every guy secretly wants to bang the girl he’s talking to. It doesn’t mean friendships can’t develop from that, you know.”

“Oh really? You want to be my friend now?” she says, laughing toward the end.

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Why do you seem to want sex from women that you have no connection with, no involvement in their life, and no apparent chemistry? Speaking of you, since you are your favorite subject.”

“Well, damn! That’s a deep question.”

“Why do you deflect when I ask tough questions? Why are you thinking dirty right now, instead of being honest with yourself?”

“Wow…you are really good at your job,” I laugh.

“I am really good at my job,” she says.

“Are you really good at other things?”

“None of your business. So, answer my question.”

“Part of it is probably the whole, rich-young guy gets laid by easy girls, makes a lifestyle out of it. So when I meet a girl, yeah, I guess subconsciously I’m thinking, ‘Let’s find her secret combination for sex.’ It’s like a video game or a quest or some Tolkien shit, you know? I must go on this journey, I must win. My dick and my brain are hardwired to joust. All my mental faculties just want to love and please women.”

“Right. You’re not special, most men feel the same way. Go on.”

“When it comes to you, I don’t know. You just seem to see through a guy’s bullshit. And that’s interesting to me.”

“It’s not, actually. But it says a lot about you. Do you push people away? Especially women, especially after sex. Do you lose all interest in them after you get what you want?”

“No. Well, I don’t know honestly. You blow a lot of money, you drink. You feed a girl bullshit lines because she WANTS to hear them. She wants sex and is too shy to admit what she wants it. I mean, I give her what she wants and then she leaves. Sometimes I leave first. Do I feel bad about it? No. Because NO WOMAN has ever called me in tears or professed love for me or anything like that. It’s just doing it, you know, it’s not love. They go their separate way, I go my way. What’s with this weird, socially constructed need to feel guilty about casual sex?”

“So, you feel that sex is only pleasurable when there’s no emotional connection?”

“I don’t know. I guess there were a few times when I felt something, but it wasn’t a real connection. Or else one of us would have said, ‘Hey, I kind of like this. Want to get married’? But then it’s like dad says, ‘Better sign that prenup, boy.’ I know dad, Jesus.”

She laughs. “Do you have any friends, Byron? Not people you party with or pay off. Just friends?”

“Tricky question. Because I have what I consider a lot of good friends, you know, guys I grew up with and all. But lately, they haven’t been very interested in my life. It’s like none of them give a rat’s ass what happens to me.”

“Do you have any idea why that is?”

“I don’t know. I think they’re too competitive. It’s like this weird thing about, I don’t know, they’re very possessive of their girlfriends and wives. And like. they get the feeling I’m a player or something.”

“Have you ever had sex with your friend’s girlfriend? Or wife?”

“Well…” I hesitate and chortle. “Umm…tricky question.”

She snorts at my logic. “No, it’s not that tricky, Byron. If you’re scoring with your best friend’s girlfriend, or wife, or whatever, you’re breaking the bond of friendship. You’re destroying the trust you had with that friend. All over a girl?”

“Well…see it’s complicated…”

“It’s not complicated! It’s just something you don’t do to a friend. If you feel no sense of loyalty to your friend, and would rather score with your best bud’s girlfriend, then you’ve shown them great disrespect. Do you see that?”

“I guess so. I mean, I could argue that but…”

“No, you couldn’t. Don’t argue. Just admit it.”

“Admit what? I get horny.”

“No, Byron. Admit you’re a narcissistic asshole. You drive your friends away with this behavior. You piss off women you meet, yours truly included, then you hit on us afterward. Sometimes you score and the ones you score with, you probably discard the next morning because you have no idea how to have a serious, adult relationship. Now, ordinarily I would tell you our session is over, but this is just a trial run for a therapy session. You know the problem. How much money do you want to spend to keep learning this lesson over and over again?”

“Damn, woman! Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”

“I did.”

“And did you enjoy it?” I say, snickering, still picturing her naked.

“I did, actually. And the answer is still no. No dating, no therapy, and definitely none of this FREE therapy anymore. If you want to change, go find a qualified therapist to talk to.”

“Well…”

“Or in your case, maybe a team of doctors.”

I laugh hard.

“Sorry,” she says. “That was not a professional therapist speaking. That was just me being a bit cruel. Sarcasm is my own issue I’m working on.”

“No problem, I’m bulletproof.”

“I doubt that. I gotta go, Byron. Talk to you later.”

“Why? I’m just sitting here in my pajamas. NOT naked, but you know, anything’s possible.”

She sighs. “Not falling for that.”

“Okay. I agree, no more free therapy. But can we talk for a few more minutes?”

“As what? A therapist or a friend?”

“A friend. Maybe it’s true what you said, I don’t have a lot of friends, or at least, close friends. I have business acquaintances, childhood friends, and friends that hate me.”

“Because you scored with their girlfriend?”

“Well, I promise you, it really is more complicated than that.”

“Hmm. Tell me then.”

“Tell you what?” I say, squinting my eyes, trying to figure out if she’s getting off on this at all, maybe even a little sliver of attraction to me?

“Tell me your sins, I’ll be your priest. But only for a few minutes.” She laughs softly.

“Well, her name was Annette. She was my best friend’s wife. And she was really unhappy.”

“Well, that’s terrible. If they were married…”

“No, like I said, it’s complicated. My buddy and his wife were married but in an open relationship. Like swingers, you know?”

“Oh! I see.”

“So, it wasn’t actually that big a deal that a guy was banging his wife. I mean, sometimes he would even show me naked pictures of her, you know, they were very liberal that way.”

“Umm, okay.”

“So it’s like if I wanted to hit that, my buddy would have been fine with it. And we did flirt a lot, me and his wife.”

“You live a very open lifestyle, don’t you?”

“Well yeah. I’m not a saint, honey. I mean…Doctor. I mean, Father.”

“Oh, shut up!”

“BUT the problem was, she was really unhappy. So, she confided in me and the more she would talk to me about her life, and her unhappiness, and well whatever it was, the more attracted I was to her.”

“Okay?” she says, sounding a bit miffed.

“What? I told you, my friend was fine with me banging her.”

“I just can’t fathom someone not caring that you were scoring with their partner! I mean, who lives like that?”

“Dude, I just got through telling you that sex doesn’t matter to people like us. It’s like, people make such a big deal about nothing.”

“Alright, just tell me the story then,” she says, still sounding sore about it.

“Well one day when I felt really attracted to her, I reached over and kissed her. And the mutual attraction between us was so intense, we couldn’t stop, and within seconds we were just ripping each other’s clothes off.”

Silence.

“You there?”

“YES. I’m here. Go on.”

“Well, she had really big breasts, so half the fun was just like trying to get that red bra off of her chest!”

“BYRON! I’m not asking for details of the affair. I’m asking why the friendship suffered. Especially if you were all swingers or whatever you call it.”

“Oh. Sorry. Well, basically we had sex and then uh, not to brag or anything…and uh, how should I say this politely…in a politically correct way…” I laugh heartily.

“Just say it,” she says begrudgingly.

“I last a really long time. I joke with my friends that I have an indestructible cock.”

She sighs. Then laughs for a good thirty seconds. “I take it back, Byron. Please don’t subject another therapist to these terrible stories!”

“I know, right! So anyway, I make this girl come so hard that my friend actually gets really mad. NOT because I betrayed him, but apparently, he was getting jealous that I made his wife that happy in bed. I apologized profusely. I really thought he was cool with it, but apparently, he was only cool with it on the condition that he was the best lover she ever had. And I can’t really promise that. I mean…”

“I…don’t know what to say about any of that,” she laughs. A little nervously, a little curiously. I can’t help but feel aroused at the idea that I’m slowly corrupting her. But it’s not even what I meant to do! I just really do like talking to her. And yet everything about my life, is all about reckless sex, money and partying, isn’t it?

“I ask you as a friend. Did I do something wrong in this scenario?”

“In theory, no. I suppose what happened was that you took your friend up on his foolish ‘offer’. And then he decided that he wanted to withdraw the offer, after finding out about your…staying power.” She laughs. “I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation.”

“Sorry if it’s too much information, but that’s like, one example of why my friendships go sour. NOT because I enjoy pissing people off, but because people are just…uh…I don’t know, what’s the word?”

“Most people are highly insecure. When you’re dealing with volatile emotions that result from sex -”

“Well, I just meant more along the lines of, people are jealous…of me.”

“Oh, are they now? Well, now you’re getting somewhere. You think everyone is jealous of you, your money, your free lifestyle.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s it.”

“That’s certainly the impression you gave me when we were arguing about the car. That you’re entitled to something because you’re so rich and so famous. You think you’re special and the rules don’t apply to you.”

“I wasn’t bragging. Just saying.”

“Just saying what? Go on, admit the truth.”

“Hmm, that my character, it intimidates people. Right? I mean, that’s why you won’t have sex with me.”

“Sex has nothing to do with what we’re talking about. But as you just said, you intimidate people and from what I can tell, you like that about yourself. You like throwing money at people. You like exploring and surpassing sexual mores. In simple words, Byron, you like being a young, reckless, sports car riding playboy. Does that make you an evil man? No. But it does affect the way people look at you.”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right. Hey, you want to hear about the time I had a threesome with two of my former high school teachers? Don’t worry, I was of legal age.”

“NO. I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Does it turn you on? A little bit?”

Silence. She didn’t say NO, did she?

“I just prefer not to talk about things like that. And as I said before, I think this conversation is over.”

“Okay. Thanks for talking to me. I do feel some real progress was made.”

“No, it wasn’t progress. You’re just doing what you always do. This is exactly why I will never have you as a patient, Byron.”

“Well-”

“And no, I’m not mad at you or messing with your head. You’re not really that important to me either way. I’m bored of this conversation and your endless stories of loveless sex. So goodnight.”

“G’night.”

God, what’s wrong with me? It’s like I get turned on by rejection. Am I really that spoiled that a woman-hating me is the ultimate aphrodisiac?

The weird thing is, she keeps saying that I dump women after I have sex with them. But that’s not true. As I always said, we just go our separate ways. So, one of my weirdest fantasies would be to have wild, crazy sex with Laura, mmm yes, and then just stick around to see what would happen.

What would happen, I wonder. Would I get bored of her and then go on womanizing like always? Or would she get tired of me? Or would we keep talking into long hours of the night, of the way boyfriends and girlfriends do?

Christ! don’t be so sentimental. You’re a Gallows boy, man! We’re not built for love and marriage. Well father was, I suppose, but he’s always been a cowboy who plays by his own rules.

Maybe Laura and I would just have amazing sex over, and over again. And keep going at it like rabbits, and then realize we have nothing else left to talk about. Maybe we’d fuck a hundred times and get annoyed at each other.

But would I regret it? Hell no! It would be friends with benefits like she calls it. Only thing is, she doesn’t want that. She told me so and I have to respect her wishes.

All right, I’ll play ball. If Laura really doesn’t like me, even a little bit, I won’t keep bothering her. I’ll let her go. I’ll give her one chance to forget me forever. And if she doesn’t call me or text me or contact me somehow, I will never write or call her again.

BUT, if she sends me the smallest and most insignificant signal, then it’s on baby. It’s on like Donkey Kong.

I owe her that. But part of me hopes, prays and dreams that she’s wanting me even a tenth as badly as I want her.