Chapter 1

I remember what she looked like to this day, even though it was over 40 years ago. God, she was so beautiful that the image of her, sitting on that red leather couch in my office, it will always be as clear in my mind as it was that unusually cold day in January of 1942 when we first met. While her name was Debra, her friends called her Debbie, while everyone else knew to call her Mrs. Kressel or ma’am. After all, her reputation preceded her and bespoke of her impeccable elegance, grace and style. She wasn’t just a Navy wife, she was the admiral’s wife. He, of course, was gone; the carrier USS Lexington steaming westward under his command. That left her to do everything that a married woman was supposed to do such as run the household and raise the children but also to do all the things that married women weren’t supposed to do, at least the ones whose husbands weren’t 4,000 miles away risking their lives in a naval fight to the death. And so, on that day, alone and, I suspected vulnerable, she sat on the couch in my office while I let my eyes rest on her

feet and drink in her every detail as they crawled their way up her body. Her feminine legs were stockinged in a nude pantyhose as they hung over the edge of the couch while the charcoal gray ladies business suit she wore had nary a speck on it, it couldn’t

A catalog model models Debbie’s outfit but can’t come close to the beauty of the pretty Catholic mother.

have been cleaner if it had come off the tailor’s rack that very morning. The rest of her was just as well accessorized, the deep forest green of her handbag matching both her hat and the lapels of her jacket and, with one glance, I knew she was a woman for whom the opinion and approval of others was of the utmost importance. On her feet she wore stylish and modern shoes, and while they didn’t look the slightest bit comfortable, no discomfort registered on her face This was a woman who wanted everyone to think her life was perfect even though, if she was sitting in my office, then there was no way that could possibly be the case. As she sat there absentmindedly smoothing the top of her skirt over her legs I took one last survey of her body, from her supple and succulent legs, to the smooth lines of her blazer. There was no doubt in my mind that she had ironed it only moments before she left the house. It rose in a gentle arc over her bustline and though the jacket did a good job of hiding it, I suspected she had rather large breasts and that was the moment I became determined to find out. The pretty green beret that completed the outfit covered the top of exquisite reddish brown locks; these flowed gently down to her shoulders and made her face seem even more stunning. Lastly, her skin was the color of flawless porcelain with just the slightest touch of pink and every line of her face, jaw, nose and cheek was so achingly perfect that to this day she is still the purest expression of unquestionable femininity that I believe any man has ever seen. I made up my mind both then and there that my mission in life was to break her. I would take this woman whose greatest pride was being the picture of elegance, a pure and graceful Navy wife and mother and turn her into what I was sure she most reviled, a depraved and filthy whore destined to spread her legs and offer up her cunt at the snap of my two fingers. I was something of an anomaly in those days, the negro holding the highest rank of any in the entire Armed Forces and someone who had only been able to go to medical school on the back of a successful lawsuit. I could tell she was uncomfortable, not only at having to admit that her perfect little family was far from it but also having to do so to someone of an inferior race; what the good white folk called a colored in those days. Yet here she sat, the medical care of the Armed Forces being her only option as a Navy wife and the situation with her son being unbearable. I knew it would eventually come to this; the drug I had been putting in her son Jarrett’s food had just about guaranteed it and I reveled in the thought of just how easy it had been what with psychoactive drugs being so readily accessible to a Navy psychiatrist. The rest of it had also been simple; the tiny cylinder locks of the day being so effortlessly picked should anyone even lock their front door. Once inside, it had just been a matter of choosing something the boy ate that his mother most likely did not. That had been a bit of a gamble and I admit it made me nervous but, judging by Debra and just how perfect was her figure, I knew she wouldn’t be eating the sugar sweetened breakfast cereal that I found on the top shelf of the cupboard. Then it was just a matter of dropping by once a week, watching mother and son head off for church as all devout Catholics do and then walking right in the front door like my being there was the most natural thing in the world. In under five minutes I would dump the cereal on the newspaper I brought with me, shake the sticky, tasteless, excitotoxin stimulant powder on top of it and then put the cereal back in the box. The box went back in the cupboard and I would go back out the front door, a Navy man of such high rank that anyone who saw me would only assume that I was supposed to be there. That was back in the day when doctors still made house calls and all that was left for me, as I walked back down the sidewalk to sit in the same church as mother and son, was to just wait for her to show up on my couch, wondering just what in good lord’s name had gotten into her son. Of course, I knew the answer to that question and the thought that I was responsible made my little inside joke even funnier but as I sat there and looked across at her, my expression was of the utmost seriousness even as I shrieked with hysterical laughter if only on the inside.

“So Mrs. Kressel, you say you want to talk to me about your son. Please tell me what it is with which I can help you.”

“Yes, well ... I-I’m only here because our regular doctor said I should come talk to you. He ... he says he doesn’t understand what’s happening to Jarrett any better than I do. He says ... the problem may be psychological as ... as opposed to something physically being wrong with him.”

She seemed worried but even now I can’t be sure if she was worried for her son or just if one of her nobody neighbors might think anything associated with her might be less than perfect. She still doesn’t meet my eyes but continues to absentmindedly play with the hem of her skirt. I can tell that her being here is torturous and I love the fact that she’s so uncomfortable.

“Well that may very well be true. Psychology is such a new field of science, so many people are still unsure of it. Now, I’ve read Dr. Michael’s report but I still want to hear a description from you.”

I actually don’t care in the slightest what she has to say but the fact that she’s going to hate confessing all her dirty little secrets, that her son is anything but an angel, I’m going to force her to do it just for my own amusement.

“Well, Jarrett,” she begins and immediately her voice starts to waver and crack as if she’s on the verge of crying.

“I don’t know ... he just started acting out this past week. Why ... last week ... he was just a sweet, normal ... the most well behaved boy ... and then this week ... I don’t know. Defiance, fits of rage, talking ... almost like he’s speaking in tongues. Acting like he’s seeing things that aren’t really there. I ... I just don’t know what to make of it. And his father. You know, he’s off fighting the Japanese. He’s captain of the Lexington, I don’t know if you knew that.”

I did know it but it still struck me funny to no end that, even in this, her time of greatest stress and sorrow, she was still conscious of her position and was still able and willing to name drop just who her husband was and by extension the high societal status that she herself had gained.

“No Ma’am,” I said and I remember enjoying the flash of anger that came across her face.

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of your husband or you. My purview is of the human mind and, I’m afraid, I don’t pay much attention to who is here on base and their relative station unless they are under my care.”

Another look of disgust flashes across Debra’s face and I revel in this look too. If she only knew how much worse things I was going to do to her than just needling her and toying with her need for other people’s envy.

Oh if you only knew that I chose you sweet Debra. You’re alone and vulnerable with no man here to protect you and, oh god, you are so ripe for the plucking. God are we going to have an amazing time together. It’s going to be heaven for me ... and hell for you.