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Her Laugh Broke the Silence

Keith Kelly

    Her laugh broke the silence. A silence I’m assuming was a long and uncomfortable fifteen seconds for her. I use silence as a tool to get clients to open up an speak. Silence makes people nervous so they frantically search for something to say regardless of how stupid it sounds. Many of Brenda’s comments contain no prior thought because her intention is to say something, anything. In this case, Brenda said nothing. Instead a weird laugh shattered the barrier of silence between us. Caught off guard I asked what was so funny; Brenda just said she remembered something amusing. Man, I’ve listened to her boring stories for the better part of three years pointing out various issues and trying to help her to deal with them, and she still appears to not find the flaws in her behavior. Benda is gorgeous to look at though, and many times, I get lost in her looks and brown eyes.
    I would never act on it, I don’t think, I claim to be a professional, but this woman is so boring there isn’t anything else to do but fantasize about throwing that bubble black ass across the desk and screwing her two ways from Sunday.
    She has been witness to a rough life. I feel for her, but she is not working on the issues as hard as she should be. Brenda wants me to do it for her but that’s something that won’t happen. Years ago, I decided I’ll never work harder than clients. Often I confront her, and she will seem to snap, but then falls back into the same old pity party.
    Ten more minutes, I notice as I sneak a peek at the clock ticking like a bomb on the wall. Then thankfully, it will be lunchtime for God’s sake. Oh God, there’s her sultry poor me look. Such a turn on, the way she sticks her lips out as to say, “I am such a worthless victim, I deserve to be fucked, just take me with my little girl pout.”
     Brenda is so fine. Oh hell, I had better cross my legs, so she doesn’t see my huge erection. I feel like I will explode, what is she doing? Holy shit, she’s untying her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders. Holy crap she’s walking towards me, Oh my fucking ass God she is on top of me.
    “What are you doing Brenda?”
    “Fucking you unconscious, that’s what.”

    “Dr. Cox, are you listening?”
    Fuck, I slipped off into another fantasy.
    “Yes... yes... I’m listening; I just noticed time is up for the day, same time next week?”
    “Yes same time.”
    Brenda leaves and I go into the bathroom and jack off as usual after our sessions.
    If people knew what went through my mind, they’d shit in their pants. Strange shit goes through everyone’s mind. I should know I’ve been listening to people’s shit for thirty years. All of us are fucked up and are hypocrites in one way or another. I learned from the best, the best being my parents. Dad was a devout prejudiced Christian who hated, “niggers, sissy fags, and anyone else who wasn’t a member of the Baptist Church.” These are his words, not mine.
    Dad was a character, was shady, and loved to have fun, but carried himself well in the house of the Lord every Sunday.
    I saw through dad’s shit from a young age and he knew it. Although, looking back, he never tried to hide his behaviors from us, or friends outside of the church. Hell, what am I saying, he didn’t give a fuck. The old man always did what he wanted, when he wanted, that was that. Dad was a good man even with these faults and was always good to mother and I. I always wondered if others saw through the bullshit over the years. If so they never ever said anything, but they had to have. In high school, my old man flirted with girls I brought home and slept with one or two of them. As I’ve become older, I look back and wonder how he showed his face in church every Sunday after how he acted all week. Cool how he pulled it off so easily. This was especially cool when I was a teen. The old man was the coolest dad in the world. Dad is passed now and I still feel like he was the coolest ever. Dad died in a car wreck last year out on highway 10 beside the patch of pine trees where he proposed to mom.
    The two met at sixteen and married for thirty years. Mom died from an infection after stepping on a rake. The prongs went into her foot, she never went to the Dr. Little, and she freaking died on a Saturday morning in bed while watching cartoons. This woman was a piece of work suffering from delusions and hallucinations. Hell I guess she did, who knows, maybe she really saw and heard shit, who am I to judge. Mom claimed the spirit of a Native American woman followed her since visiting Santa Fe when she was three. The sprits name was Column. Yes I know, but this is what she said, her hallucination not mine. Anyway, she told us several times about a sprit that protected her from the evils of life, the hardships of the daily struggle, and my father’s wondering cock. Many times she referred to dad as w. c. wondering cock.
    Funny thing is that through all of their strange behaviors, they loved each other until their dying day. They always had a good time together; were always laughing and joking. These people were strange, twisted, and prejudiced, but they knew how to have fun. I found my way into this quirky family on February 5, 1966. Growing up was difficult, and I grew tired of seeing their hypocrisy, and many times I felt like I was the parent, because of their partying and non-caring attitude, but they were good parents and were fun. These two had no qualms about anything and were always quick to tell a joke. Neither liked to work, so they didn’t. After the accidents, there was plenty of money. To them life was too short to work and not long enough for fun, so they got with the fun part and rid of themselves of the working part.
    Every year we went to the beach, and they partied even harder than normal. We always had money, so this wasn’t an issue, and they had no problem spending it. My grandparents were killed in a freak accident when dad was twenty-five. They left him ten million dollars; their death resulted at the hands of a moose, you might say in Yellowstone National Park. They were asleep in a tent at a campground and a moose trampled them killing them both. The family sued the park settling out of court. My old man always said it was the ten million dollar moose. Dad loved mooses.
    Mom’s parents died in New York City when someone threw an apple off the top of the Empire State Building. They were walking on the street below and somehow one apple killed them both. My mother and uncle sued the city and received another ten million. To put it short, my parents didn’t believe in work, so they had fun and so have I. That’s the one thing I loved the most about them. I however, work at my own clinical therapy practice. Don’t know why, I have all the money I could ever want or spend, which I inherited from my parents, but I guess I just need somewhere to go every day.
    I am just as fucked up as mom and dad I suppose, but I help clients in my practice. Over the years I’ve helped many recover from drugs, sex addiction and have taught them to deal with life on life’s terms. My mind wonders off on the occasional fantasy about several of my clients, but I’m good at my job. I don’t work that much, but when I do I take it serious.
    My personal life is one big party, which I learned from my parents. If I can’t have fun, then I am not interested in life. Having money helps to have fun. I love to travel and could live in a hotel room and never tire of it. I love to be on the go seeing new places. When you have money, you can get things, such as women and drugs, well, weed, that’s all I do, I don’t consider that a drug. Ok I do cocaine, several times a week. Chicks, weed, coke and money, who could ask for anything more?
    Just last month while in Vegas I was walking through a casino and saw the most beautiful woman playing roulette. I walked over offering her a drink and small talk, flashed a wad of cash, and in an hour was banging her big brown ass in my suite. This chicks name was Suzie, that’s what she said anyway, but she wasn’t being honest, I didn’t give a fuck though, I just wanted to party and get laid. She had fun, I had fun, no strings attached so hey, why not? What makes me different from my clients is that I own control over cocaine, weed, and the fast life; the shit doesn’t own me. I’m on top of this shit, for sure.
    Last summer in the Bahamas, I came across two beautiful brown skin women who loved going down on one another. I watched, and then they laid my ass. I over did the partying and lost control that week, but other than that, I control this shit. There is nothing better than to see two brown skin Goddesses making love to each other, God, what a good time that was.
    Don’t misunderstand me, I do regular stuff on vacation. I sight see, snorkel, and always take several friends to hang out with. These friends love the drugs, my money, and me, and they think I’m fun. These are good friends who are with me for the long haul. By the good fortune of my grandparents, my parents, and myself, I have lived the life of a rock star. The money is a bonus, it’s hard to get anywhere in this world without it.

    “Tell me where you have gotten with money, and more about how you have control over drug use and the fast life as you say.”
    “Ha, ok Doctor, fuck, you got me. To be honest, I have no real friends, and I am a drug addict losing my counseling license. In addition, I’m sitting here spilling my guts in this therapy session. That’s where it’s gotten me, but at least I realize and admit I need help.”

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