Chapter 12

Early the next morning before Jason roused, I took my cell phone into the bathroom and called my dad. I would've preferred to lie abed in my slumbering lover's arms, but I had a fence to mend.

"Good morning," I said cheerfully when he answered my call.

"Good morning. You're up early."

"I wanted to catch you before you left for the university. I'm really sorry about last night, Dad. I was rude and inconsiderate."

"Yes you were."

"Other than being pissed and worried because I didn't call, how are you getting along? Are you enjoying your mental privacy?"

He huffed a laugh. "Not really. Minding my mental manners has become such a habit over the years that I can't seem to turn off my built-in caution meter. Besides, last night I was too angry to appreciate the return of my privacy."

"Has Barbie been over to do my chores?"

"No, but she tells me she'll have dinner waiting for me when I come home tonight. I'm not sure it's wise to have her wander in and out of our house."

"Hah! Wandering isn't the problem."

"Yeah, I know. Tell me about Jason's sister."

I spoke for about twenty minutes. Our cell phone bill was going to be a doozy. When I finished Dad cursed under his breath.

"I've known men like her ex-husband. They can't handle intimacy, so they destroy any goodness around them. I fear for Sara's daughter, Katy."

"Yeah, me, too, but as Jason said, first things first. We need to rebuild Sara's self-worth before we attack the problem her ex-husband poses."

"Uh-uh, don't even think about getting involved with her ex, cupcake. Destroyers can be dangerous. Besides, I gave my permission for a week, not two or three."

"I hear you, and I appreciate the week. I won't misuse your generosity again like I did last night. I won't try to extend the length of my trip, and I'll call you frequently. Any suggestions regarding Sara?"

"None you're ignoring. Mostly, she needs some successes. It sounds as if she experienced some personal success last night. Just look for ways that will make her feel worthwhile. Ask for her help."

"Hmm. Good idea."

Jason poked his head through the bathroom door. He didn't say, but he was desperate to take a leak, which made me feel like I needed to do the same. I said goodbye to my dad, told him I loved him and missed him, and promised to call him in the evening.

Jason's need was more serious than I thought. As I pushed the end button on the phone, he stood in front of the toilet, and a stream of urine splashed into the bowl.

"Interesting," I muttered. I'd never watched a man take a leak before.

He looked at me and blushed. "Sorry, I couldn't wait."

"No problem. Ah, may I hold it?"

His eyes widened, and the stream shut down.

"You were holding it, aiming it. I'd like to try," I added sheepishly. "Are you finished? Is it too late for me... ?"

"No, your strange request stopped the flow." With a shrug and a smile, he added, "All right."

I sidled up to him and took his flaccid - read cute - cock in my hand. With a wicked grin, I said, "Ready - set - go!"

I felt warm urine move down through his shaft and shoot out the end. My aim was poor, so the stream missed the bowl. With a giggle I corrected my aim, but overcorrected. Finally, I got it right, and he pissed for a few more seconds until the stream shut down again.

"You've got to shake the last few drops off," he said with a roguish grin.

I giggled again and tried to do as he suggested.

"No, don't stroke it. Shake it. Yeah, like that, though stroking it wasn't all bad, either."

"Cool," I said. "Men are designed better than women to eliminate liquid waste."

"Yep, proof positive that God is male."

"Hah! Women have stronger orgasms that go on and on, much longer than male orgasms, and we're capable of having them one after the other."

"I retract my cocky, so to speak, statement. You're stroking it again."

"Uh-huh, and its losing its cuteness."

He groaned, half from pleasure, and half in response to my pitiful joke.

"Move out of the way. I need to pee now," I announced.

I thought he'd leave. Uh-uh, he wanted to watch, too. So I sat and let it fly. My stream was noisier than his, maybe because it didn't have as far to fall.

"Interesting," he muttered.

"Do all hard-ons have upwards curves to them like yours?"

"No."

"How come you know?"

"Porno flicks."

"Oh, I thought maybe..."

"I know what you thought."

"Are you psychic, or something?" I reached and fondled his hard-on.

"Nope. You're the only psychic here. What am I thinking right now?"

He was wondering how Sara fared last night after we left her, but I wasn't about to fall for his trap. "You're thinking it would be nice if I sucked your cock. I will if you'll rinse off any urine residue first. I'm not into... what is it called?"

"Water sports."

I laughed gaily. "Really?" I tore off a length of toilet paper and wiped. He watched. I flushed, both my face and the toilet.

"Really. What should we do today?"

Another trap. I think my college boy was starting to suspect I had more psychic powers than I admitted to. "Besides fuck our brains out, I'm open to suggestions." Standing, I buzzed him with a kiss and gave his long one a couple of strokes. Leaning back from the kiss, I said, "You need to brush your teeth."

"Shower and shave, too."

I laughed. "Going to go all out, I see. You must want to impress somebody."

"Yep. You and I are meeting Dr. Rourke this morning. I want her to know about your psychic connection with Sara so she can give you some guidance."

Hoisted on my own petard yet again. I groaned. "I'm not sure that's wise, Jason. Most psychiatrists and medical professionals are paranormal skeptics. Besides..."

"Too late. I made the appointment while waiting for you to finish your call to your father, but first things first."

With a roguish glint in his dark eyes, he lifted me effortlessly and set me on the bathroom counter. After he pushed my legs apart and moved between them, I understood and appreciated his priorities. Yep, first things first. His morning breath wasn't that offensive. Besides he didn't try to kiss me. Well, he did, but not my mouth. My college boy sure did like to wallow his face in my pussy. Lucky me.

After he revved up my motor with his lips and tongue - enough that I'd reached the point where I wanted my clit mauled, not just licked - he rose to his feet and demonstrated that the flavors and fragrances of an excited pussy eliminated morning breath as efficiently as toothpaste. While his kiss curled my toes and his fingers tweaked my breasts, I settled the crown of his shaft where I wanted it, and with a little help from my active hips, a couple of his thrusts sent it home.

He huffed a sigh of pleasure. My college boy liked his long one buried in my pussy, too. Lucky me.

The mirror arrangement in the bathroom let me watch him from the rear. Talk about sexy! His muscular butt cheeks clenched when he thrust into me, and I could see his shaft plunging in and out of my excited pussy. His heavy balls waved like wheat in a confused wind as they slapped my lower pussy and ass with each forward thrust. I gazed at the mirrors and let my imagination run wild. Would my eyes be graced with a similar view when I watched him with Barbie? Uh-huh. She'd be moaning and groaning, and pulling him to her, and I'd egg them on. Talk dirty. "Fuck her," I'd say. "Drive it home! Fuck her brains out!" Maybe I'd lick and suck and play with her breasts while he fucked her. I'd kiss Jason passionately, and then Barbie, watch them kiss each other, perhaps reach between them and caress Barbie's clit, or fondle his balls, or feel his ass clench and relax as he ratcheted his long one in and out of her hot cunt, or sit on her face so she could lick me, or...

Orgasm times three! I could hardly wait.

I dug my fingernails into Jason's buns of steel and pulled at him with the heels of my feet. "Harder, lover. Mash my clit with your pubic bone." When he responded to my demand, I moaned and momentarily closed my eyes shutting off the sexy view. "Yes! Even harder!"

My hips scooted back and forth on the marble counter, and my grasping ankles and thrashing legs urged him to increase the speed of his thrusts. Our bodies slammed together each time he threw his cock into me.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Slap. Over and over again. Slap. Grunts joined moans and groans. Our slapping bodies, the grunts, the moans and groans sounded like a assortment of jungle drums. Primitive. Hot!

Beads of sweat gathered and ran. Some dripped off his body onto mine. He certainly wasn't making love with me like he did the night before. Plain and simple, my college boy was fucking me, slamming his cock into me hard and fast, and I loved it. "Fuck me, you sexy fucker!" Slap! "Fuck me!" Slap! "Fuck it to me!" I huffed the words between slaps and grunts and moans and groans and gasping pants.

"Harder!" He tried.

"Faster!" He actually succeeded.

"Oh, Jason! I'm going to... ah... ah... ah... come!" I screamed. My orgasmic wail wasn't an order for him to join me, merely an expression of what I was doing, but it effectively accomplished both.

Orgasm times two!

We soared. I adored making love. I loved fucking. I reveled in the sensations of our orgasms - his and mine.

When his climax released its grip, Jason's legs felt wobbly, both from the athletic fuck he'd just given me and from coming so hard while standing.

"I've gotta sit down," he muttered.

I felt his still-throbbing shaft back out of my fluttering cunt, and he ended up sitting on the only available seat in the room - the toilet. Semen continued to dribble up like a tired fountain and roll down over the head of his cock.

The mirrors offered another sexy view - my just-fucked pussy. Jason's semen was puddled around the entrance to my vagina, and my clit and labia were red and swollen. I watched as his juices and mine started to slide from my cunt onto the bathroom counter. Reaching, I dipped my fingers into the sexy mess and brought them to my mouth. Glancing at Jason, I noticed he was watching me intently, so I sucked on my come-drenched fingers and smacked my lips. "The breakfast of champions," I said and giggled.

He laughed heartily, and the laugh seemed to energize him. He jumped up and took me in his arms, lifting me from the counter and spinning me around. After a boisterous kiss, he said, "I love you, Katy Owen."

Three hours later (shower fun, too much shower fun, another quick fuck, put on makeup, dress, eat breakfast, drive to doctor's office - three hours; figure it out), Jason and I sat in front of Dr. Virginia Rourke's large desk, but we didn't sit on a couch. We sat in massive leather chairs. Where was the obligatory psychiatrist's couch? I decided I'd want my psychiatrist, should I ever need one, to have a couch where I could lie down and tell him - yes a man, not a woman - all my deepest, darkest secrets while I gazed up at an ugly ceiling and pretended I was talking with a Supreme Being (a woman) and bare my soul. Come to think of it, where was the obligatory photograph of Freud?

I guessed the therapist's age at about fifty-five. She wore her graying hair pulled back in a bun, but her kind, gray eyes saved her from looking severe. About twenty pounds overweight, she camouflaged the excess flesh with a tailored business suit.

Her first impression offered up a professional, competent woman, and I automatically liked her - kind eyes? - but she didn't like me, or rather didn't trust me. As I'd predicted, Dr. Rourke was a paranormal skeptic. After Jason's call this morning, the doctor made a call herself and talked with Sara. Rourke wasn't happy about the situation and was particularly unhappy about me.