Home, Haunted Home

I woke up in the middle of the night. The weight of someone sitting next to my feet pulled me back from my sleep, and I fell from the lush clouds of my dream and landed hard against my bed. I extended my left arm to my side and felt the shape of my husband sleeping placidly next to me. I also heard Momo, my dog, barking outside our room. Growling. Growling louder than that one time he defended me from the jaws of our neighbor’s dog. Growling with all his might and scratching the door. Save for Momo’s barks, the night was still. It was so still that I could hear the thump of my heart racing against my chest. Lub-dub, lub-dub. It was a symphony of growls and heartbeats that inundated the room, soaking the walls in thick anticipation. I was sweating. Cold sweat made my clothes stick to my skin, and somehow, I felt trapped. The darkness of the room pressed against my skin, asphyxiating me. The air reeked of a musty smell. It smelled like blood. I focused on the sensation coming from my legs and my feet and confirmed that the weight was still there. Something or someone was sitting next to me. It was not my husband, for he was lying next to me. And it was not Momo, because he kept frantically barking and scratching the door.

Is this a dream? It can’t be a dream. My sweat and the thumps of my heart feel real, I told myself. And Momo’s desperate growls feel real. I inhaled deeply and tried to swallow but then realized that my mouth was dry and that my tongue was stuck to the ceiling of my mouth. I remained still for some minutes, trying to shield myself from the world using my blankets. I tried to think of something else. I imagined Momo running happily on a green lawn under the golden sun during a tranquil afternoon. Momo was carrying his favorite toy in his mouth, and my husband opened the back door that led to our yard and started running after Momo. I spent some minutes contemplating my husband playing with Momo under the sun, but then I resolved to open my eyes. It had been enough. I had had enough of this. I had been experiencing the same sensation every night for almost a week. Someone or something came to sit next to me every night, and I needed to find out what it was. I held my breath and opened my eyes. A cold chill ran down my spine, raising all the hairs of my skin. My heart sank.

Standing in front of me was a young man.

It was a tall man, wearing a white straw hat, with his hair blonde as hay plastered against his head. His face was pale, so pale I could feel the mist of the night caressing my face and I could feel my blood freezing.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out of my mouth. The man, the figure, jumped upwards, with an unhuman elastic freedom, and then appeared right in front of my face. My blood was cold and gelid, so cold it could be said it was made of ice, and those ice shards clashed against each other inside my veins, and they could barely squeeze past each other to bring blood to my heart.

His face was pale, and his eyes were clear as the moon that shone outside.

I tried to scream again. This time, sound erupted out of my throat, and my husband woke up with a jump.

The figure swirled upwards, in less than a second, and rammed its dark clouds against the ceiling, and became a black fog that floated still in a corner of the room. I kept screaming.   Holding my hands against my head. I didn’t know what else to do. Momo kept barking and growling, pounding against the door. My husband was silent as if assessing the situation. He then put one of his arms around my shoulders and drove me closer. He then whispered to my ear that we were going to walk slowly towards the bedroom door. I kept looking at the corner of my room. Was it looking at me? It was certainly looking at me. I could feel the shadows lurking, swirling menacingly, and studying me. My husband rose up slowly from the bed, and ran towards the door, and opened it.

Momo rushed in, barking loudly and desperately. All the hair on his back was raised. Once he entered the room, Momo stood still for some seconds, and then, cautiously, started turning around to face the shadows. Momo growled deeply and slowly. He didn’t trust whatever was hanging from our ceiling. Then, Momo started walking slowly towards the corner. One step at a time. When Momo was very close to the wall, a few inches below the figure, the shadows bolted towards the end of the room and escaped through the open door.

Momo calmed down and his hair went back to normal. He turned around and ran towards us. He seemed relieved. He seemed happy. He jumped on our lap as he usually did when he received us after a long trip. He started licking us and pressing himself against our laps and jumping excited around the room. My husband turned on the lights of our room, and I confirmed that we were all alone. The shadows have left. The man with the white straw hat and with the eyes as bright as the moon had disappeared.

I couldn’t go back to sleep. Where was the man? Where had the shadow gone? I was anxious. I was nervous. Why had it sat on my bed? Was it coming back? Was it still inside the house? I remembered that one time my husband had mentioned using a Bible to guard against bad spirits. So, I ran towards the tall, wooden drawer we keep next to our bed and pulled a Bible out from the third drawer. I wasn’t the most faithful devote, my husband wasn’t either, and honestly, we hadn’t been to church in over a year. Yet, somehow, the Bible was the only thing that felt comforting at that moment.

I clung to the Bible and ran back to our bed and curled next to my husband. He pulled Momo on top of the bed with us and we clumped in a corner of the bed, protecting ourselves with pillows and blankets. I told my husband what I had seen before I had screamed. I told him about the man with the white straw hat and with the eyes as pale as the moon. He hugged me while I spoke because I was still shivering. I was still trembling underneath Momo, who was now sleeping quietly on top of my lap.

Why had I been experiencing the same sensation every night? Was I imagining things? I couldn’t have been imagining things. My husband seemed to have perceived something in the room, so I couldn’t have been imagining things. And Momo had reacted strangely. Momo had pointed exactly to the corner of the room where I felt the shadows were lurking, so I couldn’t have been imagining everything.

My husband rose from the bed and walked towards the corner of the room. He lit up some candles and placed them around our bed. He then walked back to our bed, and sat next to me, and asked me if me hugging the Bible meant that I wanted to make a prayer. It felt like a good idea. We prayed a Holy Father together. The words were coming out of my mouth soulless. We were both murmuring in the middle of the night. Once we finished, I started the prayer again. I felt like a broken record. My mind was blank, and I didn’t want to go back to sleep, so I repeated the prayer. My husband joined me one more time. When I was about to start the third prayer, he stopped me and held me by the shoulders.

“Anna, you need to stop and calm down.”

I tried to resume praying, but he stopped me again.

“Anna, look at me. This is worrisome. You said yourself that you’ve felt this same sensation seven nights in a row already. And you keep having nightmares.”

I remained silent. I had nothing to say.

“Maybe you should try going to see a psychologist. You know it has worked with me so far”

My husband was a journalist, and he had been held hostage by the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC in Spanish) for some months. He lived with the guerrilla, marching through the jungle under the rain, rolling through sticky mud at night, fighting mosquitos and fleeing the police for months, and fighting for his life. After our government discussed his release and he returned home, he experienced panic attacks. Green cars triggered him, shooting scenes in movies triggered him, and he experienced nightmares constantly. He always woke up screaming, in pain, feeling like someone was stabbing him. He went through therapy for PTSD for many years until our life recovered some of its normalcy.

I didn’t have a traumatic experience, though. Not one as terrible as his at least. My family environment hadn’t been perfect while I was growing up, but I doubted that was the explanation behind the shadows sitting on my bed.

I remained silent, then looked at my husband, and replied.

“Maybe I could try calling your shrink. We could schedule something for next week. And I could also try calling my sister and asking her how she managed her situation that one time”

My husband made a face. It wasn’t that he didn’t like my sister. Everybody likes my sister. She’s sweet and she’s respectful and she’s nice. But she’s a character. I guess you could call her odd. She’s the type of woman that fills her house with crystals to attract the good energies. She’s the kind of woman who scrubs her house once a year and then pours oils and lights incense to scare bad spirits away. Weird things just happen to her. And my husband and my sister only get along if she doesn’t bring up her weird stories. Otherwise, he just exits the room. He does the same thing when he’s around the rest of my family. He just can’t stand that much crazy, he always says.

“I know that you think she’s weird but—”

“Yes, she’s weird and if we bring her into this, things are bound to get weirder”

“Yeah, I know she can be weird sometimes, but things like this have happened to her before, and she has gotten rid of them. It doesn’t hurt to try”

He inhaled deeply and then sighed a long sigh.

“Yes, I guess it doesn’t hurt to try,"”, he finally said.

After our short conversation, I set the Bible aside and moved closer to my husband. He put his arm around me and pulled me closer. Momo joined us. We dozed off for some hours until the sun was bright outside and our room was warm. It was Sunday, and we decided to go to the market. Sellers in short wooden booths sold fresh produce. Fresh eggplants, bright red tomatoes, sweet oranges, and fresh basil leaves were displayed everywhere. Some women selling flowers shouted here and there trying to sell their goods. Momo was happy socializing with other dogs. Some kids approached us to pet him, and he was happy to receive attention from everyone. As I walked through the dairy section of the market, I checked some cheeses, feeling their surfaces and enjoying their smell. They had honey goat cheese. It had been long since I had tried goat cheese, but I refrained from getting some because my husband doesn’t like cheese. He’s lactose intolerant. So, I ended up buying some fresh tomatoes and a couple of onions. My husband bought chives for dinner. Once we were done buying vegetables, we walked towards a small coffee shop, bought the day’s newspapers, and sat down for a while. We chose a table outside to let Momo interact with the people walking by.

I checked my phone and called my sister. She responded right away, which surprised me. She usually woke up late in the day, right before sunset, to carry out her rituals.

“I’m so glad you called,"”, she said. I could feel her relaxing on the other side of the line, “I had a dream about you last night and I woke up all sweaty. And my horoscope said today that someone from my family was in trouble and needed my help”

Here we go, I thought. My husband was not going to like this. I decided to omit that part of the conversation to avoid any discussion.

“Are you ok? Do you need money? Are things good with Alejandro?”.

My sister was getting ahead of herself as usual.

“Things with Alejandro have been good lately. We’re good. We have been good for a while. We also don’t need money, so don’t worry about that. We’re well past the dark times of his PTSD”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s me. I’ve been having this...… this sensation. It’s not a dream. It...… it feels real. I’ve been having this sensation that someone sits on my bed at night for seven nights in a row. And last night, I saw it”

My sister gasped.

I told her about the man with the white straw hat and about his eyes as clear as the moon. I told her about how Momo’s hair was all raised when he entered the room. And I told her about how Momo had growled and barked until the shadows left my room.

My sister remained silent and then added “It does sound like what happened to me some time ago. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, I do remember it. That’s why I called you to ask you about it. I think you mentioned hiring a spiritist of some sort”

“Yeah, he came and cleaned my house. He said I had the spirit of a dead widow haunting my house. And he did some rituals and cleaned my place”

“Could you give me his number?”

She explained that the spiritist had changed numbers. Right before finishing her house's cleansing, he told her he had sensed someone was looking for him, and that he needed to leave town. He disappeared without further notice and changed his number. I was hopeless. The person that had helped my sister and that could help me was gone.

“You could still try looking through the newspapers. That’s how I found him last time. You know the classified ads section? There’s always a lot of witches and wizards and spiritists advertising there”

I promised to keep her updated. And she insisted on coming to our house the upcoming week. I tried to prevent her from visiting us to avoid upsetting my husband, but she insisted. Once I closed the call, I opened the newspapers we had just bought and looked for the classified ads section. As she had said, there were many spiritists advertising. “Arquimides, the Great Shaman”. “Amazonian Indian Wizard Yaravi”. “The Great Gypsy Witch of white, black and red magic”. “Arauca, Great Chief of the Jungles of Peru”. “Voodoo Witch of Haiti”. “Great Embera Shaman, healer of witchcraft”. All the ads had small pictures of the supposed spiritists. Some had glass balls next to their names. All of them advertised being able to fulfill unrequited love, to scare away bad spirits, and cleanse life of all suffering. Their ads occupied a sixth of the newspaper’s pages. There was a lot to choose from. I didn’t know where to start.

My husband realized what I was doing and tried to snatch the newspaper away from me. We fought for the newspaper for a while, pulling the pages back and forth. We didn’t care that people walking past us were looking at us judgingly. People sitting in the tables next to us had also stopped eating to watch us fight. He was fighting for reason and for science and for psychology, and I was fighting for feelings and for magic and for hope. Then we heard the crack. One of the pages ripped, and I was left with only a piece from a page from the classified ads section. My husband had won, and he was holding the entire newspaper, with a smile plastered on his face. But he had unknowingly helped me select among the spiritists.

Only one name and contact information were included in the piece of paper I was holding in my hand. “Powerful Santera* Angel of Light. Expert in Cuban Santeria and in solving extremely difficult cases. I help find huacas**, treasures, and exhumated tombs. I cleanse your house of all witchcraft, of any type of spirit and I fight any type of demon. My powerful rituals are the best solution to all your problems. Please call 6090-5585.”

Right at that moment, it started to rain. It was a soft rain at first, but then the droplets started getting bigger. I looked at my clock. It was 3 pm. It always rains at 3 pm in July. And the weather forecast had predicted it was going to be a thunderstorm. Dark clouds covered the sky like fat, grey sheep pasturing in the air. We had spent too much time strolling the market and reading the newspapers. I tucked the piece of information inside my purse, trying to hide it from my husband, and took out my umbrella. We ran to our car and drove home.

I called my husband’s shrink and scheduled a date for the upcoming week. I also requested a day off work, saying that I needed to solve some personal matters. Which was true in some way. I wanted the spiritist to visit our house while my husband was at work. I didn’t think he would approve of me bringing a shaman home and letting her carry out magic rituals.

That night, we ate pan-seared cod with spring peas and spring vegetables, all garnished with chives. My husband explained that chives pair delicately with seafood; they are oniony, but not overpowering. After dinner, we watched movies together for a while. Momo rested placidly on one of our couches. We watched one movie after another. I simply didn’t want to sleep. I feared to have an experience like the one from the night before. My husband insisted on going to bed. We both had work the next day after all, or so he thought. He turned off the TV and we climbed our bed. We let Momo into our room, and he squeezed his way between my husband and I. We all tried to sleep. The room was dark, but some light from the streets crept through the slits between our curtains. I kept looking at the ceiling, and I slid my hand under Momo and next to my husband’s hand, to give myself some strength. He pressed my hand against him, and then he fell asleep right away, leaving me behind with my anxiety and my nerves. Once he fell asleep, he let go of his grip. I kept looking at the ceiling. At one point of the night, the air of the room became rarified and cold. Then my heart sank.

There was the shadow again.

It appeared in the middle of the room, like a small, dark tornado. Swirling slowly and forming a tall column, like fumes coming out of a factory. I tried to scream, but no sounds came out of my mouth. I tried to move my hands to shake and wake up my husband, but my hands were not responding. I was frozen. Frozen in time. Immobile. Momo started growling, though his growls weren’t as loud as the ones from the night before. I wanted him to growl harder and to bark loudly to wake up my husband, but he didn’t. Momo kept growling quietly, while my heart was thumping louder with each beat. I was growing desperate. Since I couldn’t move or scream, I tried closing my eyes. But I couldn’t either. Life was forcing me to face this moment.

The shadows, which at that moment looked like strands of smoke, swirled closer and closer together until they fused to become a man. There he was. The tall man with the white straw hat and with his eyes as clear as the moon.

I tried screaming again, in the hopes that my second scream would wake up my husband, as had happened the night before. But no sounds came out of my mouth. The man started walking towards the head of my bed. Each of his steps accompanied by four of my heart beats. I tried moving my hands again, to wake up my husband, but I couldn’t move. Momo had grown silent. The night was silent and still, and the moon shone brightly. I braced myself for whatever was about to happen.

When the man was finally close to my face, he spoke softly, “Never hide behind a man”

He spoke ominously. His voice reverberating through the entire room. I had been expecting violence. I had been expecting being attacked. I had been expecting being tormented all night. I hadn’t been expecting an admonishment.

He must have noticed my surprise, for he added with a deep voice, “Don’t you recognize me? Or should I look older?”

As he said those words, strands of dark smoke swirled around him, and he started to age. His blonde hair turned gray, and wrinkles sprouted on his face. His straw hat, previously a Titanium white, turned a light ochre. And then, a fresh breeze carrying the scent of mint hit me in the face. I recognized him.

He was my grandfather.

My grandfather died a few months before my husband was kidnapped by the FARC. He had always been the strongest male figure in my life after my dad left home when I was little. He was my father in a sense. But he was very old already when I was born, and I had never seen pictures of him looking young. Thus, I didn’t recognize his figure as a young man.

He spoke again, “I see that you’ve calmed down”

My voice, which until then had been trapped inside my throat, finally came out. First softly like a strand of water, and then strongly like an old river.

“Why are you here? Is it really you?”, was all I could ask.

“I think that what you should really start asking yourself is what are you hiding”

My heart skipped. I thought of the spiritist cleanse I was hiding from my husband. I thought of the bits of conversation with my sister I had hidden from him too.

My grandfather sat on my bed and said, “There are things that you’re hiding even from yourself. You haven’t been yourself in ages. Your life has been revolving around your husband’s. This is not who I taught you to be. You are hiding things from yourself. Never hide behind a man. When was the last time that you made something because you enjoyed it? When was the last time you decided something for yourself?”

In the past five years, after my husband’s hostage, my life had been revolving around his. At first, I poured all my strength and resources to rescue him. I contacted all the authorities. I spoke about the FARC at news conferences to raise awareness. I quit my job and collaborated with the rescue teams. I traveled to Colombia to retrace his path. I was there to receive him when he was released. I then helped him reinsert himself back to his previous life. I changed my line of work and then helped him find a new job through some of my new clients. I was there for him when he went through his therapy. I was there for him when he woke up screaming at night, scared that someone was slitting his throat. I only focused on being there for him. I had only focused on being a good wife. I only focused on making him happy to make him forget the horrors of his past.

As if being able to read my thoughts, he added, “And has he been grateful for all what you’ve done? Does he see you?”

I remained silent at first and thought about this for some seconds. Then I answered.

“It’s been hard for him. He has gone through a lot of very traumatic things. And I’ve been a good wife”

“Those were four months out of a year more than five years ago. If I’m here, and you can see me, it’s because you’re hiding things. And you’ve been walking on eggshells. You need to decide if you choose to be able to see the world of the living, or if you want to see my world. You’re hiding things from him and you’re hiding things from yourself. You’re even hiding from your family. Maybe there are things that you don’t want to see. But you need to live. You need to be free. And you need to be seen. I’ll keep coming every night to sit on your bed. One day, you’ll stop seeing me. That day, you’ll know you’re happy”

Once he finished talking, he disappeared, enveloped in swirls of smoke. The shadows formed a tall column, which sprang and jumped to a corner of my room. The shadows sat still in a corner.

Momo slept placidly beside me, and I played with his soft fur for a while, looking at the distant outline of my husband. Moonlight shone through our windows, and the shadows of my grandfather kept looking at me from a corner of the room. I wondered how many more nights we would share the same realm.

Lust, Love, Love

I handed her the letter.

Dear Dr. Bennet,

I wrote this to fulfill my weekly tasks because I missed many appointments. As you said, I’m just exorcizing myself from my past, letting all the poisonous juices of my memories run out of my system. It’s a long-term detox regime. A soul detox. Like those bullshit all-liquid diets that become popular in California and doctors find later that they’re all full of shit. Like that, but for my soul.

In that way, my ghosts won’t be able to haunt me. And I will be free of all my baggage too---or so I hope.

-Emma

P.S.:   I know that missing appointments is not good for progress. I just have a hard time talking about these topics in general. You’ve got to admit it’s embarrassing. That’s why I decided to write it out and hand it to you. Thanks for being such a patient counselor.

July 15, 2011

He grabbed my face and ran his fingers across my cheeks. He then moved his face closer to mine, and we locked lips. A shock wave of pleasure ran down my spine, and I pressed my lips harder against his. I could taste the wine he had been drinking earlier, dry Porto, and his taste mixed with the lingering aroma of sweet sangria in my mouth. I haven’t been kissed in a long time, and my body had forgotten how pleasurable it was to feel the breath of an attractive stranger.

‘Have you had any penetration at all in the past few years? I don’t mean to be rude and I don’t want to imply anything, but have you used any dildos or vibrators at all? I need to know so that I can be gentle with you’

‘No, I have just been using my fingers and a small pill vibrator’

‘Then fingers it is’ he said, as he slowly rubbed his hand up my thigh, and let it rest there for some seconds.

I could feel the warmth building inside me, tingling between my legs. I pressed my lips harder against his, and he ran his hands again along with my legs, teasing me slowly. He then opened my legs and started reaching for the button of my jean shorts. I was running my fingers frantically across his head, feeling the silkiness of his hair. When the button popped open and I heard him undo my zipper, I quivered briefly in excitement. He then started caressing the few hair strands left after my bikini wax, slowly reaching downwards as the warmth kept building. Right when I thought that his fingers were going to reach for my lips, he moved them up again my thigh and touched my knee.

I started laughing. ‘You’re really teasing me’

‘We’re just having fun. It’s all about building excitement’.   He then removed his shirt. ‘And I’m really enjoying watching your face as I play with you’

He then pressed his lips hard against mine and reached again between my legs, finally caressing my outer labia, and rubbing close to my clitoris. I smiled in anticipation because his fingers had been close to touching it.

‘You’re already wet. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop torturing you’

As he slid his fingers back and forth around along my labia, I felt another wave of warmth and pressure building inside me.

‘This is sweet torture. I like this kind of torture’

He finally rubbed his fingers lightly on top of my clitoris, and locked eyes with me to watch my reaction. I could feel my clitoris being erect and tender, and warm and sensitive. I smiled, which prompted him to start rubbing me faster. First in diagonal motions, and then drawing circles around my tip. The warmth and the freshness of my own juices bathed me, and I felt the first shiver run down my spine. My mouth ran dry, and my back arched, and I smiled in sweet agony. Writhing with pleasure. He picked up the pace, moving his fingers swiftly up and down, and then around my magic button, as he slowly started removing my shorts. Soon my bottom half was naked, while the rest of me was melting around his hand. My hips were now dancing with his hand, and shivers were exploding down my spine faster. I couldn’t help the moans that were accompanying the increasing speed of his motion, and as I arched my back once again, I caught a glimpse of his lips curving into a smile. He stopped and smiled warmly at me.

‘Are you not going to take off your shirt so that I can have fun too? How selfish of you’, he said while smiling mischievously.

I reacted swiftly by removing my shirt, and just then I noticed I was covered in sweat already.

‘Nice bra. Lacy. You really did come prepared’

‘I’m glad you appreciate the effort’

‘Of course, I do!’, and he slid his hand inside my left cup, warmth enclosing my breast.

He then pinched my nipple and proceeded to remove my bra. He reached for my breast with his mouth and started sucking my nipple. I resumed running my fingers across his hair, and his left hand started running down south again. The sensory overload of having both my breasts fondled and my clitoris being played with started being overwhelming. My back arched again, and he began kissing his way from my breasts to my belly button. Kissing my cheeks, sucking my neck, kissing my clavicle bones, fondling my breasts, and finally resting his head on my belly button. He then planted a tender kiss in my lower belly before sinking his head between my legs. I then felt the warmth build up again and explode when I felt his tongue playing dangerously close to my clitoris. The tingling and the warmth intensified as he started sucking my tip, and his index finger slowly started finding its way inside me. My hips started flexing frantically again, as he intensified the thrusting with his finger, and as he increased the pace of his tongue. The pleasure was so intense that I stopped running my fingers across his hair, and now I was grabbing the sheets and pulling them while more moans came out of my mouth. My mouth was dry, the tingles running down my spine started becoming unbearable, and I felt I was going to explode from all the sensations I was experiencing, so I started begging him to stop. He stopped sucking me with his mouth, made eye contact with me, and smiled. I then felt how his hands reached again for my clitoris and the rubbing began again frantically, and my body stopped responding to me again.

‘Do you want me to go faster?’

I wanted to reply, but words didn’t form in my mouth. All that came out my mouth was moans. My body kept arching uncontrollably. He was smiling at me.

‘I guess you’re ready then. It’s been thirty minutes. And I’m already very hard’, he said as he removed his pants.

It took me some time to get up since my body had been overwhelmed with pleasure.

‘Yeah. I have condoms in my bag’, I managed to say

‘Oh, you came prepared with that too. Don’t worry, I have condoms with me too’.

‘That was really amazing by the way. You have fast fingers’

He grinned. ‘We all have fast fingers in this age of cell phones. I also need fast fingers for my job. Plus, we went at it for half an hour’, he said as he laid on his back, allowing me to see his erection.

‘Does this mean that I’m going on top?’, I asked

‘Well, you haven’t had penetration in a long time, so I think this would be more comfortable for you. Unless you have a preferred position or a position that you want to try’.

I had explained to him earlier that I was sexually inexperienced, and my few times having sex had been uncomfortable.

‘Could we try doggy style? Though I guess I could return the favor first’, I said mischievously, before I started kneeling to get closer to his erection. I smiled, locked eyes with him, and slowly licked the shaft of his penis.

‘Oh, you're naughty. I wasn't expecting you to give me a blowjob right away. Won't complain though’, he said with a grin.

It had been a while since I had a guy's member inside my mouth. Which was a pity, since I enjoyed giving head. Most women gagged at the mere thought of pressing their lips around a guy’s erection and would only agree on doing it whenever their boyfriends pressured them to do so. Which was an asshole move from their boyfriends, and which was also a shame since blowjobs could be enjoyable for the girl too? They weren't a submissive move for me; they were a power move. Guys had to completely put their trust on me before allowing me to put my teeth so close to their masculinity, they had to trust that I was only going to caress them and make the best effort to provide them with pleasure.

“Can you please pass me my purse?”

“Your purse?”

“Yes, I brought strawberry-flavored lube with me! I was just trying to spice things up”

“Strawberry-flavored lube?”

“What’s the problem with it? It makes things more enjoyable for me. Thus, it makes things more enjoyable for you. You shouldn’t complain about it”.

He passed me my purse, which I opened. It had some of the sex toys that I had purchased in a drunken haze. I reached for the slim, black box containing the strawberry lube, opened it, and poured some of it on my hands, and proceeded to spread it on his erection. I then kneeled between his legs and licked the shaft of his penis first. The lube tasted like candy. Like strawberry-flavored cotton candy. His dick was a sweet lollipop throbbing inside my mouth.

I started sucking at first, pacing my breath to create a rhythm. One, two, three, four, and deeper. One, two, three, four, and deeper. I started with sets of four and started escalating until I reached sets of thirty. My jaw was starting to get tired, so I transitioned to using my hands briefly.

‘I haven't given blow jobs in a while either, so I get tired easily. I probably suck at this as you can tell. No pun intended’

He just smiled. ‘I mean, you're trying, and I wasn't expecting this. Do you want me to do doggy style now? I'll let you decide since you're the one who is less experienced, and I get off watching you enjoy”.

‘No let me keep doing this for a while since I enjoy this, and then we can transition,"”, I said as I teased the tip of his penis with my tongue and proceeded to lick it around the head.

I then looked up at him and made eye contact. He was biting his lip. I then focused my attention on making a repetition of patterns. One, two, three, four, and deeper. One, two, three, four, and deeper. The strawberry-lubed certainly made the whole endeavor more enjoyable.

After a while, he shifted to his side, and we shifted positions together. He then extended his arm to reach between my legs, touching close to my clitoris. I was so aroused already that I could feel his fingers slide easily over my wetness. He then started to rub me faster, and it became hard to concentrate on the strawberry-flavored lube and on the sucking pattern that had allowed me to create a rhythm. His finger movements became faster and more rhythmic, and I felt the tingles building up again.

“If you’re going to keep teasing me like this, we might as well just start using the condoms now”

He smiled a broken smile, and reached for a condom packet, which he opened, and then proceeded to put a condom on his erection.

“Sit on me”

“Sit on you? Why are you giving me orders?”

“It would be easier for you since you can control how fast you take me in, and then we can switch to doggy style”

Reluctantly, I did as he had asked because it somehow made sense. Only because of that. I had read in a magazine that ‘cowgirl’ position eased penetration for girls, so maybe he had a point.

I positioned myself on top of him, and slowly guided his erection inside of me. My body welcomed the fullness, and I started rocking my hips back and forth. The swaying movement made his penis touch the front wall of my insides, sending a swirling and warm sensation that mixed with the light pleasure that was coming from outside of me. I then noticed that he had resumed rubbing me while I rocked on top of him, and he then reached for my nipples and pinched them. The overload of sensations started building in the back of my neck, and slowly started traveling down my spine. I could feel the blood rushing to my pubic area, and my tingles around his hand joining the shivers running down my spine. I leaned my head back as I lost control of my hips, which were rocking back and forth frantically, in a sweet frenzy exacerbated by the pleasure of feeling his erection touch a spot of tenderness inside me.

I could feel the sweat running down my chest. My hips were still rocking frantically, and I had to switch my weight onto my arms because my body was getting tired of the swaying motion. He then incorporated and helped me turn around.

His arms were strong, and I felt light when being handled by him. Light and feminine. And desirable. I was now facing the bed, and he was behind me, touching my back and fondling my breasts. He planted a kiss on the small of my back and then proceeded to play with my clitoris once more. He started making circles around my vagina with his fingers, and there was no doubt I was wet and ready for him.

Soon, he was inside me, hitting against my pleasure spot. The previous feeling of fullness and satisfaction and tenderness and swirling shivers running over me and originating from many places started invading me once again.

He started slowly, and when I least expected it, the movements became faster. I buried my head on the bed, pulling at the sheets as the waves of pleasure traveled through me. The faster his body danced, the more my body craved the movement. The faster my body expected the pleasure to come. I kept moving my head and trying to muffle my moans on the bed sheets. I kept tugging at the bed sheets because I felt my body was going to explode with each thrust.

Soon, I was moaning in harmony with his rhythm. We were both the same lust-driven beast, riding the horizons of pleasure, and I kept writhing and moaning, and deeply aware that I had been kept away from exploring these hidden pleasure havens inside my body for three years.

“Do you like to have your hair pulled?”, he asked between breaths

“Yes,"”, I managed to reply between moans

I haven’t even finished my reply when I felt his stronghold arching my head back. Forcing my head back. The rawness of having my neck arched and my body positioned in place made the fact that I was being taken more real. An attractive man found me desirable, and his lust had driven him to take me. He was taking me. And we were lust driven, and his strong arm was pulling my head and was sending shivers down my spine. It was all raw, and fast, and real. It was the same chilling sensation that you get when you feel the strong gaze of someone standing right behind you, but warm. A warm, embracing gaze, and the awareness of the strength of the man driven by lust hitting against the tenderness of my insides. My body was moaning harder. I was moaning harder and louder, but I had no control over it. The swift clitoral orgasms were dancing together with the deep vaginal orgasms, as I was swaying back and forth with his hips. We were dancing together frantically; I was moaning, and he was grunting, and both our breaths were coordinated and rhythmic and heavy.

 If at the beginning of the night I was worried that my moans were going to be heard by the guests in the contiguous rooms, I no longer cared. I could no longer care. I was no longer in control of my body. Pleasure had taken control of my body. Pleasure had taken ahold of me.

Pleasure had taken control of us. Lust was driving us. And there was no way I could make my moaning stop.

“I’m going to come soon,"”, he said, panting.

“Ok.”

He kept thrusting frantically, and once again, I felt my body was going to explode. I started doubting this amount of pleasure could be manageable. It wasn’t manageable. That’s why my body was releasing the sensation with my moans. It was warm and tingly and shivers and deepness and fullness and rawness and tenderness all at the same time.

Soon, it was over.

I felt him let go of his grip, and I felt my body resume to its usual emptiness, and then I felt light headed again. I felt airy and light. He grabbed me by the waist, pulled me closer and planted a kiss on my neck.

I was too tired to react.

He then proceeded to remove his condom and headed to the bathroom while I looked around the room for a glass of water. There was a crystal pitcher with cold water and some glasses next to the microwave in the suite. I drank the first gulps frantically because my mouth was dry and my head was still dizzy.

“Do you want some water?”, I managed to ask.

“Yes, please,"”, he said as he turned off the bathroom lights and headed towards the bed, curling next to me.

I handed him a glass full of water as I moved closer to him on the bed, and he shifted to allow me to put my head on his chest. I could hear his heartbeat. Still beating fast after our previous adventure but starting to become a strong and steady beat. I relished the warmth of his embrace.

More than the rawness of the sex, I craved the sudden bliss of the afterglow. The exhilarating rush of the comfort of feeling safe and warm next to a person you had just shared your nakedness with. A person with whom you had just shared a moment of playfulness and pleasure. I repositioned myself to be more comfortable on top of his shoulder, and squeezed his arm, tracing his bicep.

He grabbed me closer and placed a tender kiss on my forehead. We spent some minutes like that, embraced in silence, and enjoying the bliss.

“So, what do you think of the sex?”

“I think it was good.”

“You think?”

“I think. I don’t know! Don’t make fun of me for giving you feedback! Now, go to bed because I need to sleep. Unless you want me to leave you alone and go and take an Uber and curl up in my room.”

“You have to admit that I have a killer room. Nice, orthopedic king bed. Lush bedsheets. If you leave it’s your loss.”

“Oh, shut up. Good night!"!”, I said as I pulled the blanket around me and he shifted to spoon with me

“Goodnight.”.

Dr. Bennet folded the sheets of paper and placed them on the glass table in front of her. She then looked at me.

“This is very...… detailed, Emma. You should consider writing erotica.”

I laughed, “who would want to read things written by a crass woman like me, Dr. Bennet?”

“You’d be surprised,"”, she smiled and grabbed her notepad.

“It seems that you had a good time. You didn’t have any flashbacks like other times. Please tell me more about it.” “

“I don’t know. He was nice. We talked. He...… he made me feel comfortable, I guess. I felt safe”

I paused to ruminate over those words. I haven’t been feeling safe in a long time. After my parents died, and the accident, and the...... I haven’t felt safe in a long time. I couldn’t bring myself to trust people. It even took me a long time to trust in Dr. Bennet, even though I knew she was my therapist and I was paying her to help me.

“I think that’s the key word here,"”, I added. “I felt safe around him. And I haven’t felt safe in a long time.”

“That’s a good way to put it. What do you think makes you feel safe about him?”

“I don’t know. He asks a lot of questions and I have the feeling that I can ask him to stop at any time”

“And that’s really important for you.” “

“Yeah, I think I never had that before,"”, I moved uncomfortably in my chair, “most men are just full of crap”

She smiled a soft smile, “Not all men are the same, we’ve talked about this. But it’s good that you found him then. Especially if you feel safe around him. What I’m worried about is that at the beginning you said you wanted something more meaningful. Like a relationship. But all of what you’ve told me about this guy so far is just sex.”

I sighed, clasped my hands together and placed them on my lap before replying.

“But what’s really in a soulmate? Are you actually fated to only experience profound love for one person in your entire life? The feelings that you experience for different people are certainly different. The dynamics of the interactions vary vastly. But at the end of the day, we are the sole decision makers of whom we decide to care for, and the depth of that care is what determines who we love. We certainly regret not loving certain people as deeply, and we go through our lives wondering if we should have held onto a person that we let slip due to petty disagreements and life circumstances.”

“Yet we all crave support and feeling that someone cares about us and that we're seen for who we are,"”, replied Dr. Bennet. “I’m not criticizing you in any way. In fact, I’m proud of you for the progress you’ve had so far and for being able to enjoy sex again. I’m just trying to bring to focus that we’re straying from the path to meet the goals you had stated at the beginning of your therapy sessions with me. You did have sex as a goal with your previous therapist, but I’m here to help you with your emotions.” “

“I do crave to be seen and to be heard and to feel that someone truly cares about my day-to-day...… but it’s hard ,"“, I grabbed a tissue from the tissue box that was lying on a table close to me. “It’s hard to date with a mental illness. I can’t go into a date and be super straightforward and say ‘you know, I’m broken, I’m crazy, and I want you to accept me fully with my bouts of depression and my flashbacks and my occasional delusions‘. It’s bound to scare people away.”

“First of all, you’re not “broken,"”, or “insane” or “crazy”. We’ve discussed that those words are offensive and dismiss and disrespect people with mental illnesses. And yes, it can be a challenge to go out and date a neurotypical, especially if you are tempted to say in the first date that...… you have special emotional needs,"”, she placed her notepad down once again, “but it’s possible. Some of my other patients have had success stories. You just have to keep trying. There are dating sites for people with mental illness. We’ve talked about No Longer Lonely.”

“And I will try No Longer Lonely once I give up on dating someone in a regular way.”

“I just think that dating other people with similar experiences and exposure to these problems might be easier.”

“Isn’t love a form of mental illness anyway? People love others despite it going against their best interests. People love others even when they’re not reciprocated and lose fortunes trying to secure feelings or a failing relationship. People do experience delusions thinking someone else likes them and go in bouts of jealousy. People kill others or kill themselves in the name of love and it’s all supposed to be romantic and epic and oh so perfect. But can’t these things be labeled as crazy too? So, isn’t love a form of mental illness?”

Dr. Bennet smiled. “Freud did call love the psychosis of the normal. And many people can react in imbalanced ways of being rejected or not appreciated. But to call love a mental illness is to trivialize a fundamental human need.”

She looked at me in the eyes and we remained in silence for some minutes. I studied her grey hairs and the lines around her eyes and how some creases formed around her mouth. Her hair was knotted in a loose bun atop her head, which gave her an elegant demure, but was unusual in her because she always let her hair down, flaunting her mermaid waves.

“Have you ever loved, Dr. Bennet?”

The question may have taken her by surprise, for she looked at me for some minutes, puzzled.

Despite having seen many counselors and psychiatrists all my life, I seldom asked them personal questions. Some of them politely declined or changed the topic, so I wasn’t expecting Dr. Bennet to address my question. I had blurted my thoughts out of sheer curiosity.

Dr. Bennet smiles warmly at me. 

“I have. I loved my parents, of course, as I was growing up. I loved some friends. And naturally, I still love some of my friends. I got married to a man I loved for many years, but things didn’t work out in the end and we divorced. I don’t judge myself for it. Why would I? Life is not a fairytale. And it...… it has taken me, or it took me some time, to balance everything out once again. But here I am. And of course, I love my children. They can be stubborn and they can take decisions I don’t completely support, but I love them”

“So even you have struggled for love.”

“Of course I have. We all do. Nobody said it’s perfect. I think the difference lies in how you deal with the setbacks. Because there are going to be setbacks, dear. It’s normal to experience them. You just need to deal with them in healthy ways. And ask for help and guidance when you need it. That’s why we’re here. There's therapy for therapists, you know? So we all need extra support from time to time. It’s just...… normal”

I looked at the lamp standing behind the tissue box and focused my attention on the tissue box once again, wondering if I needed to reach out for more. But the tissue in my hand was still crisp and serene, as was I.

“So, I think it’s been more than an hour. Would you like to set up goals for our next meeting? Or maybe you want to discuss a different meeting schedule since you’ve had had trouble keeping up with the schedule that you had set before? I like that you’re writing down details of what you’ve been going through. I think we can incorporate that into our sessions if you like that….”

It was raining outside, and droplets of rain smashed their heads against the glass window.

Dr. Bennet showed me her computer screen, which was displaying her calendar for the upcoming month and she pointed at the empty time slots. I picked Mondays at 3 pm and Thursdays at 5 pm.