Sean Tillman hasn't been good enough for Rebecca Richmond.
My ride from Bayhealth Hospital is about fifteen minutes going south on Highway One. Becky and I live in a small subdivision called Water’s Edge, and the time it takes for me to get home is just the right amount of time for me to think things through. Again.
It’s been three days since my first session with Dr. Malcolm Colson, and I still don't feel like I can tell anybody that I’m seeking therapy. It’s not that I’m ashamed, but the reason I’m seeing him is just embarrassing. Maybe that means I am ashamed. I don't know, but what I do know is that I will keep seeing him.
Dr. Colson is like the spokesperson for all things sexy. Upon seeing him in the reception area of his office, I was actually taken aback by his presence. He’s a good looking man: tall and masculine with a well-groomed beard. He looks like he’s probably mixed with a couple of different races, because his skin has that exotic tan glow to it and he’s blessed with green eyes. Everything about him seemed right for the job of sex therapist. I know he does relationship therapy more than anything, but the guy has sex written all over him, so when I spoke to him, I felt like he knew what he was talking about and that I needed to listen.
I need Dr. Colson to be right on the money. Things between Becky and I have been a little tense since the last time we had sex the morning I met Dr. Colson. We haven't had sex since then, but it’s not because I haven't been trying, it’s because Becky seems to be not trying. Every time I’ve gotten a little too touchy in the overtly flirtatious way that I do when I want her to know I want sex, Becky backs away.
She’s been using all the cliche excuses lately: too exhausted, headache, sleepy, not in the mood, on or about to start her period, hungry, thirsty, feet hurt, haven't shaved, hands hurt from writing reports at work all day, skin isn't smooth right now, eyes are blurry, ears are sensitive, nails are too long, in need of a haircut. Okay, some of those aren't so cliche, but that only serves to alert me even more. She isn't interested in sex right now, and I can't help but think about how she left the room and slammed the bathroom door behind her last time. I must've really messed it up, and she must be really tired of me messing it up.
I’m only a few minutes from home now, as I see the sign for my exit ahead. I know Becky’s already there preparing dinner or something, and I’m determined to make tonight the night. I haven't forgotten what Dr. Colson told me about continuing to push when I have her on the edge, and I plan to put that into effect tonight. I’m not sure how I didn't think of that myself, but Dr. Colson already started proving his worth with that one.
It makes perfect sense, although I can’t remember why I felt the need to change things in the moment. Becky was obviously right there on the edge, but I changed everything up and she seemed to walk away from the edge with a disgusted look on her face as she left me there breathing hard, wondering what the hell just happened. Next time, it’ll be different. I’ll make sure she goes over head-first.
I’m steadfast in my desire to please Becky. She deserves it. Her job is demanding and she's often tired and frustrated from dealing with budgetary issues and needy doctors at work. When she gets home, she just wants to relax, and I want to be the one to make her feel good. I want to be able to end her day with something amazing. I want it so bad that I’m paying Dr. Colson fifty dollars an hour to teach me.
Determination aside, I have to make sure Becky doesn't find out about my therapy. As much as I want to perform better sexually, it would kill me if she knew I had to seek help from a therapist. What would she think of me if she found out I had to ask another, better-looking man for tips and tricks on how to fuck her? If she thinks little of me for not bringing her to orgasm, imagine how she’d think of me