Couples Therapy Vol. 01

This story will sound a little crazy, and if it hadn't been my life, I probably wouldn't believe it! But it's a true story. To understand, you need a little backstory about me, and my family. Bear with me, it'll take a little explaining for this to make sense. I'll tell you about me, and introduce you to my family – or at least my Mom, later. I was a wild child. Not a bad student, not a bad person, but I was wild. I had boyfriends (a lot!) and I did what I wanted. Not all of those "boyfriends" turned out to be great guys, and while I always had fun, I also ended up with a certain attitude about guys, and relationships, and not all of it was completely healthy. I'm not that girl anymore; like all of us, I grew up. And because of one particular guy, and almost losing that guy, I grew up to have a real relationship, the kind people dream about having. I'll you the story of almost losing him another time. This is the story of how I got him.

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I had known "Rich" in college, but not very well. He was two years ahead of me at a good-sized school, but he played football, and was in a big fraternity, and sometimes we ended up at the same parties. He was handsome, a good student, an athlete, president of this or that, got awards, and was the kind of guy that everyone knew was going to have a great career and a perfect wife and live in a nice house in the 'burbs. When we ran across one another, it was usually about the time that he and the boys were settling into a drinking game and I was slipping out to get on the back of a motorcycle and head to a place that was lit – if at all - only by flashes of strobe.

So, to make a long story short, Rich and I never hooked up. He was (I assumed) busy dating cheerleaders, or a valedictorian, and I was dating a guitar player, or a bad boy professor. If I had thought about him, I probably thought that he would have thought I was a slut who wasn't good enough for him. And I thought he was boring. If I had paid attention, I would have learned he had an incredible body, was whip smart, and was as adventurous as I was. I might also have learned he was a badass with a sarcastic sense of humor and a cock that went on for days. If this were a superhero story, it would be as if Clark Kent's alter ego, instead of being Superman, was Deadpool. (Minus the facial burns. But I still love that movie!) But college ended, life went on, and I had no idea what I missed. Until a few years later, our paths crossed again.

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I had two gigs, one of which was hostessing parties. (Basically, I was a concierge for private parties. I gave orders to waiters and waitresses, called limos, looked after music or other entertainment, and made sure everyone had a good time.) That night was a corporate gig that started with cocktails, moved through dinner, and then to a club. I was to stay through dinner, get them settled into a nightclub, and job done.

Usually these things were pretty tame. People were polite, they were happy to have me there to laugh at jokes, or make jokes, and talk about how wonderful the wine selection was, and that the chef had won this or that award, and basically make sure they felt good about the piles of money they were spending. This occasion wasn't any different, except for one guy. He was big, really big, and he was loud and obnoxious. Other people at the party kept him in check at first, but after a while the booze got to him. He was no longer listening, and he was even getting belligerent with his friends.

Sometimes, if I was enjoying it, I would stick around after the job was done. But "Big Guy" was bothering me heavily by this time, and I wasn't hanging around any longer than necessary. I was chatting with the staff, and was about to turn back to say goodbye to the guests, when someone touched me on the elbow. I spun around, thinking it was Big Guy, and started to tell him off. But it wasn't Big Guy. I was face to face with a tall handsome guy. He looked vaguely familiar.

He said, "Hello Kat" and put out a hand for a very business-like shake. When he realized I didn't remember his name, he didn't say anything more. He just smiled a little half smile and let me squirm.

He was dressed like a downtown professional, so I figured we had met at a party like this one, but I couldn't place him. I had taken up the handshake and was about to apologize for not remembering his name, when he smiled a little wider. "The last time I saw you, you were walking out the door with the lead singer of 'Forever Friday'."

Context clicked.

"Rich. Football team and fraternity president."

He smiled again. For the first time, I noticed his eyes. They twinkled with secrets they weren't telling.

He looked at me and said, "That seems to be what most people remember about me."

I caught the slight emphasis on "most". I felt that little jolt of interest from deep inside, but at that moment, there was a loud crash from the private room.

"Uh oh. I better go."

I turned to go, but we were still in the handshake. He held it for just a second, and I looked back at him. Direct eye contact, and once again, that little jolt from deep inside.

"I hope I run into you again" he said. Then he turned away.

I was a bit distracted as I hurried back to my group. One of the guests had overturned a serving tray, and then dropped it again trying to pick it up. A busboy already had it mostly cleaned up, and I regretted having to break away from Rich for nothing. I walked over to say good night to the guy in charge of the group. He was apologizing for the mess, and thanking me for the lovely evening, when Big Guy shouldered his way in.

When I say big, he was probably 6'8" and easily 300 pounds; the type of guy who had been an athlete because his size made it easy for him, but he didn't work enough to go pro. Put him on the field with a real athlete as big as he was, and he didn't stand a chance.

"You need a ride home or anything?" he asked me. "I'm happy to help, you know, if you do."

"No, thank you. I drove myself." As soon as I said that, I regretted it, knowing what was coming next.

"Well, I was about to leave anyway. I'll walk you to your car."

He was proud of himself for maneuvering that in a way that was hard to say no, but the other guy actually stepped up.

"Kyle, I need you to help me get the rest of these clowns on their way. They're pretty hammered."

Big Guy frowned, I smiled, and headed out. As soon as I stepped through the employee's only door, I breathed a sigh of relief. I carry pepper spray, and I like to think I'm tougher than most, but let's be honest: Big Guy could have twisted me into a pretzel and there wouldn't have been a damn thing I could do about it. I didn't know for sure how far he would have taken things, but he was definitely going to ask, and I was definitely going to say no, and after that, it would have been up to him what happened next. That made me scared, and being scared made me mad, and that didn't leave me in a good place. I made a quick pit stop in the bathroom, handed out some tips to the club staff, and headed for the garage.

I pushed open the heavy door from the stairwell and stepped out onto the parking deck. My car was a short way up the ramp, and I had gone a few steps when something struck me. I hadn't heard the boom of the door behind me. The door had not closed. I quickened my step and risked a look back with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was Big Guy.

"You're not runnin' away are you?" he said. His speech was a little slurred.

"I'm going home" I said.

I kept walking. My car was only a few feet away. He followed.

I was at my car and hitting the button on the fob as he was closing in.

"I said I'd walk you, didn't I? Jus' tryin' to do something nice and you act like it's the end of the world."

"Sorry, I'm just tired."

Sorry? Sorry?!? This asshole wants to follow me around and I have to say sorry? That was fear talking. And, once again, being afraid was making me mad.

"Alright, well as long as you're sorry, you can, you know..." he shrugged his shoulders "...you can make it up to me."

A hot spurt of anger flared through me.

"Get the fuck away from me" I said. "I don't have to make up shit to you!"

He was right in front of me now, both of us standing at the trunk of the car. We were face to face and I wasn't backing down. He started to an angry look on his face, and it was only then that I realized, for the second time, that I still hadn't heard a sound from the stairwell door. A second later, it boomed closed.

I jumped at the sound. Big Guy turned around.

Walking briskly up the ramp was Rich. I had never been so fucking happy to see somebody in my life. He walked up to us, looking right at me, and ignoring Big Guy.

"How are you, Kat?" he said, as if there was nothing going on.

My mind raced. Now I had to think about what happens next. Rich was an athlete and muscular and he looked great. But this guy was six inches taller and 100 pounds heavier, and I was sure he was a lot meaner. This might get ugly fast.

"I'm fine. I'm tired and I'm going home."

Big Guy turned to face Rich directly. "She says she's fine, asshole. Take a hike."

Rich stopped. He was still looking at me, and a ghost of smile played across his face. I watched Rich swivel his head slowly around, stopping when he was facing Big Guy, and at that moment I knew I wanted his cock inside me.

Big Guy put his hands out and grabbed Rich by the shoulders and started pushing him back. There was no stopping that much weight and Rich backed up, but both his arms came up between Big Guy's arms and broke his grip. Rich came up with an elbow smashing right under Big Guy's chin. That stopped him, but he was still standing. Rich punched him in the face but then Big Guy got hold of him. Rich tried to twist away but Big Guy ended up bear hugging him from behind. If he'd been smart, he would have just dragged Rich to the ground, but instead, he lifted Rich completely off the ground. Rich snapped his head back, smashing it into Big Guy's nose, which started gushing blood. He went down, dragging Rich with him.

Rich landed on top, and started punching the shit out of Big Guy's face and he was totally bloody, opened up at the lip and one eye, and bleeding from the nose. He grabbed Rich again to try to stop his swings, and they were rolling on the ground like kids on the playground. That's when I remembered my pepper spray.

I sprayed at Big Guy from two feet away. He screamed and covered his face, and started scrambling away. I kept following him, spraying the whole way, until he disappeared down the ramp.

I turned back to Rich. His back was turned, and he was heaving in great gasps, one arm on the bumper of my car. He was trying to get up but kept sliding back down. His pants were torn and bloody at the knee. I came around to see him. His eyes were red, blood was dripping from his mouth, and tears were streaming down his face. His shoulders were shaking.

"Are you alright?" I put my hand out to touch his face and he jerked away.

"Don't touch me!"

Shit. I had gotten him in a fight, and he was justifiably mad. If I hadn't led that asshole out here, Rich wouldn't have been in this mess.

"I am so, so sorry. What can I do? Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? I WAS alright. Shit, Kat, I was doing fine until you tear-gassed the shit out of me!"

He held up a hand to keep me at arm's length. His shoulders were still shaking, but when I got a look at his face, I realized: he was laughing.

"If you touch me, you're going to get this crap all over you."

I stopped.

He kept laughing, which was now looking weird because blood was dripping out of his mouth.

"I was just about to open up a can on that stupid motherfucker!"

"Oh my god. What the fuck are you talking about! He could have killed you!"

The laughter was subsiding now, and he managed to get up by hanging on the back end of the car. He took a deep breath, and then winced in pain. "Fucker broke my rib!"

Apparently that was funny, because he laughed again, and that of course hurt, so he doubled over, clutching his side. Slowly he straightened up again, and this time managed to stay upright.

The laughter subsided, and he started breathing a little more normally.

"Shit that hurts." He spat some blood onto the concrete. I handed him a tissue. He looked at for a second, then shook his head.

"Got any water?" He waved the tissue at me. "This will just move the pepper spray around."

I had a water bottle in the car, and I reached in to get it. As I backed out of the car, I saw him looking at me. He wasn't trying to hide it.

"Were you looking at my ass?" I asked him.

"Most definitely" he said, nodding. "You have a great ass!"

"Are you drunk?"

"Most definitely" he smiled a big smile. "Know how you can tell?"

"You were staring at my ass without trying to hide it?"

"Nope. You have an ass worth staring at, drunk or sober, Kat. I've always thought so."

He stopped.

"Then what?"

"What what?" he replied.

"Then how am I supposed to tell you're drunk?"

"Oh yeah. That. You can tell I'm drunk, because if I were sober, I would have dropped that guy like a sack of shit, and he wouldn't have laid a hand on me!"

That must have been very funny, because he started laughing again, and then he doubled over in pain again, and started gasping for breath.

"You shouldn't be driving, should you?"

"No. No, I should not. That is a very perspicacious observation, Kat."

I don't think I had ever heard anyone use "perspicacious" in a real conversation before, but I was more than happy to give him a ride – in fact, I was dying to get him alone.

"Come on. I'll give you a ride."

We got him in the car, and he was pouring a little water in his hand, and wiping it on his face, and using tissues to dry it.

"Rinse, dry, repeat" he giggled.

I would have had no idea he was drunk at all from talking to him at the club. Maybe getting punched by a huge guy in a parking garage added to the high? I don't know, because I've never been hit like that, but I am pretty sure it would have killed my buzz.

We turned out of the garage, and he gestured to the right. I turned and started up the street. We had gone a block when he said, "Pull over."

I thought he was going to puke. I wouldn't have blamed him. I swerved over to the curb. He opened the door and put one foot out.

"Thanks for the ride."

"What?"

"I said thanks for the ride."

"What are you talking about? We haven't gone anywhere."

"Right. I live here. I guess I should have told you that, huh?"

He smiled a big smile, then tried to lift himself out of the car, but couldn't.

"Fuck that hurts!"

"Alright, what the fuck are you doing? Do you really live here?"

"Yep. 14th floor." He waved vaguely at the building.

"You are kidding me!" I looked at him in disbelief. We had driven less than a block. "Fine. I'm taking you in."

I was desperately hoping he wasn't going to say no. All those college parties started to come back to me, and I wondered how many times he had seen me with a different guy. Probably every time. I didn't want to give him a chance to say no.

"Where can I park?"

He took a breath and leaned back in the seat. "Around the corner" he whispered. "Parking garage entry. 'Around the corner."

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We made it to his door, fourteenth floor, just as he had said. He couldn't reach his keys, so I put my hand in his pocket.

"Wow Kat. I wasn't sure you felt that way about me."

I felt that little jolt again.

"Stop it. You never gave me the time of day in school."

"That's 'cause every time I turned to look, you were already leaving." He stopped for a minute. "Of course, that did give me a good look at that pretty little ass, so at least I had that going for me."

He stifled a laugh, then moaned from the pain in his ribs, then laughed again.

We stumbled into the apartment. I was more than ready for him to make a move, and I wanted to give him every opportunity. I turned towards him and got a look at where he had stopped, just inside the door. He had one hand on the wall, and I remembered. It was late, he was drunk, and he had just gotten into a massive fight – for me – that had left him with a broken rib. Would it be rude to ask him to fuck me into multiple quivering orgasms? Maybe so.

I dragged him to the bathroom. I handed him a toothbrush and wet a washcloth so I could finish washing off the pepper spray. His eyes were puffy, lip split, and his hair was all out of place. I had never seen a guy look better.

He started to lean on me with his right hand, and I whispered, "Come to bed."

He shook his head and gestured with his left hand. He started to lean harder with the right hand.

"I've got you" I whispered.

He shook his head again and gestured with the other hand.

We stood there for a second, and he whispered something I couldn't hear. I leaned closer.

"What, do you want to hold it for me?" he was laughing again, and trying to hold it back.

I stood there like an idiot for another second and realized he had been gesturing at the toilet. He hadn't been leaning on me. He'd been trying to push me out of the bathroom.

"Oh my god. No, I don't want to hold it!" (Well, truth, I did want to hold it, but it didn't seem like the time to be completely honest.) I left the bathroom and closed the door.

I went out to the kitchen, poured some water, drank it, and poured some more.

By the time I got back to the bedroom, he was standing with his back to me, and his shirt was just coming down. His back had the best muscles I had ever seen, until he turned around and I saw his front.

I took a drink of water to hide the fact that I was staring. He was probably past noticing by then, but it didn't hurt to be careful. He looked at me, and I handed him a glass of water. He nodded his head, and drank it, and then I helped him towards the bed. He sat down, and I knelt in front of him and took off his shoes.

"Thanks" he whispered.

I looked at him, sitting on his bed, with no shirt, his face washed clean, but starting to bruise up. That's when it hit me: this guy had just saved me from being raped. I knelt down to hug him.

"Thank you for what you did."

He hugged me back, holding me close. I shuddered once, and then I just started to cry. I knelt there, clinging to that beautiful body, and before I knew it, I was just sobbing. He leaned down to kiss the top of my head.

"I know" he whispered, rocking me in his arms. "I know. It's okay now."

Slowly the tears started to subside, and I began to disentangle. I looked at him, he looked at me, and he just nodded, and then lay back on his pillows.

I slipped off my skirt and shirt, found one of his sweatshirts in the closet, and put it on over my bra and panties. Then I took a long look at him, naked to the waist, still in his torn and bloody suit pants, and went out to sleep on the couch.

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The next morning, I woke up to hear the shower running. I looked around his kitchen, and had coffee going by the time he was out. I was waiting to hand him the hot cup when the door opened, and as he came out, I went in. I freshened up as best I could, with images of him, naked from the waist up, running in my head. I didn't know what he had in mind, but I knew I wasn't ready to leave. I went out to the kitchen and found him rummaging in the freezer, wearing only a towel. I walked up from behind and wrapped my arms around him. He turned around, and looked into my eyes, and neither one of us could resist any more. He kissed me on the mouth, without hesitation, and it was like the air went out of my lungs. I went limp, and he was holding my up. The emotion of the night before was now a physical force, and I clung to him like a life raft. He lifted me up on the kitchen counter, and I automatically spread my knees. His hands began to explore, starting at the hips, then around my back and shoulders. After a while it was like he was deliberately avoiding the most sensitive places, the places I needed to be touched, and I began to rock my hips toward him, to push my body against his.