Chapter 7: Saturday Night Fevers

Nobody knows honey where love goes
But when it goes, it's gone, gone
When you're alone, you're alone
When you're alone, you ain't nothing but alone

Jennifer was on her knees. In her hand was a very large cock. It belonged to a stunningly handsome man, sitting naked on a couch.

"Oh James," she said, staring at his manhood lovingly, "it's so beautiful!" The man watched her solemnly.

"And so thick!" Jennifer added, while squeezing the base of it gently. "My hand barely fits around it!" The man nodded stoically, as if he'd heard it said many times.

"And sooo long!" Jennifer marveled, placing a second hand on the shaft. "And so hard!"

Jennifer pumped the man's rod slowly. As she did, the huge head alternately disappeared into her hand and reappeared. Soon, her hand was glistening with pre-cum.

Locking eyes with the man, Jennifer asked teasingly, "You want me to lick this?"

The man lifted his eyes from hers and looked elsewhere. Following his eyes, Jennifer looked where a camera might once have been; in its place, now, stood a man. Jennifer smiled at him.

"Hi, Mike! You know I've always loved you and will love you forever. But I just have to taste this cock!"

Turning back to the man on the couch, Jennifer removed one of her hands from his dick and slowly licked the long shaft. After a while, she paused, looked up at the handsome man, and smiled mischievously. Placing the tip of her tongue just under the head of his cock, she leaned towards him.

Her tongue slowly slid down the shaft. The head entered her mouth. Eyes still locked with the man's, she sucked on his cock and began to moan...

After a while, Jennifer mounted the couch and straddled the man. Mike watched in horror as she lowered her pussy onto the man's upright pole. "Oh god, it's so big," Jennifer moaned, "it's filling me ... like I've never been filled! It's huge ... but I'm so wet, so open for you, James ... for your cock ... your cock ... ohmigod I'm coming ... coming so h-hard!"

Suddenly, Mike was sitting on the couch, alone. Still immobile and mute, he heard sounds coming from another room. Perhaps a bedroom?

"Yes, James, spread my legs! Hold my ankles! Oh god, I can't wait to feel that AHHH! Yes, put it in me, all the way! Oh god James fuck me! Fuck my pussy! It's so fucking good, fucking, fucking ... Oh fuck, I'm going to come again!"

Mike bolted upright in his bed. He was panting and shaking; his heart pounded. From a fitful sleep, he was suddenly awake—as awake as a person can be.

He was, however, disoriented. He looked around, barely perceiving things in the near-darkness. James and Jennifer could not be seen nor heard. Slowly, Mike realized he was no longer in James' apartment. He could move—and, as he found, scream.

The first night at the hotel, Mike did not sleep at all. The second night, he had the terrible nightmare. He'd had that nightmare, or something like it, every night since for a full week.

He thought back to the last time he'd been home. Instead of making Jennifer a candlelight dinner, as he'd intended, he'd packed up some things. Opening the front door to leave, he'd paused ... and cried.

I'm sorry, Mikey. I'm so sorry.

With his eyes closed, his mind had replaced the image of the doorway with another image. He'd seen himself back at the wall. Across from him, through the breach, had stood the barbarians—drums quiet, weapons dropped, arms open and inviting. With grim determination, Mike had stepped through the breach ... and joined them.

Behind him, he'd heard a sound, like a door closing. Yet when he'd turned and looked, all he'd seen was the wall. Finally, the breach had been sealed. The wall had been restored.

But Mike was now on the other side.

Jennifer lay in bed. It had taken a long time to get Mikey to sleep. He'd kept asking when Daddy would be home. Jennifer was running out of false answers.

The day before—Friday afternoon—Jennifer had been keeping an eye on the kids playing in the yard when suddenly, Mike appeared. She did not know what to do, so she kept talking to one of the moms, trying not to tremble. Mike found Mikey and started a game with the kids. Jennifer watched secretly from a distance, even when her conversation ended.

Someone approached Mike—a blonde woman. It was that skank, Collette Davis. What was she doing, talking to Mike?

And why isn't he brushing her off? Is he ... smiling at her? Ohmigod, did he just ... put his hand on her shoulder for a second?

Jennifer watched with rising alarm as Mike and Collette continued to talk. When the kids moved away, Mike's face seemed to darken. As Collette listened to him, her face seemed to darken too. She gave Mike a hug, whispered something in his ear, and walked off to collect her son.

What did I just see?

Jennifer made her way towards Mike. Spying her, he turned his back and started to retreat.

"Mike!" she shouted, speeding up. "Mike, please don't make me ... scream."

Mike stopped, shook his head, and turned around.

Jennifer studied him. He looked like he hadn't slept all week. His eyes were cold, his jaw clenched. He folded his arms and looked down at his feet, waiting for her to speak.

"Mike," she said in a quavering voice, "Why won't you answer my calls? Where are you staying?"

"At a hotel," he replied, looking away from her. "I don't want to talk to you, Jennifer. I'm done talking. Tell Dr. Seymour thanks for trying. I'll be in touch about ... things."

As Mike turned and started to leave, Jennifer begged him to stay. He stopped but kept his back to her. Jennifer continued.

"Mike, how can I explain if you won't talk to me? The video ... it wasn't what it seemed!"

"Oh, I think it was exactly what it seemed," he said sternly. "Or are you telling me it was fake? That it wasn't you? Because it sure looked and sounded like you!"

Jennifer looked down and sighed.

"Yes, Mike," she said in a defeated tone, "it was me."

"So you and your stud are into videotaping, hey?"

"He wasn't my ... I didn't know he was ... Mike, what you saw me ... do in that video, it was right at that part that I stopped and left!"

Mike made a derisive sound between a snort and a laugh. Jennifer wasn't sure he was even listening, but she continued.

"It's true! If you could only see the rest of it!"

In a flash, Mike turned around and pointed to his head.

"I SEE THE REST OF IT HERE, EVERY NIGHT, DAMN YOU!"

Jennifer was shaken. She took a step towards Mike, but he backed away. Then, he turned and left.

Now—two nights later, as Jennifer lay in bed—her mind raced. Mike probably thought that James had sent the video, but Jennifer knew better. James had no reason...

But Peter did.

That son of a bitch!

Peter sent it; yes, she was sure of it. If only she could explain to Mike!

But Mike did not know about Peter. Jennifer had kept it that way. Now, she was trapped. Trapped by her own lies and omissions.

If she were to reveal Peter's scheme now, would Mike believe it? Even if he did, would the revelation of more lies and half-truths on her part just make things worse? Then again, could they get any worse?

A voice seemed to speak to her. A voice from the den. A voice from a photograph.

"Yes. Yes, it could get worse. If you had to face everything ... everything..."

Were it not for Mikey, Jennifer would have drawn a bath and slit her wrists. She wondered if she could be strong enough to keep living, in such pain, for her son's sake. And even if she lived, would she ever sleep again? She wondered ... and wondered ... as sheer exhaustion set in.

Suddenly, Jennifer was outside Collette Davis' house. She recognized it, having been there once for Bobby Davis' birthday party. Mike's car was in the driveway. Jennifer walked to the front door, found it unlocked, and stepped inside.

She heard sobbing—it sounded like a man. Making a right turn, she found herself on the threshold of a living room. Across from her sat Mike, on a sofa, his head in his hands. She was about to go to him, when she felt a hand fall on her shoulder.

"I'll take care of him, Jennifer," a woman's voice said. "He needs me. He needs to be comforted."

Jennifer stood frozen as Collette passed her by and went to Mike. Collette was dressed in a seductive nightgown. Jennifer found herself unable to move or speak as Collette sat down on the sofa next to Mike.

Mike leaned his head on her shoulder. As he sobbed, she stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. In her mind, Jennifer shouted.

Stop it! Get away from him! Mike, please, get up!

As if in answer, Mike looked right at Jennifer and spoke.

"I need an escape, Jennifer. I need this. I'm sorry, but only Collette can help me with this pain."

He turned his head towards Collette, sobbing again. She put her arms around him and pulled his head against her breasts. As she resumed stroking his hair and kissing his forehead, his sobbing slowed, then stopped.

Mike lifted his head and gently, tentatively kissed her neck.

Jennifer's eyes bulged. She struggled but still could not move. Heart pounding, she mouthed words, but no sound came out. She only heard herself in her mind.

No, Mike, no! Don't kiss her! Please don't kiss her!

While Mike continued to kiss her neck, Collette's lips trailed down Mike's forehead to his eyes and cheeks. Meanwhile, she slipped her arms out of the straps of her nightgown, revealing her large, fair breasts. Pushing Mike's head down, towards them, she whispered to him soothingly.

"I know you want me, Mike. It's okay. You don't need her anymore. All she does is hurt you. But me ... I'll heal you."

Jennifer screamed, but Mike and Collette seemed not to hear.

Dr. Gayle Seymour lay in bed, a candle burning on the nightstand. In her hand was a slender, smooth glass object that glistened with moisture. She casually stroked it against her slit, drawing it back and forth like a bowstring.

Following Jennifer's last appointment—undoubtedly, the last appointment either Chancey would ever have—Gayle had been so distracted at work, it had been embarrassing. After two days, she'd canceled all her appointments for the rest of the week. She'd gone so far over that she did not think she could ever get back. Her professional life—her real life—was falling apart.

Meanwhile, her fantasy life was taking over. She found herself powerless to stop it. She'd spent a third of Wednesday, more than half of Thursday, and nearly all of Friday at her computer, absorbing stories of all kinds from numerous different sites.

Along the way, for the first time, she'd tried to write a story of her own. It was just a collection of notes so far. It wasn't all that original, but then, what story hadn't been told somewhere, sometime, already?

The story centered on a buxom female therapist with a knack for hypnosis and a lack of morals. She was "treating" John and Charlotte, a couple whose marriage was on the rocks. The therapist's objective was to reunite the couple through an intense experience in which she would partake. At least, that was the excuse for the sex scene, which was running through Gayle's mind now.