SHE wore another red silk blouse. She looked good in red. It emphasized her strawberry-blond hair. It had become a habit for her to stand in front of her desk, half sitting on the corner. Today, she didn’t bother to pull down the skirt hem that hiked up just enough to reveal shapely smooth thighs. Lovely, tender thighs that made him wonder what it would feel like to sink his teeth into them.

She waited for him to talk while she scribbled in her notepad. He wasn’t the least bit curious about what the notes said. He was more interested in what her moans would sound like when he finally stuck himself inside her, thrusting deep and hard until she was screaming. He so enjoyed it when they screamed. The vibration felt like shock waves, like he was causing a fucking earthquake.

It was one of many things he had in common with his old friend, his old partner. At least it was one thing he didn’t need to fake. He pushed the sunglasses up on his nose and realized she was waiting.

“Mr. Harding,” she interrupted his thoughts. “You never answered my question.”

He couldn’t remember what the fucking question had been. He cocked his head to the side and jutted out his chin in that pathetic gesture that said, “Forgive me, I’m blind.”

“I asked if any of the exercises I suggested have helped.”

Sure enough. If he waited, people made it easy, supplying the answer, repeating themselves or doing whatever it was they had wanted him to do. He was getting good at this. Probably a good thing, in case it became permanent.

“Mr. Harding?”

He wanted to ask how long it had been since she had been fucked. That was, no doubt, the problem. Or perhaps she needed a few porn movies from his new private collection.

He knew from his research that she was divorced, for almost twenty-five years now. It had been a short, two-year marriage, a youthful indiscretion. Certainly there must have been several lovers since, though, of course, those details weren’t easily accessible on the Internet.

Now he could see her impatience growing. Finally, he said politely, “The exercises worked quite well, but that doesn’t prove anything.”

“Why do you say that?”

“What good does it do to get myself…well, excuse the expression…to get my little general all hot, hard and bothered when I’m alone?”

She smiled, the first she had surrendered since they had met.

“We need to start somewhere.”

“Okay, but I must object if you suggest I move on to blow-up dolls.”

Another smile. He was on a roll. Should he tell her he’d like her to be his blow-up doll? He wondered how good a blow job she could give with that sweet little mouth of hers. He was certain he could fill it quite nicely.

“No, I won’t make any more suggestions for the time being,” she said. “However, I would encourage you to continue with the exercises. The idea is to have a surefire method of arousal to fall back on should you find yourself wanting to perform with a woman but not able to.”

She was idly swinging her left foot as she sat on the corner of the desk. Her black leather pump teetered at the end of her toes as she played with it. He wished the shoe would fall off. He wanted to see if she had painted her toenails. He loved red-painted toenails.

“Whether we want to believe it or not, many of our preconceived notions about sex,” she continued, “come from our parents. Boys especially find themselves imitating their fathers’ behaviors. What was your father like, Mr. Harding?”

“He certainly had no problems when it came to women,” he snapped, and immediately regretted letting her see that the subject was a touchy one. She’d insist they poke and probe through it until she found a way to bring his mother into it as well. Unless…unless he turned it around somehow and embarrassed her away from the subject entirely.

“My father brought women home quite frequently. He even let me watch. Sometimes the women let me join in. What other thirteen-year-old boy can say he got his cock sucked by a woman while his dad fucked the shit out of her from behind?”

There it was—that look of utter shock. Soon it would be followed by the pity look. Funny how the truth possessed such remarkable power. A knock at the door made her jump. He stared off into oblivion like a good little blind fucker.

“Sorry to interrupt,” her secretary called. “That phone call you’ve been waiting for is on line three.”

“I need to take this call, Mr. Harding.”

“That’s fine.” He stood and fumbled for his cane. “Perhaps we can end early today.”

“Are you sure? This really will take but a minute or two.”

“No, I’m exhausted. Besides, I think you more than earned your money today.” He rewarded her with a smile so that she wouldn’t continue to object. As he waited for the elevator, the anger began to churn inside his guts. He hated thinking about his parents. She had no right bringing them into this. She had overstepped her bounds. Yes, today, Dr. Gwen Patterson had gone too far.