Much Needed Therapy

"I still have therapy. Much needed therapy. Go home if you want. I can't."

"Of course you fucking can," I hissed. "Get back in the car!"

"No. My night isn't over. Can you hand me my coat?"

I stared at her, trying to slow down the rush of memories that were exactly as I remembered them to be and somehow completely different at the same time. She was still beautiful, maybe even more beautiful than she was in college. Inexplicably, she still had that look of innocence about her, despite the fact that she was standing in an alley in her panties while some unknown man's semen slowly oozed out of her.

"Look, Gordy, I'm sorry that this came as a shock to you. Had I known I never would have brought you along. I would have maybe eased you into it, if at all. But either hand me my coat or take me to my next session. Okay?"

I blinked at her stupidly. She stood there for a few more moments, then climbed back into my car.

"Come on," she said gently, and placed her hand on my shoulder. "Let's go."

I backed out of the alley and continued down Spring Garden Street. We drove in silence. After that night on our balcony, our sex life...changed. At first we had sex in public, but secluded, places. A park bench in a remote corner of a park at night. A bathroom stall in the ladies' room on the fifth floor of the ACES Building. A dark corner of a parking garage. Then we got bolder. A study carrel in the Undergraduate Library. The walkways along Waller Creek near Sixth Street.

When we went off the deep end, we plunged headfirst. Jules met the neighbor who'd watched us on the balcony and invited him to watch up close. We drank too much one night and she ended up blowing him while I fucked her from behind. Then she put a posting on Craig's List seeking voyeurs. One night we had ten strange people, men and women, in our small apartment watching me fuck Jules in two dozen different positions. Then we combined the two, putting on a live sex show for a twenty people in an open field off of Airport Boulevard. I went on inactive status with my fraternity. My life revolved around my adventures with Jules and doing enough with everything else to keep my parents off my back.

On the nights that we'd stayed in, whether from mental or physical exhaustion, we told each other stories. Julie's usually had something to do with anonymous partners and sex in public. Mine were summaries of stories I'd found on the Internet or an embellished rehash of something we'd done. As our adventures grew bolder and riskier, Julie's stories grew dirtier and more perverted—tipping for a pizza by blowing the delivery guy, or jerking off a homeless man, or inserting a funnel into her pussy and letting some anonymous guy jerk off into it. Eventually, Jules took over as the sole storyteller. Her creativity was limitless. Her stories had been so detailed, so...

*Real.*

"Turn here," she said, jolting me from my thoughts. "On 22nd."

I drove slowly through the neighborhood. I knew this wasn't exactly a rough part of Philadelphia, but relative to other cities...

"Turn up ahead," she directed, "and park wherever."

"Eastern State Penitentiary?"

"Yep. Spooky, isn't it? Rumor is it's actually haunted. They should be finished putting up the Halloween stuff soon. Want to go when it opens?"

Strangely enough, her attempt at normal conversation made the moment seem even weirder. Like a mucus-spewing Martian trying to have a casual conversation about the weather forecast. "Were all the stories you told me in college true?" I blurted.

"Yes," she said simply and without hesitation.

"And all the stories you've told me over the last few months were—"

"—true."

"All of them."

"Yes. There's a parking spot."

"What?"

"A parking spot," she pointed. I shook my head, but did as she wished. Jules got out, still clad only in her thong and Manolo pumps. She shook out her hair and it fanned across her back and around her shoulders, then tossed her coat onto the car seat. "Come on," she said and headed into the alley.

I followed for a few steps, then stopped and looked around, suddenly nervous. There were two couples walking in the direction we'd come from and hadn't seemed to have noticed that a tall, naked woman had just walked into the alley. I looked the other way and saw no one. For a moment, I thought about leaving her, about getting out of the craziness she'd dropped on me. Images of her from her stories danced across my mind. I remembered how her stories never failed to arouse me in college and now felt betrayed and ashamed.

I was still aroused even now and felt shame again. I glanced down the alley where she was some fifty or sixty feet away. She had squatted near a dumpster and appeared to be talking to someone, but I couldn't see who or hear what was said. I saw two feet slowly sprout from behind the dumpster and saw her reach. She appeared to be moving her arm up and down.

###

About halfway through our junior year, she told me she'd been walking back from class to our apartment off of San Gabriel. A man had asked her for the rest of her bottled water. He hadn't seemed like the typical Drag Worm who hung around the UT campus. Drag Worms asked for money or cigarettes, smelled like cloves or patchouli, loitered in packs, and climbed into their daddy's or mommy's hand-me-down BMW or Mercedes when they'd had enough for the day.

This one had asked for water.

So Jules took pity on him and gave him her bottle. A few steps away, pity got the best of her. She turned and went into one of the corner stores that dotted West Campus, bought cold water, bananas, an apple, some pre-made sandwiches, and some bottled soup. She returned to him with her plastic bag full of goodies and patiently waited while he tearfully stowed them in his rucksack.

He was older than the normal array of Drag Worms, she'd told me, and wore a tweed coat with elbow patches over his zip-up hoodie. We used to joke about the mildness of Austin winters, but she knew from talking to him that the cold in the few hours before sunrise could be a killer when you didn't have a roof over your head. Crumpled newspaper was an adequate insulator, he'd told her, but so many people were using the Internet for news now that discarded newspaper had become relatively scarce.

He'd thanked her and went on his way, but she couldn't let go of her concern. She rummaged around and found REI sleeping bags we'd bought for a camping trip we never went on and headed out to find him. She scoured a dozen blocks of West Campus before finding him using air conditioner condensate to wash himself. She was embarrassed and shocked, she'd said, and so was he. But she couldn't help noticing that he was huge.

After he'd covered up, she set the sleeping bags near his rucksack. He teared up again and thanked her profusely. He spent so much time on the necessities, she'd thought, he probably had little time for pleasure. She frowned. 'Leisure' she'd meant. Surely she'd meant 'leisure.'

The image of his huge cock jumped into her head. Subconsciously she reached out while he babbled his gratitude and touched the lump in his pants. He froze. She didn't know why she'd done it and looked up at his surprised face. She reached out again and ran her hand along the length of it. She wanted to stop but something compelled her. She saw her other hand move to unzip his pants. He moved not an inch. She watched, disconnected, as her hands extracted the huge cock. It was limp. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe he was uncertain. Maybe it wasn't possible.

She began stroking him as they both otherwise remained still. "He didn't smell that bad," she'd told me. "He mostly smelled kind of like that pink liquid soap you used to see in convenience store bathrooms until they made everything touchless. You remember? The kind that had the plug in the bottom that you had to press up to release the soap?" It took little coaxing for him to grow to his full, bloated size.

It was her favorite story to tell me. On the first telling of the story, she'd only given him a handjob. When I heard it I was captivated. He was long enough that she could use both hands on him at the same time. She'd pulled up her sweatshirt and bared herself to him and he'd come all over her chest. It was dirty and nasty, but, strangely, with a hint of raw innocence. That she cast herself as the main character made it all the more evocative.

On the first retelling, it was a blowjob. As good as she was at handjobs, she couldn't get him to come and had finally taken the plunge and used her mouth on him. She couldn't fit him in her throat, but had taken him as far as she could and swallowed every gush of his hot come.

On the third retelling and each retelling after, she'd had sex with him there in the alley near Bert's Bar-B-Q in broad daylight with other students walking on the sidewalk less than thirty feet away. She'd been so turned on by the size of his cock and the thought of how perverted it would be for a beautiful, blonde coed to fuck a homeless man that she had pulled down her yoga pants past her ass and tried to let him fuck her from behind.

When that wasn't working the way she'd wanted, she kicked off her Salomon trail shoes and stripped completely out of her Lululemons. She'd laid down on the hard ground and pulled her legs back against her chest. He'd fallen on her like a lion upon its prey. She watched with bated breath as he positioned his fat cock and pushed into her in one delicious, painful invasion.

She was barely ready for it and it had hurt terribly and felt amazing at the same time. "It was like much needed therapy, you know?" she'd told me once. "He spent so much time trying to find food and clean water and a dry, safe place to sleep, that he never had any time to even think about things like TV and hanging out with friends and sex. Now that he had life's necessities, at least for the night, he had time for something extra. Something for the soul."

He'd pistoned in and out of her for less than thirty seconds, making a loud slapping sound against her lithe, creamy white thighs, before he made one last push as deep as he could go, stretching her like she'd never been stretched before.

It hadn't dawned on her until that second that she hadn't given a thought to what diseases he might have or that she might get pregnant and, for an instant, she thought about pushing him off of her and making him come on her stomach, or on the ground. She'd already let him fuck her. She'd done enough. It wouldn't be an insult, she'd thought, but the one logical choice she'd made in a series of illogical choices. The feeling of his pulsing cock, followed quickly by the first gush of warm come against her insides, filled her mind only with the undeniable need to spread her legs wider, and angle her sex better, so that he could go deeper and fill her with as much as she could hold. She orgasmed so intensely she nearly passed out.

They lay together for several more minutes until he climbed off of her and left her there, taking in great gulps of oxygen, her legs limp across the cold pavement. He wasn't sure what to say and glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes. She sat up and hugged him, then thanked him, then fumbled for her backpack and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, then changed her mind and pulled out a fifty dollar bill, then grabbed all of the cash she had and shoved it into his hands. He sat stock still, a look of utter confusion on his face.

She pecked him on the cheek and thanked him again, then grabbed her backpack and headed for our apartment. So lost in her euphoria was she that it took three blocks before she realized she'd left her shoes and her pants in the alley behind Bert's. She returned and retrieved them, faintly hoping that he was still there, but he'd disappeared. She was disappointed enough that, in her preoccupation, she *carried* her shoes and pants back to our apartment. Luckily, she'd told me, she hadn't met a single soul on the short walk. West Campus often became like a ghost town late in the Fall Semester after football had ended and finals were around the corner.

It took less than an hour for her to realize she wanted him again. It was dirty and perverse. She quickly pulled on a pair of running shorts and went looking for him.

###

A noise roused me from my thoughts and I saw that she was now on her back in the middle of the alley, her feet in the air, while someone humped into her. I glanced up and down Fairmount Avenue again and, seeing no one, slowly headed towards them. It still didn't make sense, but I was seeing her stories with greater clarity now. I hadn't questioned before why each story seemed to be mostly the same with new additions at the end or new details every time.

That first day she hadn't been able to find him, but the next day saw him washing his clothes at the laundromat next to Bert's. She wasn't sure at first, because he looked clean and was wearing clothes that seemed new. She'd stood outside and waved to him and he'd stood there, blinking rapidly like he'd been concussed. She'd finally managed to talk to him and he'd put her money to good use, washing his old clothes and buying some used camping equipment at a pawn shop at the north end of the Drag.

He was grateful, he'd told her, for giving him a new lease on life. She told him he could pay her back by taking her behind the laundromat. She'd said he'd asked her if she was his guardian angel or if there was a devilish trick somewhere in all of this. She'd responded by pulling up her skirt and showing him that she wore no panties. He hadn't come as copiously as he had the day before, but he'd stretched her again and filled her up again and she'd had another intense orgasm.

My footfalls grew fainter and slower as I watched the man on top of her pounding into her for all he was worth. Her moans and grunts were low, but unmistakeable, and I wondered how people who lived in the nearby lofts and apartments could ignore it. Maybe it was something they'd grown accustomed to. I was nearly to them when I heard her tell him to come inside her.

That had been her favorite part of the story when we were in college. It was like a game in her story. She went looking for the homeless man, found him, fucked him, and begged him to come in her. The sensation was indescribable, she'd said. He was so big and the way his cock pulsed inside her when he came and the sheer quantity of what he gave her and the warmth...the feeling was beyond words.

They fucked in alleys around West Campus, their favorite behind the one behind Bert's where they'd had their first tryst, and around campus. During the day she was his fucktoy and during the night and on weekends, she was mine. In the fall semester of our senior year she was elated for him when he got a job at 7-Eleven on the Drag, but he no longer needed her therapy the way he had before and she grew disconsolate.

That's where the stories changed. I hadn't drawn the connection between her sadness in her stories and her general cheerlessness. I'd chalked it up to nostalgia in our senior year and knowing that we would be moving in different directions. I'd decided to attend graduate school at Dartmouth. She had also been admitted to Dartmouth, but was leaning towards taking a job in Philadelphia working at a conservative economic think-tank, and was unhappy that I wouldn't reconsider attending Penn. Penn had taken its sweet time with admissions and had offered an underwhelming financial package. Dartmouth had been much more welcoming and generous. I expected her to decide on Dartmouth. Our relationship was too important.

To my shock, she took the job in Philadelphia. We fought and cried and fucked and fought on the day she told me she'd accepted the job and sent her rejection to Dartmouth. Several months later, I stood in our empty apartment and cried. I'd dropped her at the airport that morning. On the silent ride to Austin-Bergstrom I'd wanted to beg her to come to Dartmouth with me and had, as we neared the airport, even considered telling her that I would go to Philadelphia. Instead, I remained silent. She'd sat there, waiting, and finally pecked me on the cheek and rested her forehead against my face for a moment before running into the terminal. I knew she was crying. I felt her tears on my cheek.

We'd had a going-away session the night before, inviting some of our regulars, and had gotten too drunk and high and too involved with our guests. I'd gone out on the balcony for a cigarette, only to return and see her fucking one of our guests and blowing another. Despite all of her stories, I wasn't prepare for this. I'd responded by hate-fucking an overly-tattooed stripper with giant bolt-ons.

Julie and I stared at each other across the living room floor. "Come in my pussy!" she'd told the man fucking her while she looked into my eyes, then she'd looked up at the man she'd been blowing and said, "You, too, okay? You want to come inside me? Give me your come!" The man on top of her grunted several times, then withdrew and the man at her mouth quickly took his place. He came in her seconds later. My cock throbbed. I watched, my anger mounting, as a man who'd been jerking off suddenly fell between Julie's legs and quickly planted himself inside her. "Ooooooh," she moaned, "give me your come!"

This wasn't anything we'd ever agreed on. It turned into a full-fledged gangbang. Each of the other six men at our party took turns fucking and coming inside Jules. I felt the tingling in my groin when the last one stood up and knew I was close. Frankentits told me I could come in her, but I jumped up and quickly pounced on Julie. She grabbed her ankles and pulled her legs back, but I placed the head of my cock against her asshole and pushed as hard as I could, getting just the head in as she screamed and I came.

"Please," she'd whispered in my ear as I felt her relax, "put it all the way in. Fuck my ass, daddy. Fuck my little asshole. No one has ever fucked my virgin asshole before." It took effort, but I pushed balls deep inside her and tried not to think about the come of ten men running out of her pussy and onto my cock as I fucked her ass until I went limp. "I love you, Gordy," she'd whispered through gritted teeth when I collapsed on top of her.

I don't know when or how our 'guests' left, but I woke up some time later with all of them gone and my shriveled cock still inside her. We'd slept on the floor that night. When I woke in the morning she had cleaned up the mess from the night before and had already showered.

###

It's cliche, but time passes with greater speed as more time passes and it doesn't take long before it seems like there is more time behind you than in front of you. We loved each other too much not to reconnect, at least initially. After a few weeks we began talking through e-mail, then on the phone, then had several weekend getaways in the following few months. Then one getaway was cancelled due to something or other, then the rain check weekend was cancelled for the same reason. The phone calls were fewer and further between. Then the e-mails stopped.

Time and distance served as inadequate buffers. Even though we had neither spoken nor seen each other in well over a year, my heart broke when she called to tell me she was getting married. She'd wanted me to hear directly from her rather than through the grape vine and had asked to see me before her wedding day arrived. I stiffly congratulated her and hung up before she could respond.

I finished my masters degree, then my doctorate. By then we'd reconnected on Facebook as an afterthought and I watched from afar as her Facebook stream filled with photos of her first baby, Abe, then her second, Tom. I mostly ignored it. I bounced around the northeast as an underpaid history professor before taking a tenure-track position at Drexel. I had little self-realization that my new job would put me within a few miles of Julie.