The Professional Victim Ch. 03

"Sorry," he replied solemnly. "I won't treat you."

That made her pause. "Why not?" she whispered, a catch in her throat.

"I don't date my patients. If I have to choose you for one or the other, then psychotherapy is out. Sorry."

She barked a funny-sounding laugh, and when he looked at her, he was surprised to find her crying. "I'm not kidding, Brett. I'm really messed up. I would never have lasted on the force, anyway. I never last ANYWHERE. I attract disaster! I've never had a normal relationship ... not with my mother, not at school, not with a man. Never."

"Donna, you are probably the most desirable girl I've ever seen," he said calmly.

"Okay," she answered quietly, "I'm not going to argue with you there ... men do find me desirable. But it goes way, way beyond that." She sighed. "You know what I've decided? I've figured out that when it comes to the mating game, boys in our society are forced to think in terms of aggression while girls have to think in terms of surrender. A guy sees a girl he's attracted to physically, and he has to ask himself 'Do I pursue her? How forceful should I be? What do I do if she says no? How far should I press the attack?' On the other hand, when the girl sees a guy she likes physically, she asks 'Do I surrender right away? If not, then when? Do I surrender entirely, or should I set limits? Do I surrender all at once, or a little at a time?'

"That's my problem, you see. It's my curse. I always bring out the absolute highest level of aggression in a man. They all pursue me ... and when they ask themselves all of those 'guy questions' I just gave you, their answer is always 'Go for it!'" She took a shuddering breath. "I'm a small girl. I've always been small. I can't seem to fight them off physically. And when I say 'No,' to them, they somehow translate that into 'Try harder. Be more forceful.'"

She started to cry in earnest now. "When I was sixteen, my mom fell off the wagon ... again ... and my stepfather decided to transfer his attention to me. I suppose it was the same old story. I guess it happens all the time. At first, I actually thought I was in love with him, but then I just didn't know how to make it stop! Sixteen! You can't imagine how it was! After awhile, he purposefully got Mom liquored up every night so he could come to my room as soon as she passed out. I hated him. I hated Mom for letting it happen. Most of all, I hated myself. I tried to commit suicide, but I didn't have the guts to make it work. And then I ran away. I've been running ever since. But what HE did to me is what every other guy I've ever dated has done ... or at least tried to do. If they can't talk me into it, then they try to force me. And a lot of the time ... well ... most of the time really, they either take me by force or I just give up and let them have me.

"The worst part is that my body always betrays me. I don't WANT to get turned on. I don't WANT to respond, but I always do. And I almost always have an orgasm. Of course, once a girl has done that ... well, the guy figures THAT is justification for what he did. It makes him proud. 'I made you cum! You should be thanking me!'"

Another sigh. "I'm a victim, Brett. My whole life, I've been a victim. In the academy, I never let myself be alone with a guy ... ever. But right after graduation, they put me on duty as a DECOY. All of a sudden, I was a PROFESSIONAL victim! It's all I'm really any good at. I have a TALENT for submissiveness."

He regarded her with furrowed brow. "What do you want, Donna?"

"Nothing. I know this is what ...."

"No. I mean if you could have just one thing in this world ... if someone could grant you just one wish ... what would it be? Would it be to end your 'curse'?"

That made her think. "No," she answered softly. "This is who I am. This defines me."

"So what do you want, Donna?"

She looked up into his face with large, pooling eyes. "I need just one man I can surrender to ... surrender completely ... surrender forever. One man who will protect me from other men. One man who will protect me from myself ...."

He stood up abruptly, turned his back on her and walked up the steps. "Come with me, Donna," he said, opening the door, looking straight ahead. She stared at him in shock. "NOW!" he barked, not looking back. Without conscience thought, she leapt to her feet and hurried after him. He walked through the door and up the stairs, looking straight ahead, never looking back at her. She struggled on the steps, tripping, using her hands to push herself up, hustling to catch him.

They were in the apartment now. She looked around uncertainly, not really sure what was going on. Then she noticed the two suitcases lying open on the bed. "Oh ... you're going somewhere."

"Yes. I have a condo in Puerto Rico. I'm going there to start a book that I've been meaning to write."

She looked down at her feet and considered this. "You didn't mention it last night. Is this a sudden decision?"

"Yes," he told her, as he picked up a shirt from the bureau, folded it and put it into one of the suitcases. "The truth of the matter is that I was hurt by love once. Last night, I fell in love again; but this morning, something happened that made me think that she was just using me. I didn't think I could take that again. I guess I decided to run away for awhile."

"Oh, Brett. Oh, I'm SO sorry ...."

"You're going, too."

She blinked twice and then broke into a huge smile. "I AM?" She ran to him and threw her arms around him.

"Down Wench!" he ordered, laughing. "If I'm going to become your lord and master and protector and all that other crap, I'm going to have to insist on a little decorum!"

But she refused to let go of him. "Yes, Master," she said, crying softly. She looked up at him, and he rewarded her by taking her in his arms and kissing her with a rather large portion of sincerity.

"I don't have a passport!" she said, panicked.

He started packing again. "Puerto Rico is part of the United States."

"Oh. Yeah. I knew that." She thought for another moment. "I need to go home and pack!"

"No time. Our flight leaves in three hours, and we have to go to the ticket counter to buy another ticket. You can buy all your clothes when we get there. We'll call your landlord and arrange to have your stuff stored. Do you take any medications?"

"My birth control pills! We'll have to ...." She paused and blinked. "Oh. We won't need them, will we?" She watched him pack for awhile. "Will we be gone long?"

"If things go as I think they will, we'll have to come back here sooner or later." He smiled at her. "All my sperm is in KC."

That made her laugh. Then she looked serious. "Is it a long flight?"

"We change planes in Miami."

She shuffled her feet. "I'm ... well ... I'm sort of afraid of flying."

He stopped, then grabbed her by both shoulders and pushed her into a chair. Next, he reached in a drawer, and pulled out the crystal he'd used the night before. "I'll have to use your trigger phrase," he told her, dangling it in front of her eyes. "Dealing with a fear of flying is easy, but we only have time for a quick induction."

"Trigger phrase?" she asked, staring fixedly at the crystal.

"I gave you one last night when you were in your deepest trance. You'll go right to sleep ... if you trust me and let yourself surrender to me. DO you trust me?"

"Oh, Brett. Oh, yes." And already, she felt the weariness descending over her. Already, the crystal was the only thing she could see. Already, Brett's voice was the only thing she could hear.

"Sleepy time, Donna."

And sleep crashed over her, dragging her down and down. And she closed her eyes. And she surrendered herself completely. And she was a victim again. His victim. And now, there was only him. Forever.

.......................

It was almost a year later, in a small cantina in Puerto Rico, and Mrs. Donna Wheatley confided in me that she considers THAT the precise moment that she finally, finally stopped fearing herself and began to move forward with her life.

.......................

At the beginning of this story, I promised you a moral. I'm sure you could come up with one or two, yourself. But what is a moral, really, except a bit of observation couched in innuendo? So, please allow me to do a bit of un-couching, and simply present some facts.

Last year, 40,000 women died of breast cancer (in the USA alone). Several excellent organizations have done a wonderful job of raising awareness among women all over the world; awareness about the disease, its symptoms, its early detection and its treatment.

By comparison, 28,000 men died of prostate cancer during the same period (in the USA alone) ... not quite three-quarters of the other figure. Also by comparison, and despite the efforts of some medical professionals, very, very few men are aware of the nature of the disease, or its symptoms, or its early detection, or its treatment.

At the time of this writing, the best, most widely used tool for the early detection of prostate cancer is a test that measures prostate specific antigens in the blood (PSA).

If you are a man over 40 years old, you should demand that your doctor give you this test every year during your annual physical exam. If there is a history of prostate cancer in your family, you should start getting the test at age 35.

If you are a woman, you should sit down and talk with ALL of the men in your life that fall into these groups, and insist that they get this test.