Page 85 of The Pleasure of Panic

“So you just come to terms with it. You make that incident your own personal catharsis and try to be a better person.”

I know what she’s saying is true. I get that. It all makes perfect logical sense. But my problem is— and this I can’t tell her, so she can’t help with it—my problem is… I never became that better person.

I’m still the same guy.

“Ready to go again?” she says, winking at me. Trying to lighten the mood.

And I appreciate it too. More than she knows. I just want to enjoy her right now. Just accept that this good thing came into my life and enjoy her before she figures out I don’t deserve her.

So I say, “So fucking ready,” and dive under the covers, scooting my way down her body, my hands reaching up to squeeze her tits, and the moment she opens her legs, I start eating her out.

I make her come all over my face. I sit on top of her, pinning her to the bed as I fuck her tits with my cock. And then I ease it into her mouth and watch her suck me off until I can’t take it anymore and make her stop.

And then I fuck her slow again.

I want her to think of me as a slow, careful lover. Even when I’m not.

We sleep, wake, order room service, fuck, and sleep some more.

And pretty soon the dawn is breaking and she’s groaning about sleeping longer, and I’m thinking, I wish I could keep you in this hotel room forever. I wish I could stop time. So you never learn the lies I’m telling. So you never see me as the man I really am.

But I want to pretend a little longer. So we do sleep some more. And we order room service for breakfast so we can stay in the fantasy a little longer. Live the dream to its fullest.

The problem with dreams is… you always wake up eventually.

So I’m gonna take her to Kansas. Today. We’re gonna buy a fuckin’ farm. Some beat-up old house with a falling-down front porch. The roof will leak, the floors will squeak, and the hot water will never really get hot.

But we won’t care.

We’re gonna raise chickens, and get a horse, and grow a garden.

Hell… maybe we’ll even grow a family.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - ISSY

I’m checking my email on Finn’s phone because the battery is dead on mine, and even though there’s a million messages about the seminar yesterday, I don’t even pretend to read them. I just hold the phone in my hand, stare down at it, and think. I need to make sense of this. Because it makes no sense.

I’ve known this man a day and a half and I’m rearranging my life for him.

Well, no. That’s not really true. I’m accepting his offer to navigate this Caleb bullshit alongside me.

And the only thing I can come up with that makes any sense at all is that… everyone wants to belong. That’s my feeling, anyway. That’s one of the major takeaways I’ve gotten out of this whole life-coach thing over the past several years. People are unhappy when they don’t feel supported and it’s hard to feel supported when you’re fighting for your life.

That doesn’t have to mean literally. Not everyone has had to fight like I did. The fight could be as simple—and overwhelming—as trying to pay rent, or heat your house, or feed your kids.

And if the sense of belonging isn’t there, then hopelessness takes over. There’s a big difference between being solitary and being alone.

I look over at Finn as we navigate our way back into downtown Denver and use him as an example. He comes from a family where blood means everything. Where loyalty is counted in the secrets you keep and success is earned by doing what you’re told. Even if that involves putting your life on hold.

This has to be the reason he wants to come with me today.

He’s given them enough and now he wants to take something for himself.

I see women come into my classes and seminars like this all the time. They got married, had kids, devoted years and years to taking care of other people and now… the husband left. Maybe cheated, maybe not. Maybe she cheated. The kids are older, no longer attached to her every second of the day. Or maybe she had no children. Maybe she had no husband. They are all different in that respect.

But the one thing they have in common is they feel lonely. They feel adrift. They feel lost.

But I don’t really care why the women come to me. I just want to help them find peace, whatever that means to them. The way I found peace in helping them. It just feels good to do that and I’m sad that there will be no more masterclasses in my future. The online stuff is nice, for sure. But it won’t ever replace the sense of pride I felt walking into that office on the first day, bearing witness to their broken dreams. Or the sense of joy it brings me when I watch them grow, and change, and blossom as the weeks and months go by. And there’s no man, no amount of money, no amount of personal success that can replace how I feel about them the day they graduate.