which makes it all so much more… wicked… 60 Minutes is probably heading for the door—any moment now! Her heart rate is climbing—while Norman keeps talking in a perfectly normal voice. “… and he tells his assistant he mustn’t be disturbed, no matter who’s calling, his wife, one of his daughters—he is not to be disturbed. Not even by her, his assistant, and he turns the back of this big, rich swivel chair he has, upholstered in the softest, creamiest leather, and rocks back in it as far as it will go and undoes his belt and his zipper and slides the pants and his boxer shorts down below his knees, and his poor ravaged little bloody cock is sticking up in the air, and so he does the only thing he can do. He grits his teeth and eats the pain, raw, and in no time he achieves the little spasm he now lives for—he actually tells me all this!… as if I actually need all these details in order to treat him—meeeahhh!” With that, he broke into another fit of laughter.
Magdalena said, “You sure you should be telling me all this about him?”
Not for a moment did Dr. Norman Lewis stop caressing her breasts. 60 Minutes! Any second now!
“Ahhahaaaaahh I don’t know why not,” said Dr. Lewis, trying to fight back his laughter. “Wee wee weeaahhhhHHH hock hock hock weee’re both licensed professionals working on his case, aren’t we? Hock hock hock hock hock hock ahhhHHH Hock hock hock hock.”
He was still bent over behind her chair. Now he moved around the chair until he could look into her eyes. He kissed her and sucked each of her lips very delicately, and continued talking, as if nothing else were taking place in this room aside from an elucidation of the behavioral symptoms in the case of Maurice Fleischmann.
“The moment he achieves climax, the moment any man achieves climax, every last neuron, every last dendrite of the excitement that just a moment ago gorged his generative member with blood… vanishes—vanishes!—just like that, all of that monomaniacal lust is dissipated. It’s as if it never existed. He’s incapable even of desire, our manly Maurice Fleischmann. He’s all business. He pulls his shorts back up and pulls his pants back up and zips them and buckles his belt and stands up and smooths his clothes down against his body… and looks out the window this way and that to see if anyone out there could have possibly seen him, and then he presses a button, and his assistant, out in the anteroom, picks up, and he tells her she can start putting calls through again, and he’s back to work wondering how what just happened… has happened… He’s back to work until his system revives, and those intervals are becoming shorter and shorter, and as soon as he revives, he turns the swivel chair’s back to the door, and he’s riveted to the screen again. It’s so simple, turning on the porn. He doesn’t need to pay anyone anything or supply his name and e-mail address. All he has to do is go to Google and enter www.onehand.com and hit SEARCH and he’s back at Xanadu, and his little blistered Excalibur is vertical and eager again, and he’s got a sex menu on the screen, whatever he wants, anal, fellatio, cunnilingus, coprophilia—oh, you bet!—and his entire existence on this earth is a longing for the spasm. Nothing else is real! And the time between visits to the pleasure dome becomes shorter and shorter, and he isn’t getting anything else done, and people start complaining that they can’t get an appointment to see our distinguished Mr. Maurice Fleischmann any longer. Of course they can’t! He’s busy self-destructing!”
Magdalena said, “This is all going on in an office?”
“It’s mostly in the office,” said Dr. Lewis. “Home presents all sorts of problems… and obstacles. The wife, the children, the complete lack of solitude. I mean, if our boy Maurice were to create a little room where he could have complete privacy, just him and his computer, that would rouse all sorts of suspicions, and you could be sure his wife would find out everything. Believe me, she would.”
One of Dr. Lewis’s hands, still inside her dress, begins descending, sliding this way and that over her lower abdomen. And then two fingers slip under the upper elastic of her bikini panties, which were only barely there to begin with.