"Are all therapists as hot as you are?" Growled the overstepping new client as he sunk into the burnt-orange cloth cushions on the far wall, white-washed and clustered with blue and green abstract art. The air was lavender scented.

I sighed, clenching entwined fingers in my lap and trying to hide how flattered I was, because it was no excuse to engage. Inappropriate patient/counselor relationships were not just frowned upon, but could be grounds for a career-ending meeting with the APA, The American Psychological Association. I'd worked too long and too hard, eight years to get my Doctorate, and I wasn't going to blow it all in my second year of hands-on counseling. Probably not, anyways. 

The specimen of a man in front of me was absolutely my type, annoyingly enough. Blue-black box dyed hair, spiked and greased and alternative, was accompanied by an impressively athletic body - toned with big tattooed arms. There were no rules against looking.

"Let's keep it appropriate; shall we? You can call me Dr. Morgan and you're..." I shuffled through his intake papers. "Dustin, right?"

His laugh rattled the small room where I spent forty hours a week, filling a vacancy. 

"Yeah, it's Dustin, and I'm sorry. It won't happen again," he said with a wink.

I blinked hard to avoid rolling my eyes before rattling off into my standard spiel: boundaries and disclosures and ensuring that he wasn't a danger to himself. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Have you ever had homicidal thoughts?" I asked monotonously, not expecting a yes since I'd never heard one.

"No," but something flashed across his eyes. What was it?

"How did that question make you feel?" I pressed.

He laughed a big confident laugh. Perhaps it had been humor in his eyes, but a dark humor.

"I'm the opposite of a homicidal maniac, I think you'll find. I wish I could bring someone back, not take someone out. That's why I'm here, really."

My heart swelled. I knew a thing or two about loss and I could see it in his face now, drooping beneath his eyes and a comfort-seeking gaze. His Adam's Apple bobbed.

"Why don't you tell me a little about that?" I rocked on my heels in my leather rolling chair, grounding myself on the yellow shag rug. 

"My dad passed when I was a baby and my mom... she just passed from Ovarian cancer a few months ago. I, well, I think that I need some help processing her passing. I've been having night terrors, but um I've never been to therapy before and I don't really know if it can help me. I doubt it, honestly. No one in my life even knows that I'm here today, because I'm not sure that I'm coming back." Defensiveness and a downturned gaze, staring at his chunky boots. I felt a surge of confidence.

"Thank you for your honesty, really. Talking about these things isn't easy and isn't going to be easy, but if you give me an honest shot as your counselor, I think that I can help you build some coping skills. You don't have to go it alone. How do you cope now?"

"I run a lot: half-marathons, mainly."

"That's great! How do you feel that works for you?" 

I left a note on his paperwork: runner. 

"It works out okay." The tall man's frame had become rigid and I believed that he was hiding something from me, but he was getting overwhelmed and I didn't want to scare him away from therapy, so I dropped it for now. His high knees ran in place.

"Do you use any substances? How are your drinking habits?"

"Just pot, and only socially." He relaxed.

The rest of our get-to-know-you session was pleasant and routine, and it got easier and easier to ignore the flush to my cheeks and the stir in my cardigan gut. He needed help and I could give it to him. I could be a professional.

"Do you want to go ahead and schedule your next session?" 

"If I say no, can I take you on a date?" He joked with a devilish grin but I decided to take it as harmless.

"Nope," with a laugh.

"Then sure."

                                                                                  | o o o |

"Harmony, I really don't know how I feel about this," I stressed as I shimmied my khaki work pants off and slipped on a leather skirt, one I hadn't worn in a half decade. It was seductive and feminine on my tall build, more masculine than I liked to admit. I was saving up for a boob job. 

"I know, but you can only remain miserable so long, love," comforted my best friend from my phone's speaker, echoing through the porcelain sink of my office bathroom. Tubular bulbs overhead flickered.

"I don't even know what I'm walking into." Off came the ballet flats and on came the boots, orange laced and rubber soled. 

"You don't have to know because I do! I score at these all of the time, and I'll be there with you. If you feel uncomfortable, just come find me, okay?" Air whistled around my friend's high-pitched voice. She was on her way to Single's Night, as I soon would be despite not being single. Not really, anyways. 

I ran a flat brush through my long, oil black hair. Fishnets and a crop top on, I was ready physically, but not mentally, but I hadn't expected to be. Dating never feels so heavy as when you're a widow attending her first single's event. Deep breaths; I coped.

"It feels like cheating." Shaky, shaky exhale.

"I know, hon, but Ollie would want you to be happy, and you haven't been. It's okay to want someone; it's human." Harmony's words were soft but intentional: genuine care and concern. 

The therapist in me knew that she was right; the Ollie in me screamed in opposition. 

I dragged a black lipstick over my chapped lips before wrapping my tan cardigan around my mid-sized body and scurrying to my burgundy mini van. To ensure that I didn't skip out and go home, I went straight to the bar.

It felt like a funeral procession; I left the radio off.

                                                                                     | o o o |

A man in his forties, recently divorced and wearing a blue name tag scrawled with, "ALEX," had been talking my ear off about the stock market for too long when Harmony swooped in, hooking her short and slender arm around mine and leading me to the bar. Perfect timing. I needed a drink.

"What took you so long?" I hissed to the tiny blonde, a Sabrina Carpenter type and my best friend since diapers. The sticky, fake wooden floor of the local Savannah, Georgia bar squelched as it repeatedly released my boots from its grip and my chest hurt. I breathed through it. 

"Sorry! I'm on the hunt too," she chirped.

"For who?" I asked, exasperated. The small crowd at the western-themed bar was largely middle aged, and even though I was feeling more and more like them with each passing year, I was only twenty-seven. We called the bartender over, who was replacing a liquor bottle on the densely shelved wall, lit by a single orange Edison bulb overhead. Single dollar bills were stapled to every wall and booth of the establishment. Eclectic. He scurried over.

"What can I get y'all?" With a wink but not at me. Harmony giggled.

"Two vodka redbulls, double shots please," she flirted back, leaning her pear-shaped silhouette across the resin bar top, feigning interest. Golden locks flicked over a bare shoulder, tube-topped. She was talented. 

"For you ladies, it's on the house."

I left a five dollar bill on the counter and we headed off to a red leather booth to drink and decompress.

"How's work?" I asked between ten-second sips.

"Fine, fine. I got some blue-light glasses and those have been helping with the migraines, but I don't know how much longer I can work from home without actually losing my mind. I sold my soul to Adobe and I'm cursed with pajamas every day and yet I have no time for a real relationship. Or a dog."

My dark-eyed stare faded in lucidity and I inhaled the hoppy air, beer spilled. As a therapist, I knew using alcohol as liquid courage was wrong, but as a human, I was so fucking relieved to feel that burn. I hummed into it. 

"You ever think about going back to the office? Offer still stands for me to help you get one in my building..." I trailed off hopefully, despite being turned down before.

"Hell, no! It's more convenient from home; I can just fall asleep as soon as I'm done, but I'll cut back the workload eventually... maybe." She took a big, wide-eyed sip, clutching the tall glass in both small hands. I doubted her words. Harmony was a graphic designer, and you couldn't go to the grocery store without running into some of her work. Massively successful and gorgeous, if I hadn't been relatively secure in my place in the world, it would've been easy to hate her as I'd been tempted to at other times in my life. But I didn't. I was proud of my hard work and the ways that it'd paid off, and I was looking forward to the coming decades of helping people. My life was a passion project; I did it. 

The front door bells jingled and a new challenger approached from behind my melon of a head.

Harmony ducked, periodically popping up to sneak a peek, scream-whispering. "That one! Charlie, that's the one!"

My heart picked up its pace and I downed the rest of my drink, leaning into the buzz.

"Charlie, he's coming over here! I'm dipping out to the bathroom!" Harmony slid her jean shorts across the booth - two thumbs up - and ran off before I had time to process what was happening. I wasn't ready for it to not be Ollie, and it wouldn't be. I tried not to cry as I tipped the last sip of my vodka redbull down my strained throat, choking. 

As I dropped the bottom of my iced glass -  there stood a smirking Dustin, not Ollie. I hadn't noticed his snake bites earlier, silver and pointed, and he'd changed into a sleeveless black hoodie. I had to tear my eyes from his arms. 

"Fancy seeing you here," then the creak of the wooden skeleton of the booth to my right, buckling and imposing. "You look beautiful, by the way."

I was at a loss and he took advantage, pushing off of the surface and sliding into the vacancy that Harmony left. The condensation of my glass cooled my warm fingertips. "Dustin, this isn't... I can't..."

"Let me buy you a drink. Are there any rules against being friends?" He pressed. Blue eyes with hazel flecks bore into my soul and I sighed.

"Yes, actually."

"Oh," and without another word he slid out of the booth. 

As his therapist, I was proud of him for taking no for an answer, but as a human I was sad to see him go. The spark was undeniable, but I had a responsibility to uphold. Even if I ended our sessions immediately, which I didn't want to do to a man who was barely willing to go to therapy to begin with, the APA recommended a two year minimum before pursuing relationships. I was already toeing a line by continuing despite the flirting.

After a few minutes of trying to look busy, a deflated Harmony returned from the bathroom. Thank goodness.

"No? Dang," she hummed. 

Under APA guidelines, I couldn't even tell her that he was my client so I instead shrugged. "I don't think he's that into me, but you can try if you want."

Despite doing nothing but strike out all night, I was enjoying the time with my best friend. Between her rotating cast of boyfriends and demanding work schedule, it had been too long since we'd had a night out together and girl's night felt better than replacing Ollie, anyways. I'd decided that I wasn't ready. 

That is until Dustin returned, three tall glassed vodka redbulls clutched against his chest. Harmony didn't understand my hesitation. "Drinks for the ladies," he purred as he placed them onto the resin-top table, sliding in next to me. Heat wafted off his large frame.

"Wow! That is so nice of you! I'm Harmony and this piece of ass is Charlie," said she with a wink in my direction. At that moment I knew that I'd have to suspend my professional relationship with Dustin, but things still didn't need to escalate further. Further than free drinks, anyways. 

"Yeah, um thanks." I hoped that he would take the hint.

"It's my honor, Charlie." He didn't.

Harmony bit her lip to suppress a shit-eating grin, and I wished that I had a good excuse to kick her under the table. This was honestly shaping up to be a worst case scenario.

In the bar lighting, orange and inconsistent, it was too easy to forget that the goateed man next to me was off limits. Although I was partial to dark eyed men, I could admit how luminous his flecked eyes were in that moment - how his waterline twinkled at me. Charisma and confidence. It was overwhelming and attractive and as I downed my second vodka red bull, I was almost able to convince myself that I could get away with this. After all, it's not like I would be having more sessions with him.

"Well, I'm going to go see about that guy," from Harmony as she disappeared again. My heart dropped, as did my jaw. 

"I really want to kiss you," Dustin called out over the rumble of country music and local chatter, scooching in closer. I slid away.

"This is against the rules and you know it."

My back was pressed flat against the dollar-billed wall, staples jutting into my skin where my crop top cut off. The sensation prickled the skin of my neck and arms.

"Fuck the rules. I won't tell," he growled, leaning forward and into my right ear, sending shivers down my trembling spine. I could feel the wetness growing in between my thighs, but I needed to resist. 

"Dustin, please I -"

"Tell me that you don't want me to and I'll leave." His breath smelled like mint and vodka and I inhaled through my nose. I wanted to taste it; I wanted to taste him and my increasing intoxication was making it hard to resist. 

"I - I can't." There was no denying that my body longed for his - or perhaps just longed. Two years is a long time to go without intimacy, after all. His eyes flicked to my lips and held then there. 

"Can I kiss you?" He begged through labored breath.

"Fuck it," and I slammed my black lipsticked mouth onto his, vibrating and humming with pleasure. His mouth tasted like iron and bad decisions, and I leaned into his warmth. I'd missed human contact and when his tongue pushed into my lips, requesting entry, I opened for him and pressed my tongue against his. Mistakes can feel good, but this was so, so wrong.

When we finally pulled away, heat swirled through my face, but my chest was tight with guilt. 

I missed my husband. I was risking my job. I wanted it and I didn't know who I was anymore. 

"Can we take this back to your place?" asked Dustin and I didn't know how to say no so I didn't. Two years touch-starved was making me act out of character, reckless with everything that I'd worked towards, but my loneliness waned with his contact. I'd have done anything to not be so alone.

"Oh, absolutely."

                                                                                   | o o o |

We wasted no time ripping clothes off of flesh, his hairy and hard and mine doughy and soft. Off came skirt and crop top; off came shoes, fishnets and dangly pizza earrings. I was vulnerable, too vulnerable to be around anyone but Ollie, but fuck I needed to be filled. It was horrible, but alluring and I moaned into his mouth as I palmed at his growing erection with one hand and unclasped my bra with the other. I told myself that it would be wrong to deny myself of my needs, but I knew that this was more wrong. 

I just couldn't stop.

"Fuck, baby," against my mouth as plaid boxers dropped to his ankles, a thin strip of untattooed skin. He sprung up and struck me in the stomach as we waddled, attached at the lips, to my unmade bed. My guilt increased with each second, but so did my arousal. It felt good to descend. 

To silence my screaming mind, I dropped my bare knees to the carpeted floor, soft and fresh in the chalkboard walled room that I'd accompanied by myself for the last year. He was the first man that I'd let into my sacred space, and we were sinning all over it. He was warm and thick in my hands and I stared into his amazed, pale blue eyes as I took him into my mouth, lapping with my tongue. Dustin hissed with pleasure.

I sucked and bobbed, shoving him into the back of my throat with a gag and he hummed before gently pushing me from his now rock hard member.

"Lay down," he purred and I obeyed, suddenly relieved that I'd shaved 'just in case.' Split down the middle and awaiting his touch, staring up at the swaying popcorn ceiling, I was reminded again that I was making a horrible decision - no, I had already made a horrible decision. There was just no going back now. My heart dropped but not for long, because the tongue on the inside of my thigh quickly became the only thing I could focus on. I gave in to the sensation, desperate and longing at my center, dripping as he trailed further in. I whined when he pulled away.

"Please," I begged, and with a groan he gave into my desires, flicking the tip of his tongue against my swollen clitoris. It was electrifying; I'd forgotten what it was like to receive pleasure and I was basking in it, whimpering wordlessly. When he bit the inside of my thigh, I yelped.

"You're so fucking sexy," he groaned into the sensitive skin and I about came undone right there. I throbbed and whined when he pulled away for a moment, throwing my head back onto my pillow. I was ready for what came next.

The condom came on and I shook so hard with anticipation that I would've been embarrassed if I hadn't been feeling so many other things at that moment, overstimulated by desire and want. When he brushed against my center, I almost came again.

"You ready?" And an open-mouth nod from me came before the moment of impact, stretching and filling my eager walls. Pressure continued to build in my gut as he slid in and out of me, periodically stopping to catch his ragged breath and check in with me. He, too, seemed to be struggling to hold it together. A bead of sweat dripped down his face as he lifted my legs above my head and pressed in, testing my depth and flexibility. A groan, from him and then from me. Grease-spiked head thrown back in ecstasy, he pounded me recklessly, hard and fast and so damn good. 

"I'm not going... to last," I cried out and he moaned before accelerating his speed and tying his vulnerable eyes to mine, nearing. He was my first bump of ecstasy in ages, sexual but not sensual and hitting me right where I needed it, sinking. 

"I want to see you fucking come, baby," fell from his swollen lips and that was enough to push me over the edge. My legs, still above my thrown-back head, trembled violently as I called out for him and came harder than I had in years. Euphoria exploded in my stomach and spread throughout, pulsing and throbbing. 

"Fuck!" then the spill into the condom, blue eyes trained on my face.

We laid there for a while, breathing heavily, before I burst into tears.

I fucked up.