I recently coined the term "confused boyfriend" to describe characters in a number of stories by Craptain Planet, Captain Ron and ThePornGuy amongst others. Men who let their loving girlfriends carry on with their friends and housemates and others because the girlfriend believes that she has her boyfriend's approval. Confused boyfriend Carl has been trying to unravel what happened at the party (in part 1) when his girlfriend Miranda went into that room. Unfortunately, in part 2 he heard three or four versions of what she may have done. So is he upset, turned on or just confused? Who did give him that headjob in the dark? And can things get more complicated? If you don't like this sort of provocation, well, you've been warned.
***
Miranda and I were in bed. Although it was well past midnight and we had work in the morning, Miranda was wide eyed and active. "Tell me about the psychiatrist today," she insisted while gripping my side so she could see whether there was truth in my eyes. "Don't leave anything out."
As if I could include everything, since my session with Helene had gone the full hour. I tried to describe how it went:
"So you need to know what Miranda was doing behind that closed door at the party while you were behind another closed door fucking her best friend?"
I was lying on the psychiatrist's couch and despite dropping the F bomb, she remained cool, professional, detached.
"That's right," I agreed. After all, when Helene asked me at the start what I wanted to discuss I had described what had happened at the party to her in some detail. And how when I wanted to know what Miranda had got up to in the bedroom without me, everyone had a different story. In some versions she was fucking, in some she was just watching. But I had to admit that in all the different versions I was in another room fucking her friend Caris. And then Meg, the other woman in the bed with us. It was bugging me.
"And what will you do when you are sure you have the right story?" Helene asked.
"I'm not sure."
"Tell me what you're thinking. What your reactions have been."
"Well, it was important for trust that she tell me what she was up to in that room. After all, I had told her what I had been up to where I was."
"But your girlfriend Miranda told you her version of what she did. She says that she didn't get up to anything. Why can't you accept that? Is it because she didn't tell you what you expected? Or what you hoped to hear?"
"Are you saying I'm feeling slighted because if she did nothing then she has a moral hold over me?"
"You're saying that. Is that what you think?"
Miranda interrupted my recounting. "This is making me hot," she insisted. "You're worried that I'm in control now because you've been a bad boy. Maybe I get to make the decisions. I love it when you and your psychiatrist talk dirty. And when I have all the cards." She rubbed my cock to emphasise this. I could sense that she was rubbing herself with her other hand. Maybe this was really turning her on. She grabbed my cock hard. "Do you really not trust me?" she threatened.
I tried to explain myself to the analyst. I tried to look her in the eyes to read her reactions. "Do you think that it's more normal for men to fuck around with other women, be unfaithful, to use the obvious terminology, with very little guilt while they expect their female partner to behave and also tolerate what their man gets up to?"
"Let me rephrase what you're saying. You want Miranda to at least give you the impression that she is feeling guilty because you are feeling guilty. But you are asking me whether that is normal? Do I have to tell you? Society seems to think it's more acceptable for men to fuck around. And I don't have to tell you, I'm sure that a lot of society thinks that women should be careful about who they fuck. But there are other ways to get through life. Your partner in crime, Caris, does not seem to have issues with fucking and guilt from what you have told me. So it may be that you are trying to rationalise what you did and maybe you want to use my response to you as a justification for your behaviour and the standard you seen to be setting for your girlfriend."
"That would be a double standard."
"You said that. Miranda has desires and freedom of will and action too, of course. But ultimately it is what you and her choose to define as within the bounds of acceptable behaviour in your relationship. You need to talk openly about such things if you want a healthy relationship. If one of you wants to engage in orgies on the weekend and the other one doesn't, then how do you maintain an ongoing healthy relationship?"
"That's what I was going to ask you?"
Miranda jerked my hard penis a few times. "Is that what you want? Orgies on the weekend? Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"I'm not sure that's what I want. Is that what you want?"
Miranda let me go for a moment and sat up so she could be certain to be able to read my eyes. "The thing is we never discussed having other partners or where our boundaries should be before the party."
I thought about that for a moment and countered. "We never really discuss sex. We just kind of do it. All this stuff about consent. I mean the first time we went from being friends to partners we just kind of fell into bed together like in a spell. We took each other's clothes off and away we went."
"You didn't ask me about birth control."
"And you didn't ask me about condoms."
"And you still haven't asked me about birth control."
"But I see the pills in the bathroom, so I know you're on the pill."
"And if I flush them down the toilet each day? Or if they are three years out of date and I leave them there as a prop?"
"Trust. I trust you."
"Well sure you trusted me until you got the stories from Peta and the other one."
"Trina. Were you challenging me at the party? Were you waiting to see what I would do in reaction to you?"
Miranda looked at me somewhat pleading. "No, seriously it was just like the rest of our relationship. I was just going along with things as they happened. There was always a pretty good chance that I would go home with you. Let me rephrase that. I went to the party with you and I was going to go home with you. Because I love you. Now what else happened in the psychiatrist's session?"
"You know that they only ever last an hour and never seem to resolve anything."
Miranda eye-balled me. "You're smirking. Spill it," she demanded.
"I'm about to tell you," I protested.
I noticed that Miranda had settled next to me under the sheets in her way that meant if I put my hand on her breast, she would respond with a moan and I could slip her pants off and start to get her willing. And why wouldn't I?
"That's good," she groaned as I palmed first one breast and then the other. Miranda bucked as I ran both my hands over her breasts. "You really know what to do," she gasped as she slid her pants down. "You're hard and I'm wet," she urged as she moved me on top of her and we got started. We didn't talk as we passionately thrust into each other.
"That's how I like it," Miranda breathed into my ear after. "Spontaneous and urgent and full of passion and lust. Same with you?"
I had to agree. It wasn't time to talk as we moved together, fitting into each other so well. We were both urgent, like we were fresh and new with each other. Afterwards I lent on my side and looked into Miranda's half-opened eyes. "Are you sleepy?" I checked.
She opened her eyes wide and laughed. "Why are you smirking" she insisted.
"I didn't think that stuff would turn you on."
Miranda punched me gently in the shoulder. "Keep telling me your story," she ordered.
I continued with the psychiatrist. "What I need is the tools to work out which of the stories is the true one. Or the truest." I tried to frame my concern in the clearest way, hoping for some answers.
"You could ask Miranda?"
"Again? And make it sound like I think she is a liar?"
"She knows that you have heard different stories."
I tried to look at my reclining girlfriend with as much calm as possible. "You know that I don't think you're a liar."
Miranda looked serious for a moment. "I think she has a point," she mused. "Does it upset you to think about me having other men inside me?"
"You weren't a virgin when we met, so that's never been an issue for me."
"I told you that?"
"I think so. At least it seemed pretty obvious that you weren't a virgin, even if you didn't clearly tell me."
"Did I tell you how many?"
"I don't think so. If you did, I'm pretty sure I'd remember. But you made some revelation about previous boys one time in a way that suggested you were at least a little experienced. I don't think you've told me about your first time though. Was it memorable?" I tried to put on the appropriate smile.
"I don't think I have. We really don't talk about a lot of things."
"We do talk about things. Things that matter."
"Things that matter." Miranda toyed with the words for a bit. "By the way it was memorable in the same way that first day at school is memorable. Does it matter to you how many men I slept with before you?"
"It doesn't bother me."
"That's my man," Miranda concluded as she turned her back to me so she could spoon into me and into sleep. Of course a lot more happened with the psychiatrist.
***
My smirking about the psychiatrist. What had I not told Miranda?
The psychiatrist was a short, plain woman with long dark hair who nethertheless projected a somewhat charismatic aura. Helene wore a solid grey cotton dress that resembled a raincoat, buttoning up the front. I normally don't take note of what women wear, but the nature of this dress would be significant to stay in my mind.
When we got into the meat of my issue I found that I was telling Helene about the foursome I enjoyed with Caris at the party.
"Is this turning you on?" she asked me, "the memory?"
I had to admit that it did.
"Is it getting you hard?"
As I was lying on my back on the couch there was no argument that it was.
"You can masturbate if you like," she suggested.
"Is that allowed?"
"My psychiatry doesn't only treat the mind," Helene told me as she brushed her hair off her face. "My strand of the profession accepts that you cannot treat the underlying issues if you are only dealing with the mind. Your physical reactions are just as important as what you tell me. If we are going to diagnose you accurately. Perhaps even more so, as it's harder for you to conceal your physical reactions than what you edit in your mind as we talk. Now, are you comfortable?"
