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6
Hawk
Mynewshrinksatin front of me in, one long skinny leg crossed over the other, in an office that would win a Guinness World Record for most phallic decorations crammed into one room.
What the fuck was I doing here? I was struggling to keep my mind off Lila, using every ounce of control to keep my dick limp after our brief encounter in the elevator. Where was she now? Still in that bathroom she had dashed into?
“So, Mister…”
“Hawk,” I said gently while trying my best to appear nonthreatening. I averted my gaze to avoid giving her my usual death scowl.
It must have been working because she sat poised in her therapist armchair and gave me a warm smile as if we were friends talking over coffee.
She was a master at controlling her body language, hiding what she was truly feeling. I respected that about her. But the eyes were always the hardest to bluff with. I glanced up and spotted the dread creasing around her almond-shaped eyes. The same dread most people showed while in my presence.
Dr. Mae Hornby was thin, and her legs were so long that she was more legs than body. She had silky black hair and wore a pendant that looked like a golden Asian deity with three penises, one limp, one semi-hard, and the third was in a state of a raging boner.
She toyed with it between her thumb and finger, probably a nervous habit. “Mr. Hawk, why don’t you tell—”
“Just Hawk. No Mr.”
“Right, Hawk. Why don’t you tell me what you hope to gain from sex therapy?”
Fuck, this was a mistake. “Nothing.”
She eyed me up and down. “You seem the type of man who doesn’t waste time in idle chitchat. That’s great. Let’s get right down to the root of the issue then.”
I didn’t have an issue. I should have made one up before walking in here. Why did people go for sex therapy? The only reason I could think of was… “There’s nothing wrong with my dick.”
“No, of course not. I’m sure your penis is in tip-top shape.” She grabbed a plush eggplant toy from the side table and hugged it. “But sometimes the libido can get distracted by certain stressors…”
Was Lila a stressor? Was that why I couldn’t get her off my mind? It had been almost two weeks now. Each time I closed my eyes, I felt her soft body pressed up against mine, then my dick would get hard, no matter where I was, reacting like a pathetic teenager with a constant boner.
Maybe there was something wrong with my dick.
“…no need to worry. Temporary impotence—”
“What!” I yelled. “How dare you accuse me of impotence! I told you there’s nothing wrong with my dick.”
All I wanted was an excuse to run into Lila. To test my theory. It was easy finding out where she worked. A quick call to my contact at the volunteer committee for Lila’s last name. Then a simple internet search. Boom. All the info on her LinkedIn account from her university days to her current employment. These damn sites made it too easy for stalkers to track their victims.
Lucky for her, I wasn’t a stalker. But I sure as shit was acting like one today.
Dr. Hornby gulped, cowered in her seat, and dropped her eggplant. Waving her hands in denial, she said, “No. No. I didn’t say you had erectile dysfunction. I was simply listing off the reasons people generally consulted a sexologist for.”
Way to go, Hawk. Scare the nice shrink to death.
This was a stupid idea. I should leave this office.
This clinic.
And Lila behind forever.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as I thought about picking up her toy and handing it back to her, but I really didn’t want to touch the large stuffed purple eggplant. Who knew what she did with that thing when she was alone?
Instead, I avoided eye contact and angled my body slightly to the side in a non-confrontational way.
She let out a nervous laugh and straightened up in her chair, recovering her poise quickly. “As I was saying, there are several different reasons.”
