It's All Right Daddy, Mommy Knows!

Life goes awry sometimes. Occasionally, that happens in the dead of night while in deep REM sleep. When it does, the aftermath can create damage to your mental well-being. Ray Schumacher had that happen to him, as he awoke with his body aflame with lust and plundering his wife ... or, in his dreams, he thought so. He had to place a call for help.

It felt like 'a walk of shame' situation! Paranoid, I walked from the parking lot into a small office complex and checked the computerized index by the elevator. I half expected bystanders to avert their eyes, while surreptitiously pointing me out to their friends. That tingling feeling, a sixth-sense emotion, that they were reading my mind, made me jittery. I stared straight ahead and did my best to look innocuous. A cursory scan of the directory for Dr. Alex Zimmerman's name. Found just that: his name, the floor, and suite number 405. There wasn't even a label to identify him as a psychiatrist. I'd expected the identification to have a cringing-crimson light, something like: 'nutcases only' or 'child-molester treatments.'

Something, that screamed out to anyone watching me--there is something wrong with this guy! I pressed the fourth floor button; standing next to two occupants. We rode the elevator in silence. The other passengers didn't even take notice, when I stepped onto the fourth floor lobby area. So much for my theatric-anxiety mode being real.

My experiences with doctors' offices had always been finding the waiting areas full of people, old magazines, and those with time on their hands, sharing their illnesses with one another. Visits with Katrina's pediatrician were like that; just mothers with infants mainly though. Opening the hallway door and stepping inside Dr. Zimmerman's office was different. I found matronly Mrs. Caldicot seated at a pristine desk, with an innocuous black and grey telephone, and augmented by a MacBook Pro. No seating area. No waiting patients to be found. She seemed to be transcribing notes; she looked up as my entry created a disturbance in her force.

Smiling, she greeted me, "Good afternoon, Mr. Schumacher!" Her agreeable voice flowed out just above the soft background music coming from some invisible wall speakers. Her voice was warm, cordial, and sincerely meant to put me at ease. I didn't have to give her my name; she knew it had to be me. After all, I was expected! Her hands were motioning to a closed, unmarked door across the room. "Please, come, Dr. Zimmerman is awaiting you!"

Dr. Zimmerman had put the world on hold for everyone else. It was just the two of us connecting. Nothing, and no one else in the world mattered at this juncture in my life.

Just that quickly, I was face-to-face with my anxieties, my guilt, and the tenuous thread holding my daughter and I in our precarious lifestyle. Dr. Alex Zimmerman met me halfway across the spacious office. It wasn't that confining exam-room scenario. No certificates, no diplomas, no 'how-to' posters; nothing of that sort. Plants, strategically placed, rounded out the square corners. Lighting was certainly not those nondescript, commercial fixture-types. The atmosphere was carefully crafted to feel homey--serene, placid, and worry free. It was a pleasant room, with a spacious view out over the horizon of the tree-lined park. It had a sense of feng shui design about it. The orientation of all things within it, felt in order and balanced with the natural world.

"Looking for something in particular?" He chuckled, noticing my head on a swivel movement. My gaze turned to the fatherly voice. I expected to see a stereotype shrink in a white coat with two strong-armed assistances at his side. Instead, I beheld a fiftyish, grandfatherly type dressed in a plain sweater and wearing loafers. He could have been in the elevator for all I knew, and I wouldn't have recognized him, by his countenance.

"The, um, the crazy person's couch," jumped out of my mouth before I could stop it. It wasn't any of the practiced lines I had rehearsed for this meeting. Yet, it made its appearance. The drive over was a rehearsal of every kind of conversation I could create that would make me appear normal in his eyes. This impromptu remark clearly wasn't helping me achieve that image. An image of normalcy.

He smiled in response. "That notion of reclining to reflect on one's problems is a bit overplayed in the movies. That came about because Freud had a 'crazy person's couch' as you called it, in his reflection room. Freud wasn't fond of being eye-to-eye with his cases. Felt a bit tense when he tried to make notes and such. So, he put them on a couch facing away from him; made Freud more comfortable in his note taking. The issue of 'a couch' or 'not to couch' has been a subject of much debate among doctors. For me? Not so much. My patients don't seem to miss it," he remarked, pointing to two comfortable-looking chairs by the window. He sat in one and I took the other, as he motioned for me to have a seat.

I could tell he must have done this a hundred times, perhaps hundreds of times. He was in no hurry, letting me wiggle into that deep, space-foam chair until it conformed to my body. I got the feeling that if I'd sat there long enough, it would have enveloped me completely, forming a womb around me. When my eyes met his, that was his clue, I gathered.

"Mr. Schumacher," he began, "I am a doctor, bound by medical, ethical, and legal laws. As such, there are rights you have as a patient, and obligations I have as a doctor..."

That's how I began to unburden myself and share the weight of my transgressions with Dr. Zimmerman. In the hopes of salving my hurt at the loss of my wife and the impact her passing had on my daughter. Katelyn had formed a pact with Katrina, our daughter. Therein lay the conundrum.

"Tell me, about that," Dr. Zimmerman inquired, "No need to try and sugarcoat your thoughts, Ray; just speak out and let the thoughts flow. I'm non-judgmental. Everything you say, stays here. Start wherever you feel the most comfortable, and let's see where that goes."

"That would be with sleep, Doc. Peaceful sleep has become difficult to find, just as elusive as a solitary predator's movements while gliding through the dark shadows cast by a full moon. But, somewhere in the early hours of the morning, my eyes become leaden and my tormented mind falls into a quasi-state of rest."

"How many hours are you sleeping?"

"Four...sometimes, I guess, maybe. I haven't really kept track of that. I know I see the alarm, sometimes at two or four in the morning. It is in that REM state of sleep, that Katelyn turns to me. I feel her hand flowing over me, circling my nipples, and gliding downward seeking to coax life into my cock. My eyes flutter open as the blood begins to flow into my stiffening member. Her face lights up as her eyes meet mine."

I saw the doc's eyes sparkle and a slight grin come to his lips. "Too detailed?" I asked, thinking maybe I needed to tone it down a bit.

"No, no that's not the case. I can see that you and Katelyn were...actively engaged," he answered.

"Yeah, Well she had a high sex drive, Doc," I smiled as I confirmed his comment.

"I guess I get a little rest before she creeps into those few minutes of sleep. She purrs out sassy innuendos, whispering her temptations just out of the range of our daughter's room. Doc, Katelyn is adept at pumping up my lust for her always-willing body. In the heat of passion, she would drive us into near cardiac arrest seeking to best our last orgasm. While she has a staid outer image of a brilliant high school teacher, no one ever suspected that she was really a vixen relishing sex without any sense of shyness or shame. Like the old saying goes, 'She likes to fuck at the drop of a hat.' And we did that abundantly!"

"So, trouble sleeping, normal sex life, and smart wife! What's not to like?" he noted, as he wrote a few words in his journal.

"That sounds about right. But the sex life might be...not so normal, perhaps," I added.

"Doctor, just over a year-and-a-half ago, our lives began to fall apart. This all changed when weakness and fatigue crawled upon her shoulders; enveloped her, bit into her slender body, and sucked the joy of living from the marrow of her bones. Helpless, we could only watch as cancer turned Katelyn into a frail figure of her former, vibrant self. Her school colleagues continued to support her and our daughter, Katrina, in this life-and-death struggle."

"Take your time, no rush to get through this, we can take a break anytime you want." Zimmerman's soft voice seemed to bring some comfort to the misty eyed glaze I wiped from my eyes.

I managed to continue, "Mercifully, she slipped away from her unbearable pain just two weeks before Katrina's high school graduation.

"Katrina didn't bear up well under her mom's passing; even though we steeled ourselves for the inevitable moment. Kitten, that's what we nicknamed Katrina. She loves cats! Anyway, Kitten didn't go back to school, even for her graduation ceremony. Because of her straight 'A' average and the waiving of her exams by the staff, she received her diploma. It was personally delivered at home by the school district's superintendent. One of the benefits of living in a very small town; where everyone knows their neighbors. That, and the fact that Katelyn taught at the high school, was also a factor, I guess.

"Kitten, fell into a remorseful state, not even speaking of her impending eighteenth birthday. Her party would have been just one week after the Katelyn's funeral. We moved through the next week hardly able to speak without the flow of tears bursting forth. Even the sight of a picture or seeing an article of Katelyn's clothing in a closet, would set Kitten off into another tearful crying spell. We made no plans to mark her momentous birthday, I couldn't bear to try to raise her spirits in such a short time."

With mounting fear, I approached that moment in my conversation with Doctor Zimmerman, that moment which had its arms around my throat. I felt the fear.

The doc said, "Just let it out, don't be judgmental. It's extremely difficult to try and maintain what you think should be normal, in the midst of grief."

So, I persevered.

"Doc, it was in that dream state, I heard the soft cry of a grieving child.

"Kitten's soft voice called me, 'Daddy, Daddy, are you awake?'

"It was a plaintiff voice calling through the shadows of the night. The parenting instinct still grips me now as it did during her childhood nightmares; rousing me from my slumber in the middle of the night. I struggled up onto one elbow, finding it hard to focus on the shadowy figure, outlined by the full moon, standing in our doorway; my doorway.

"'Kitten,' I asked, 'What's wrong?'

"She said, 'I can't sleep, Daddy. I keep thinking of mommy and then the monsters start climbing the stairs again. I know they're not real, but they won't let me sleep. Why are they coming back after so many years, Daddy?'

"Doctor Zimmerman, I have no answer for her. But my heart went out to her and I do what I always did that comforted her long ago. I lifted the bed covers and she glided across the room, slipping beneath them. Long ago, she would cuddle between Katelyn and me until she fell asleep and then I would carry her back to her bed. Doc, what was I supposed to do? Send her back to her room to cower in the dark and remain afraid?"

"You did what a parent who loves his child would do. I see no reason not to at this point. Ray, please, continue."

The doctor's answer seemed to fit with my own idea on how that should play out. It was comforting to know he shared similar thoughts. I breathed a sigh of relief, and picked up the events that unfolded from that point.

"At that late hour, she snuggled into the comfort of my arms. Her arm stretched out over my chest to hold my back and mine automatically matched her movements. I rubbed her back as I did so many years ago. Her head wiggled, searching for a comfortable position in the crook of my arm. I felt the softness of her breasts as they pressed into me. The heat of her body felt so wonderful. No longer a child, her body had grown into the mirror image of her mother. Together, we lay still until her body relaxed and slumber took hold in the middle of the night. Once again, my eyes closed and I crossed over to the other realm. Doc, sleep welded my eyes closed and pulled me into that dream world as well."

"Excuse me, a second, Ray. You said, '...her body had grown into the mirror image of her mother.' But you weren't thinking it was...sexual by any chance?" Zimmerman said, trying not to look alarmed.

"Certainly not, Doc! We were exhausted and...I was just thinking about how much the two of them were so similar; not sexually though."

"Um. Okay. Got it. So, the two of you fell asleep, but wrapped up in each other's arms?"

"Ah, yes, that's right, fell asleep, out like lights in the night sky...asleep under the stars."

"Then what happened?" the doc asked as he made a few notes. He didn't seem disturbed about where I knew this was going. I figured it would be just a matter of time, before he had a different opinion.

"Like I mentioned, Doc, I was in that REM state of sleep. My wife and I had not been in the same bed together for a long time. She...spent most of her last months in a hospital-type bed, with nursing caregivers in attendance. But this night, Katelyn turns to me, in my dreams; once more her hand roams over my body. I lay still, soaking in the sensations as my breathing deepens. I feel the tingling pleasures grow as her experienced fingers build upon my excitement, bringing me to the edge, but not to fulfillment."

"That's interesting! But not unexpectedly so...I mean to have those feelings after such a prolonged absence of holding your wife like that. You did say she was a bit hyper-sexual earlier? Yes, yes, perfectly normal response, Ray," Zimmerman remarked, as he shifted the notebook on his lap.

"Do continue!"

"Doc, I can cut down some of the details, if you like?" I asked, knowing how close I was to the shameful details part of my revelation.

I watched him wipe his brow with a tissue. It didn't seem hot to me, but the doc seemed to be working up a sweat. Probably from making so many notes at this point, I suspected.

"Details are important, Ray, more details, please!"

"All right then," I responded and picked up the events with more details, "I could feel the perspiration forming as the heat from my body radiated through my core. Her skillful fingers glided down between my thighs. I heard the sounds of lust in her breath as it escaped from her lungs. She ground her loins against mine. The secretions from her... vagina... lubricated my cock. I was huffing and gasping for air; fighting to stay in my dream state.

"Doctor Zimmerman, my dream was so real at that point! I didn't want it to stop, so I was crying out, 'Don't open your eyes ... don't open your eyes ... don't!' I screamed at my body, as I stroked in and out of my Katelyn. All the muscles of my body tensed as I sucked air more deeply into my aching lungs fueling more of the images flashing behind my closed eyelids. My temples throbbed in tune with my breathing.

"'Too long without you!' I groaned, between clenched teeth. Our pace grew faster. My thrusting into her was met by her return thrusts and the sounds of soaked skin slapping against skin reverberated around the room. In unison, we set up the unmistakable, telltale-bedspring squeak of out-of-control sex.

"Desperately I wanted to stay in the moment.

"'Don't open your eyes ... don't open your eyes ... don't!' I told myself, desperately fighting to maintain the exhilaration building between us. After so long an absence in my dreams, Katelyn finally found her way back into my arms and I was not going to ever let her go. The communal, ragged gasps and groans became synchronous between us. The wet slap of my bone against her cunt drove me to a new level of ferocity and I drove more deeply into her.

"I heard her call out over the rhythmic squeaks of the bedsprings; heard her call out, 'Fuck me, harder, baby, harder ... now ... ahh ... nail my pussy!' The lustful language of my love inflamed my desire and I used my cock like a hammer, nailing her all the way to her core!

"My legs stiffened as I neared the edge. I could feel her thighs clenching as her stomach muscles spasm, pushing us over the edge as I nailed her to the bed. I couldn't hold back any longer, Doctor! Her back arched, at that point, and I flooded her with my seed. I was like a bull moose, bucking fiercely to spew the last vestiges of it deep into her cunt. She went catatonic during our best-ever orgasm."

"Ray that was absolutely amazing! You, really have a good memory for details about those events. Most people coming here, aren't as detail oriented as you are. What kind of work do you do, again?"

"I'm an accountant."

"Ah, yes! Lots of details in accounting! Yes. Now, let's see. Just a few notes, please. Okay, so ... what happens next?" The doctor sounded impressed with my recall abilities. I hope I didn't give him cause to regret those comments with what was to come.

I allowed him to catch up on his copious note taking and began, "Defying my command, in that moment, and in the dim light of the moon's glow through our bedroom window, my eyes sprang open. Opening to make out my Kitten's hazel eyes rolled up into her their sockets, her mouth wide open, gasping for air as her overwhelmed body found bliss. Drenched in perspiration, my body has no more pleasure to give and I collapse on top of her still heaving breasts.

"Rolling off of her slick body, I lay stunned, gasping for air, watching her body twitch as her eyes slowly flutter back to normal; my eyes are just inches from hers. Regaining consciousness, her breathing slowed, the rosé glow of her face and chest appeared as flames. Kitten's glassy eyes slowly refocused and I could see her peering into my soul; taking measure of the terrible transgression I committed against her as she fought for air."

Doctor Zimmerman's eyebrows arched and his eyes grew to saucer-size orbs! At the same time, his jaw dropped. The bomb I had tried to hold back for so long had landed. Exploding between us, it caught him completely unaware, I think. His hands were trembling and he had to stop writing.

"I need a drink...of water," his hoarse voice whispered. "You want a drink...too, Ray?" he croaked, as an afterthought.

The gentle doctor ambled to the credenza behind his desk and took out two glasses and a bottle, pouring three fingers into each glass. Handing me one glass, he remarked, "Careful this water is potent." Then quickly threw back a large swallow and closed his eyes for a few moments.

I took a heathy gulp and, as he said, it was potent, like Spirytus, a Polish vodka. It was fiery all the way to the bottom and sent smoke out of my ears as an afterthought.

"Thanks, Doc! I needed that...drink of water," I strained to get the words out. The sense of embarrassment I had felt, concerning my admission, was tempered by the alcohol's anesthetizing affect.

"Doc, I'm so sorry..." I began, but he cut me off, quickly.

"Don't!" his hands raised, "No judgements here, like I said at the beginning. I'm beginning to understand where you're coming from. Let's continue, shall we? This is ... very ... well, not so unusual given your exhaustion and so recent a demise of your wife. And of course, your lovely Kitten's loss of her mother. Shall we continue?"