Jonathan Gilchrist sat at his desk, his head in his hands as he grumbled quietly to himself.
He was a trained psychiatrist! He had attended one of the best schools in the country and had a list of professional credentials a mile long! Right now, he was supposed to be sitting in some oak paneled corner office with a great view while dressed in a corduroy jacket with patches on the elbows, listening to the rich and famous whine about how unhappy their childhood had been!
How had he then ended up as a high school guidance counselor?! Why was he sitting here trying to shepherd spoiled, snotty children through their ridiculous teenage dramas?
Damn economy . . .
As far as he could see, the only saving grace to all of this was that he got to spend so much time around a veritable army of drop dead sexy girls, each and every one of them in the prime of life and armed with perfect young bodies. Even this was bittersweet though - not merely because he certainly wasn't allowed to touch any of these girls, but also because he had to sit here and listen to them talk about how their lives had been ruined because their mothers wouldn't buy them the right color of nail polish.
There were times when it was almost enough to make a man like him want to stick a gun barrel in his mouth.
A knock on the door made him groan in misery, but it at least brought his head up.
He knew who this would be. It would be yet another kid looking for someone to tell him he's right to think that his parents should be waiting on him hand and foot! It was the last thing he wanted to have to deal with right now, but then again he could hardly just hide behind the closed door of his cramped office and expect to keep getting a paycheck. Taking a quick moment to straighten himself up a little so that he would at least look reasonably professional, he heaved a long-suffering sigh, braced himself, and bit the bullet.
"Come in!"
When the door swung open and this new visitor to his tiny sanctum was revealed, Jonathan's mouth fell open, his eyes bulged, and his mind completely short-circuited what with all of the blood rushing from it down to the snake that was starting to rear up in his pants. His long litany of whiny complaints was instantly forgotten.
The girl who appeared in the doorway was a vision, an absolute wet dream come to life. He had never even imagined that such incredible beauty could exist, much less that it might be found in a crappy little high school like this one! How could he have spent so long working in this place and not caught so much as a glimpse of this piece of perfection?
Maybe he should leave his office every once in a while . . .
Very thankful that he was sitting behind that desk, he motioned for her to come in, stammering out, "C-come in, my dear. W-what can I do to . . . er, for you?"
The girl drifted slowly into the room, glancing back into the hallway. Her body language made it evident that she was nervous, unsure if she was really prepared to talk about whatever it was that was troubling her. He guessed that she was probably deathly afraid that anyone she knew would see her going into the counselor's office and so wasn't surprised in the least when she closed the door behind her just as soon as she had entered the room.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Gilchrist," she ventured, coming over to stand behind the chair opposite him, keeping as many obstacles as possible between her and this authority figure. "I'm Layla . . . er, and I'm a senior."
He noted how she had quickly caught herself from telling him her last name, no doubt wanting to stay as anonymous as possible in case he felt the need to do something about whatever she'd come to talk about.
A senior? Eighteen years old, then. That she was almost two decades younger than he was not enough to squelch out his lust, however.
Jonathan found himself constantly reminding himself that he had to be professional here, that there would be all sorts of traumatic repercussions if he actually tried to make any of the fantasies currently swirling through his head a reality, but it was proving to be a rather hard sell. As he looked this sexy babe over from head to toe, all he could think of instead was how incredible it would be if he could only get his hands on her.
"Why don't you come and sit down, Layla?" he invited, making an effort to keep his voice calm and his smile friendly. The girl was on a hair trigger and he knew that just one wrong look would be enough to send her flying back out the door. "Tell me what I can do for you."
She was still worried, though. "Um, this will remain confidential, won't it? I mean, this won't go beyond these four walls, will it?"
He just kept smiling, his eyes focused more on the full swell of her bosom than on her face. "Now you know I can't promise that, my dear," he answered, praying that she would understand. "I mean, if your safety is at risk, I'm legally required to do whatever I can to make sure you're all right. Short of that though, I can promise that I'll never reveal to anyone whatever you choose to tell me."
He allowed himself a small sigh of relief when that didn't send her rushing out the door. On the other hand, it didn't exactly get her talking either.
"Layla? Why don't you come on in here, sit down, and tell me what brought you to see me today."
She hesitated a long moment more, but at last made her decision and came around the chair to sit down, her head down. He couldn't resist the temptation and let his eyes dip, enjoying how her short skirt drifted back to show off even more of those long, smooth legs. If only he could pull them apart and get at what lay between them . . .
"Well, it all started about a week ago," she began slowly and painfully, trying to find the right words. "I went out on a date with . . . with this guy, you see."
The counselor noticed that, just as she had edited out part of her own name, she was also being very careful to avoid mentioning the name of this young man. Jonathon was perfectly fine with that though as he couldn't really focus on whatever petty problem had brought the teenager here anyway. Instead, despite the fact that he knew he shouldn't, he was being consumed with torrid fantasies about this little babe.
In the meantime, the girl was continuing her story as best she could. "He was so gorgeous and so sweet and so romantic. We were over at his place watching this movie and his parents weren't home, okay? We . . . we . . ."
Jonathan couldn't resist.
As his fantasies about Layla got hotter and hotter, he found himself almost trembling with the need to get closer to her. It seemed to him that she had just given him a way he could do it without raising any suspicions that he might have an ulterior motive and he couldn't resist jumping at the offered opportunity.
Rising, he came around to her side of the desk swiftly, drawing a chair up very close so that he could slip what was supposed to seem like a supportive arm around her. Though he regretted that there was no chance of hiding his erection from the teen, he also reveled in the heady aroma of her perfume, the permeating warmth of her body.
"It's all right, dear," he murmured. "I'm here to help you, not judge you."
She gave him a very odd look as he got so very close to her, but he was cheered when she did not make a dash for the door, yelling that he was a dirty old man and that she was going to call the cops on him. "Well," she tried again, " we were just innocently watching that movie at first, but then . . . he . . . and I . . . so we . . ."
Jonathon thought he could guess what had happened, despite how much trouble the girl was having telling her story.
