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From: One Gallus <onegallus@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Counselor 16, 17
Date: Wed, 25 Oct 2000 09:10:06 -0400
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<1st attachment, "C 16.txt" begin>
{ASSM}
Title: Counselor Part 16 (MF, rom, oral, anal, feet) Author: One Gallus,
<OneGallus@yahoo.com>
Disclaimer Not to be read: by anyone under the age of 18, or if it
violates the standards or laws of your community, or if adult erotica
offends you.
Not to be posted on any other site, or changed, or used in any way
without author's permission.
THE COUNSELOR
Part 16
We slept together on the floor that night, and came together once more
just before dawn. We showered, and she put the same panties and clothing
back on. She did not put her bra on, nor button her blouse. We watched
the early news together, she sitting on my lap, I with my hand on her
breast, intermittently kissing her face.
When the news came to an end, I said, "Millie, you could never be too
heavy for me, but I must give up my beautiful burden and lie flat for a
while."
She smiled and said "A `burden,' huh? Very well, here's how we'll work
this. Today and tomorrow, you need to rest, and I'll be busy preparing for
my classes. I'll call you on Monday, and if you are up to it, we will have
one more evening together before. Well, before things go back to so called
`normal.'"
I stood in the garage and waved goodbye as the white Toyota backed out
and sped away for Perrysburg.
I did rest that day and next, taking Darvocet and Ibuprofen at evenly
spaced times, according to the dosage. It put me away most of the day and
night.
By Monday I was almost back to normal, with just a shade of stiffness.
Monday was a dud workday. Most all the regulars had not scheduled for the
first day after the holiday, and so I spent the Monday on paper work and
writing. I sent KC home since nothing was astir. And I manned the phones
myself the rare times they rang.
At 1:15 I heard a sharp knock at my office door. I stood to go answer
it and Reilly walked in. Her face was flush and sweaty, in spite of the
chilly day. She took off her tweed jacket. "Reilly!" I said, "What a
surprise!"
"All right, Clifford, it's answer time," she said, no greeting, no
smile. She sat down on the chair in front of my desk.
I came around and set on the edge of the desk, in front of her. "Answer
time?"
"I haven't had any sleep since Friday night, thinking about us. I need
answers"
"I don't know that I have all the answers you want Reilly, but I'll try.
Sit down."
She wore a longish light denim skirt with a matching vest and a dark
blue blouse under it. She wore dark blue moccasins with light blue leather
ties, and she sat with one leg crossed closely over the other. She was not
wearing the Celtic cross.
"Are we every going to fuck again, Clifford?"
I had avoided thinking about the question, a real problem with me
anyway. I tend to let things ride, see what time will do an issue. Now, I
had to deal with it. A long minute passed. I weighed the word, and
considered her attitude implicit in it.
"No, Reilly, I don't think we'll ever fuck again."
Reilly's eyes were bloodshot, puffy. She squirmed in her chair,
crossing her legs the other way.
"Why not?"
"Well, as I said on the phone, I was more emotionally involved with you
than I knew, certainly more than you were with me. When you went with
another man, it hit me in the solar plexus. You were fair, and told me it
would happen, still I didn't expect it to affect me so deeply. I guess sex
means more to me than I thought, emotionally I mean."
"You didn't complain about the physical aspect of it as I recall. That
last night, I had you ready to do about anything for me, I think you would
have joined an orgy with me if I'd have demanded it."
I thought about it. She did have me babbling, making all sorts of
promises to her. "Yes, I suppose I would have done anything for you at
that moment.
"You would have, and you know it," she said.
"Maybe. Are those the kinds of promises you want me to keep, Reilly,
extracted from me in the heat of passion?"
She didn't answer my question, but she said, "I've lost you as a friend,
I've really screwed it all up."
"Reilly, I don't know if I can really relate to you as a friend.
Apparently, you can keep your role straight in all this. I can't keep my
role straight.
"Your role?" she asked.
"Yes, I don't know whether I'm a lover or a friend."
"Why does one have to preclude the other?" she asked.
I thought it over, working my thinking out on the spot. "Reilly, I
could have you as a friend among other friends, but I can't have you as a
lover among other lovers."
"Oh, I think you're doing OK Clifford?" She was nodding her head in an
exaggerated way.
"What does that mean?"
"You and that one-titted paranoiac!" she spat.
I involuntarily raised my eyebrows at that. "How did you.?"
"So! I AM right. You and Millie have been fucking!"
"Reilly! I."
"Listen Clifford, I'm a woman, and I know women. I've been watching her
during class, and while you were working together, I know she's had a thing
for you!"
I hadn't known that Millie "had a thing" for me, but I shouldn't have
been surprised that Reilly could pick up on it, as intuitive as she was.
"Reilly, let me tell you this, Millie and I were never together before
you left on your trip, you're assuming too much if you believe that. But
how did you know about her breast?"
"Don't forget, I've been working with her too, women talk."
I shook my head.
"Look Clifford, I never objected to your getting all the pussy you can
handle. I certainly get my fair share of cock. I don't know why we just
can't continue to enjoy each other in the process."
"I can't Reilly, I thought I could, but I can't."
"It's that tight-assed left brain of yours. You're letting it push you
around!" she muttered.
"Reilly, I've come to have a lot of respect for my left brain. Read Dr.
Rico more carefully. Her argument is to balance left and right brain. You
know that, and it wouldn't hurt to tune in on your other half every so
often."
Reilly sobbed, her deep voice bellowing through the empty office. I
wanted to hug her, but I didn't dare. She quieted a bit and I reached out
and took her two hands into mine.
"Look Reilly, the very reason you're feeling so sad is because you've
not achieved that balance. That happy, carefree child in you can't have
her way in everything. She doesn't think about the consequences. She
didn't MEAN to hurt anyone, and she certainly doesn't want to hurt herself.
She just wants a good time. That's why the stuffy old left brain is there,
to keep her from hurting herself."
She didn't look at me, and the tears continued to run down her face. I
drew two tissues from a box on my desk and gave to her.
Reilly, "If you were my friend, then, I should ask myself, `What is it
that I'm doing that hurts you, that injures you?' And if I want to keep you
as a friend, I may have to quit those things."
"But Clifford," she said wiping her eyes, "what if it doesn't bother me?
It DOESN'T bother me!"
"But it bothers ME, Reilly! It bothers me, and the bother goes so deep
that I can't shake it."
She held my gaze, silent for while, then she nodded her head.
"It's born into your guts, isn't it?" she asked. A faint smile played
on her lips as she dabbed at the tears.
"Maybe," I said. "Reilly, I'm sorry I've hurt you."
"I'm sorry too, Clifford," she said, standing up. "I'm sorry I hurt
you."
She blew her nose on the tissue, then came over to me, wrapped her arms
around my own, trapping them, hugging me, lingering there. Her forehead
was against my lips. I felt her soft breasts rising and falling at my
chest. I smelled the grassy fragrance and I breathed it in deeply.
"Goodbye Clifford," she said, and released me, looking into my eyes. I
swallowed, but couldn't speak. She turned around and walked to the door,
opened it and walked out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind her.
An unbelievable wave of sadness swept over me. I walked into the outer
office, to the window by KC's desk, and saw her wandering across the
parking lot to her Cherokee. She looked to be the loneliest woman on all
the earth. I walked back to my office, sat down at my desk, and burst into
tears.
<1st attachment end>
<2nd attachment, "C 17.txt" begin>
{ASSM}
Title: Counselor Part 17 (MF, rom, oral, anal, feet) Author: One Gallus,
<OneGallus@yahoo.com>
Disclaimer Not to be read: by anyone under the age of 18, or if it
violates the standards or laws of your community, or if adult erotica
offends you.
Not to be posted on any other site, or changed, or used in any way
without author's permission.
THE COUNSELOR
Part 17 FINISH
At 5:00 PM I called Millie's number, no answer. I called at 5:15 and
5:30. She should have called me before then. I drove home, and called
again. Nothing. At 6:30, I tried one last time, and when there was no
answer, I took a shower, dressed and phoned again. No one picked up the
phone. Puzzled, and needing her company, I went to the Escort and pointed
it toward Perrysburg.
The white Toyota was in its parking space. I rang the bell. Nothing. I
knocked on the door. No answer. I stood there a moment going over the
arrangement in my mind. She wanted to spend this last evening with me
before Emily came back. She was to call me, but she didn't. She must be
here, her car is here. Could she be out with someone? What was going on?
I turned slowly and walked toward my car. I heard the door unlatch, and
turned back as it opened.
"Hello Clifford," she said, unsmiling, come in.
She was wearing a faded winter robe. Her feet were in houseshoes. Her
face was not made up and she was quite pale. She walked to an upholstered
chair and sat.
"Millie, what's wrong?"
She sighed. "I've been thinking things over, Clifford."
"Thinking things over? What do you mean?"
"You don't care anything about me,"
"Millie, how can you say that?"
"You love Reilly."
"Millie, where did you come up with all this?" I sat down on the couch.
"You were devestated when she went off with that teacher," she said.
"Yes, it hit me pretty hard."
"You said you felt `empty' and `lonesome.'" Her voice was flat.
"Yes, I did."
"You said, `So lonesome you could cry.'"
"Right." I said.
"You love her. You don't feel that way unless you love somebody."
I thought that over. Could it really be? Was there some aspect of love
that a sexual experienced actually created? Why had I cried when I saw
Reilly walk away earlier? What did I feel for Reilly right now, in spite
of the goodbyes I had initiated? And why in God's name did I have to sort
it all out, and identify all my feelings, right here, right now?
I signed, "Millie, I have tried to be honest with you. I don't know how
to answer you."
"I shouldn't have let it go this far, Clifford, you don't care anything
about me."
"Millie, how can you say that?"
"Reilly shit all over you. All you needed little Millie for--was to
come over and clean you up."
"What?"
"Your just like all the rest, just trying to get into my pants.
And-kissing my scar! My surgery didn't bother you, because--yo--you're
just not a tit man." Her mouth was twisted and her eyes were flashing. She
seemed to be another person. "It didn't matter to you as long as the pussy
was in working order."
"Millie!"
"Get the hell out of here, Clifford," she said, cold as stone.
At 10:00 PM, I called KC from home, "KC, you will have to cancel all of
Tuesday for me. I know this is not good for business, but I have some
personal things that are very critical for me to work out. See if you can
get over to the office early and warn all our people off, reschedule for
the next regular session.
KC asked no questions. She knew I was dead serious, and knew something
was afoot.
I felt like someone had been at my heart with a knife. I lay in the
floor, flat of my stomach. Hank Williams was coming through the stereo,
very low. When my mind wandered from the lyrics, I would think about a
word that Reilly had used. She had called Millie a one-titted "paranoiac."
Could she right about her? Millie's stories, obviously biographic, always
centered on women who were ostensibly confident, but very fragile, very
unsure inside.
Reilly had seen it. I had not. I'm a counselor. She's a teacher. Why
had she picked up on it, and not I? Because, Clifford, you stepped away
from your role as a counselor. You asked her, "Do you want me to be your
counselor or your friend?"
"Your friend, of course," she had said. That's when you pulled your
antenna in, Clifford. That's when you exposed your own heart. Millie has
a severe personality disorder. She can't take tenderness or intimacy, or
even love without suspecting she's being used or exploited in some way.
Maybe her husband did treat her shabbily. Perhaps her lovers had
skewered her feelings. Yet even those who would naturally love her, her
own family, even her son, were alienated from her. Could it be that Millie
was suffering these feelings with out any justification? If so, then
Millie was in trouble, and I was the last person on earth to whom she will
listen.
All of these thoughts came slowly, pushed painfully, through my troubled
brain, and deposited themselves in little hard pieces in the tiny
receptacle of my understanding. It would have been easier if my heart had
not interfered. I looked at the clock at 3:10 AM, and fell asleep sometime
after that.
At 12:00 noon, my eyes snapped open, and I got up, made coffee and ate
handfuls of dry cereal. I put Hank on the stereo and listened to ten songs
before I jabbed the off button on the CD player, and said, "Hank, you're
not a singer, you're a hillbilly moaner, and I can't stand you today."
I put Vivaldi's Four Seasons on the CD and listened for twenty minutes.
It sounded ridiculous. I tried Bach's Brandenburg Concertos. It ran me up
a wall.
I ate a slice of Butterball Turkey and a stale bagel and drank apple
cider from a carton. I cleaned up the kitchen. I played my guitar till
2:30 and I watched CNN news and the Travel Channel.
At 3:05 PM Emily came home. We embraced at the door, and she said,
"Hon, I am ever glad to be home! You know mother and me, we can't get
along for more than two days at a time. I was there four days. Gee you
look awful. Back still hurting?"
"Emily, I know you're tired, and I hate to pull this on you right now,
but I am going to explode if I don't get it said."
She looked worried, as well she might.
"Emily, I love you."
"I love you too, Clifford." she said, sincerely.
"No, no you don't, not as man, not as a lover."
"But we're sixty."
"Emily, don't ever say that again. I still want sexual love. I know
that's not what we're ALL about, but it's a part of the whole. But with
you and me, there is nothing there anymore."
"Clifford, anytime you want it, I won't refuse you. You know that."
"That's not true. You'll open your legs to me, but that's it. That's
not loving me. I can't do that! I want you to want me!"
She stared at me blankly. "But I can't make myself."
"I don't want you to MAKE yourself do anything. I want us to want each
other, and there are some issues that make that impossible, on both sides,
but you simply refuse to look at them, and maybe I don't either."
"What are you saying?" she asked, puzzled.
"Issues about your hatred of Mother. Issues of my resentment toward you
because of that. Issues that I don't know anything about, but you never
mention. I don't know, maybe I disgust you in some way."
Emily shook her head, "Good Lord, who have you been talking to? Have
you been seeing a counselor?"
No, but I see things in us that I've seen in others, and there is no way
out of our situation by ourselves.
"But why? Why all of a sudden do you spring this on me?
"I don't really think I have sprung it on you. I just backed away every
time when you refuse me. All our married life, I have had trouble putting
off important matters, fearful of the confrontation, hoping that time would
work it out."
"Well, it has, Clifford! I don't feel that way about your Mom any
more!" she whined.
"Now that she's dead?" I asked. "Emily, you may not feel it now, but I
resent your hatred just as much or more than I ever did. We have to see a
counselor." I said.
"You are a counselor," she said.
"No, not here, not with you. I'm like a physician who has cancer. I
can't do it by myself. I am a part of the problem, and so are you. We
need a third party."
"But I can't talk about sexual things with a counselor," she said.
"I am not going to let you put me off on this anymore, Emily. If you
don't agree to a counselor, I'm leaving you."
"Leaving me? Clifford! I go on a trip, and everything's fine, and come
home and you're LEAVING me?" she yelled.
"Everything was NOT fine!" I said, topping her volume. "It has not been
fine for two years! You've just succeeded in putting me off, and imagined
everything was OK."
She shook her head in disbelief. I watched her closely.
"Now," I said, "I'm going to the office for awhile. Think it over, and
I'll be back by eight."
"Clifford!" she called, as if I were pulling some horrible practical
joke on her. Her eyes were red with tears.
I didn't answer her, but walked to the door. I turned back just before
I closed it, "I mean this Emily, we get help or it's over."
It's dark now, I look out of my office window and see the car lights
flashing in the rain. I go back and sit at my caf, table and look at the
clock, 7:00 PM. Before me is my writer's notebook. I turn to a fresh page
and I draw a small circle in the middle. In it, I write "Emily." In
fifteen minutes her name is surrounded by other circles, clustering close.
In those circles are respectively written: "Fear, Doubt, Shame, Hurt,
Hatred, Resentment, Love, Risk, Surrender, Acquiescence, Counselor." Then I
feel my heart shift. A sail-glider comes to mind, jumping off a cliff,
leaving the firm earth, and flying out over a vast chasm. I write in my
notebook:
I sit, brooding behind this table Over which I have guided others,
Needing myself to be guided, Needing myself to feel worthied, Needing
myself to empty my truths Before someone who will not judge, Who will know
I love you, even if you doubt it, Before someone who can coax that truth
From my muted and fearful tongue, To let it resonate in your heart, Before
you deafen, hard and dense. I know I have risked your love, But I run the
hazard that I may have your love.
At fifteen minutes till eight, I close the notebook, put it under my
arm, and leave my office. I will be home by eight o'clock.
The End
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