Hitting the Bottom Ch. 09

"No... not exactly."

"What was different about it, then?"

The answer, when it comes to me, is crystal-clear, washing me with relief. I take the first full breath in what feels like forever; making the blood tingle in my veins with oxygen rush. "I was so angry then. I felt wronged by the Fates. That's absolutely not how I feel when I think about Sandra getting an abortion."

"What do you feel then, when you think about it?" He asks quietly.

I need to blink a few times to ease the prickling behind my eyes. "It's just - sad. So sad that it hurts. Physically."

"Hmm. I can see that. I can see your pain; I can hear it in your voice. Now I know this is difficult, but I'm going to ask you to stay with that feeling for a moment longer. Stay with your deep sorrow at the thought of Sandra getting an abortion. Be there in your mind. Let's say it just happened. Where would you be while she does it? At home? At the clinic with her?"

"I'd go with her." I know that with a certainty. "She can't be alone there... I'd go with her, but I don't think I'd be able to - to go into the room while... " I choke and cough. Dr. Pappas nods.

"Okay. So imagine you're just outside the doctor's office, sitting in the waiting room, and you know what's going on in there, behind the closed door."

It's hard to breathe. I make myself count to three on every inhale and exhale like I'd sometimes do when I go jogging; it works. Dr. Pappas studies me mutely, letting me struggle through it without comment. When I meet his eyes, he continues.

"And then Sandra's coming out the door, and you know that's it's done. It's all over. What's going through your head right now?"

Imagining it in my mind, I am overwhelmed with emotions - grief and helplessness, but also, surprisingly, a renewed surge of fear that almost knocks me over in its intensity. "I need to know that Sandra's okay. That there were no complications..." my belly drops as horrible images flash in my mind. Sandra's face growing pale, collapsing, bleeding...

Once more I find myself bent over my knees, practicing those damned exhales until the buzzing in my ears recedes, and I pull up slowly to meet Dr. Pappas's calm, yet intent, stare.

"So, what do you think you'd do just then?"

I shift in my seat uncomfortably. "I... I'd probably fuss like a mother hen, and make a total fool of myself."

Dr. Pappas smiles. "Yes, I can imagine you would." then, gently, he adds: "Dan, I want you to remember this was just an exercise. Having you imagine this scenario doesn't make it any more real, or any more probable, than it was before. It is a possibility, but please remember that it hasn't really happened, at least not yet. Nothing's changed from the moment you told me she's pregnant, and has yet to decide what she's going to do about it. Okay?"

I swallow hard. "Okay." then after a moment I ask - "Why'd you ask me to do it?"

He considers me thoughtfully before answering. "Well, many times, I find it useful to have my patients play out their worst fears all the way through, in the safe environment of my clinic. You see, most of us try to shy away from our fears because thinking about them is... well, scary. Terrifying. But in my experience allowing ourselves to really follow them through in our minds makes them much more concrete - and therefore, manageable."

I nod, though in truth I'm still not sure I understand. "Okay."

Dr. Pappas gives me an encouraging little grin. "I want to commend you for really allowing yourself to be there in that moment in your head, Dan. That was very courageous. And I'm honored that you trusted me enough to do it."

I clean my throat. "You've earned that trust, doc."

He dips his head in recognition. "Thank you for that. And having seen and heard you just now, it seems obvious to me - and I hope that to you, too - that your fear of hurting Sandra if she got an abortion is unfounded. I don't think you'd hurt her, even if it does make you profoundly sad, and feeling deeply hurt yourself. Do you?"

I shake my head, a little dazed, but nonetheless reassured. "No. I don't believe I'd hurt her."

"Good." he says with quiet satisfaction, and gets up to take my almost-empty water cup, refill it, and place it back in front of me. "Do you need a break, or can you handle continuing this conversation, Dan? We still have some time left today, but I know this must have been tough."

I drink the proffered water, welcoming the blessed, cool relief down my scratchy throat. Looking up at the clock I see there's still over twenty minutes left. Wow.

I stand up. "I just need a minute, I think. Is that okay?"

"Sure; I'll step out to give you a bit of space, and will be back in a few, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks."

Dr. Pappas leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me to look around me in wonder. Walking over to the window I squint my eyes against the glare coming in through the thin blinds. Peeking out from between them, the world outside seems strangely normal: people walking down the streets, cars driving by, unaware of the magic that just happened in the small, unassuming clinic on the second floor of a grey, boring office building.

There's a soft knock on the door, and then Dr. Pappas is back in the room, walking over to me, laying a fatherly hand on my shoulder.

"Ready to continue, Dan?

"Yes I am, doc."

We both take our seats, and the shrink dives right back into the conversation. I smile a little at that. I really like that about him; his no-nonsense, let's get to business approach. I find myself, not for the first time, thanking my lucky stars for having him as the psych consult back at the hospital when we first met.

"So, Dan, let's turn to the other fear you mentioned, about how you're concerned you'd 'screw up being a father' - how do you mean?"

Alright, I guess he's not going to go easy on me in the time that we have left today, either. I don't answer immediately. Instead I take a couple of sips from my refilled water cup, stalling. Finally I give it a try. "I dunno... maybe - flipping out again sometime in the future over some stupid trigger. Getting violent with either Sandra or the baby. I can't risk that, doc. I just... I can't."

"What do you think could make you flip out on them? Again, try to imagine such a scenario."

"I -" I start, but then trail off, searching my mind. Nothing comes up. "I don't have one in my head. I just know it happened in the past, with a woman I loved. The risk is there, and I can't hope it away."

Dr. Pappas nods. "Right. Let's revisit that, then. We talked a lot about your incident with Naomi; remember what the root cause of that was? Not the trigger, but the underlying fear that drove you to that act?"

"Well, I... I guess I was afraid I'd never be a man again. That the last thread of hope for being the man I wanted to be, was just... cut."

"Right. It was an existential crisis, coming at the tail end of a long, downward-spiraling depression that started with your inability to have children with your wife, then made worse by your caving in to your father's demand for a divorce - so that you'd be free to produce offspring with someone else, though you hadn't actually done that. And finally he got ill and you basically had to watch him slowly die, without the two of you ever resolving those issues between you. And on his deathbed he gave you this ray of hope; said he approved of you getting back with Naomi - but then you discovered she had actually moved on with her own life."

He stops, waiting for my confirmation. At my stiff nod he continues. "So, your hope to 'be a man' was threatened. You felt invalidated in the most fundamental of ways; in your mind, you were fighting for your life. Remember?"

"In my sick mind, you mean." I state flatly.

He bows his head, conceding. "In your then-sick mind, yes. But we've talked about that, too. Having had a mental episode doesn't make you crazy forever. It was an acute situation, but you're on your way to recovery. And the fact you suffered it doesn't mean you'll forever have this sword laid across your neck. If I believed that were the case, you'd be in a closed ward at a mental institute."

He steeples his fingers again, considering me as I struggle, as always, to accept his reassurances in that regard. After a moment, he adds lightly: "In fact, I think having a baby could be very good for you."

"How come?" I ask skeptically.

"Well, being a father would give you a new purpose in life, wouldn't it?"

I nod emphatically. "Oh yeah." If I were to become a father... that would become my number one priority in life. Forever. I can feel myself getting pumped, energized, just thinking about it. Damn that's exciting!

Dr. Pappas looks at me mutely, letting the thought echo. After a while, he speaks again. "Right. I believe becoming a father could help you heal, in that it could help you rebuild your sense of identity and self-worth. So let's talk about some of your other fears. What else scares you about having a child?

I shrug, feeling an ironic little smile break the tension on my face. "Well, the usual stuff, I guess. Not wanting to make my kid miserable - like my father made me."

Dr. Pappas grins back. "Ah, yes. That is very familiar territory in this room." And then adds - "and in your case, I've already learned some of the ways in which you feel your father had failed you. Let me ask you this, then: what were the good things you got from him? In what ways was he a good father to you? What did you learn from him about being a father that would help you be a good father to your own child?"

The unexpectedness of his question jars me, as memories - good memories - spring to life in my head, so swiftly and intensely that they knock me over. I slump back in my seat, trying to sort them out in my head.

My father giving me piggyback rides. Teaching me how to ride a bicycle. Coaching my Soccer Little League team. Quizzing me before my high school finals. Buying me condoms the day after I introduced my first girlfriend, telling me it was my responsibility to keep her safe. Holding me tight by my mother's fresh grave, saying the words I needed to hear not to fall apart. Beaming with pride the day I finished the Academy.

"Dan?"

I open my eyes to re-focus on Dr. Pappas, who's leaning forward in his seat, looking at me closely. I rub both hands over my face, and am startled to find my cheeks wet. Fuck. Have I been crying?

I clear my throat, pulling myself back to the present. "I - what was the question again?"

He repeats himself, his tone gentler than before, but still insistent: "In what ways was your father good for you? From the look on your face it seems there were a few that come to mind?"

I shake my head, unable to meet his gaze. "I feel like I've betrayed him, having told you so much about him, yet none of the good stuff."

Dr. Pappas' smiles apologetically at me. "That would be my fault, not yours; I'd steered our conversations that way. Nevertheless, now is your opportunity to do him justice. Go ahead."

Nodding, I grapple with emotions that had been suppressed for far too long. I feel fresh tears sliding hotly down my cheeks, the unfamiliar sensation oddly comforting. Liberating. "He loved me. He cared. He was involved in my life, had spent time with me. He showed me how to be a good man, how to stand up for my principals, how to live by my morals. He was proud of me..." I stop, choking, and then continue with a grimace. "Except for his obsession with my producing a son to carry on the family name. I think that one was the only real disappointment he had in me. But it was a huge one. It overshadowed everything else."

"Why do you think it was so important for him?" Dr. Pappas issues an understated challenge.

"I don't 'think' it was important, I know it for a fact. He told me so, many times over." I answer, pissed.

"Okay. Why, then?"

"Because if I didn't, the family would end there. There would be no continuation for it. All those generations before us... there would be nobody to carry on the name."

"So what?"

"Excuse me?!"

Dr. Pappas chuckles. What's so freakin' funny?! I feel my hackles rise, which only seems to deepen his amusement. "I said, 'so what?'. Say there are never to be any sons to carry on the Moreno name. What does that mean? How does that negate the lives and contributions of those past generations?"

I stare at him blankly. "I - I don't know. It doesn't. I - I haven't thought about it like that."

"Hmm."

We both fall silent; Dr. Pappas leaning back in his chair, me still reeling with thoughts, keeping my head down. 'So what' indeed? Suddenly the whole issue seems ridiculous in my mind. Why should it have been such a big deal for my father? Why allow it to define our relationship, be the only measure for my worth as a son to him?

After a while Dr. Pappas speaks up. "Let me suggest something, Dan. Now I don't know if this is true or not, but it is a possibility I would like for you to consider."

"Em, okay."

"You see, for many people, the idea of 'continuing the family name' isn't about the code of honor. Not really. Many times it seems that it's actually about facing their own mortality, coming to terms with it by finding a way to be part of something bigger. I want you to consider this could be how your father saw it: a way in which his memory would live on for generations to come. There is comfort in that thought. It makes a man's impending personal demise seem less... final."

"Okay..."

But he continues without pause. "Or, it could simply be something your father grew up with - like an axiom - something that he never questioned but had accepted to be true, and passed on as a truth to you. Either way my point is, it is your choice whether or not to subscribe to the same belief. Just like it is your choice whether or not to see yourself as a failure to him, because you have not continued his family name. Can you see that?"

I stare at him for a moment. This new perspective is so strange it feels like the floor under my feet had tilted so the whole world presents itself to me in a new angle. Finally, slowly, I nod. "Yeah. I think I can."

"Good." Dr. Pappas smiles, and then looks up at the clock. "I'm sorry to stop here, but my next patient is already waiting outside. Shall we continue on Friday?"

I get up to my feet, half-surprised to find myself steady. "Yeah, sure. Looking forward to it." I walk to the door, and turn to look at him again. "Thank you, doc. Today was... eye-opening."

"I try." he answers wryly, and smiles. "You did really well today, Dan. Keep up the good work; I'll see you on Friday."

With another curt nod, I leave his room and close the door quietly behind me.

*

*

*

Between the different handyman gigs that I manage to secure and my volunteering at the shelter, my schedule starts filling up. Still, I have some stretches of free time which I dedicate to online research, specifically on the topic of safe play during pregnancy.

I know I'm getting ahead of myself; nothing's been decided yet. I know I may be setting myself up for a huge disappointment. A heartbreak. And yet I find myself googling away - thinking the NSA would have a field day intercepting my search terms, like "making a pregnant sub squirt" - reading up blogs, pouring over lifestyle community websites, clipping and pasting important tips and notes into an ever-growing file saved to my computer for easy access.

Most of it relates to later stages of pregnancy, where the woman's growing belly makes it harder to get into or hold some positions. Overall, the general message seems to focus on using common sense: don't do impact play right on the belly. Make sure blood flow and airways are not obstructed, as that may cause stress to the baby. Pay extra-close attention to your sub's physical reactions and immediately stop your play with any sign of cramping, vaginal bleeding, hyperventilation, or fainting. Be sure to keep her well-hydrated, as dehydration may cause the onset of early labor. Remember hormonal changes may bring with them emotional changes; communicate more often, re-discuss your limits at close intervals, check in regularly within session. Plan for more frequent bathroom breaks.

Some of these articles are accompanied by pictures; a few feature videos. One such image of a very pregnant subbie, bound to a St. Andrew's cross, her huge belly protruding, being made to cum by her Hitachi-wielding Dom, keeps playing in my head. I imagine Sandra just like that... face flushed and sweaty, curves exaggerated with pregnancy, nipples dark and large and dripping milk, vulva huge and swollen, clit peeking out, red and throbbing... pleading with me as I make her squirt over and over again...

Fuck. I am hard now, but jerking off holds surprising little appeal at the moment. I want to play tonight. I want to give her more, show her more... slowly, a plan starts to take shape in my head.

*

*

*

It's just past 8pm, and we're snuggled on her sofa after dinner. She's lying on her side, her head in my lap facing away from me. I play absently with her hair and she rubs her cheek against my thigh in response, like a contented kitten. So sweet. I'm torn inside. On the one hand, I am burning to play; I have planned a special session for us that I know she'd love, and I can't wait to start. On the other hand, we haven't yet talked any more about her pregnancy and the decision that needs to be made. We said we'd give it a week, and half of that had already passed. Can I really ignore it for now?

No. Of course not. We can't have this unspoken HUGE issue hanging between us in session. I sigh deeply, and Sandra rolls over to her back, her eyes seeking and holding onto mine.

"You wanna talk?" she asks, guessing at my mood, and I nod. "Yeah."

"Okay... So, how was it with Dr. Pappas?"

"Good. Very good. He said he was confident I wasn't going to hurt you. In fact, he showed me."

"Showed you? How?" she's intrigued now, her eyes glinting up at me.

"Well..." I'm embarrassed, but she looks at me insistently. I concede. "He did this exercise with me where he had me play out the scenario of you..." I choke the words out. "of you getting an - an abortion. Like, really imagining it, how I'd be sitting there in the clinic waiting for you to come out, knowing you were having it done right then..." Try as I might to keep my voice neutral, a shudder runs down my back as I re-live it - if not as vividly as this morning - in my head. "He asked how I'd feel the moment you came out the door. What I'd think, what I'd say or do."

She looks at me apprehensively, but says nothing, just waiting for me to continue. I try to smile, needing to reassure her, and also to hide my unease at my own too-emotional response.

"What I felt while 'waiting' there for you was just... sorrow. Sadness. Grief." She just looks at me soberly, her eyes wide, waiting for me to continue. "But when I imagined you walking through the door, all I could feel was fear - for you. I was afraid something was wrong and they didn't realize it. I imagined sitting you down and getting upset about them letting you up and about so quickly, wanting to have you stay for observation... it was a little ridiculous, to tell you the truth."

Her tight nervousness softens into a smile, which then crumbles a moment later into a choked sob. "That's - that's so sweet!" And then she bursts up in tears.

My abdomen clenches painfully. Shit. I really hate seeing her cry. "Shh... please don't cry baby... I didn't mean to make you cry. Shh..." I lean down to gather her close in my arms, and she shakes her head against my chest. Inexplicably I think I hear a chuckle in there between her sobs.