There's this framed photo in the waiting room that looks like something a kindergarten student would do. It depicts two garishly drawn stick figures dressed like pirates on either side of something that looks like a paper boat. Its been hanging there for a minute with a tiny metallic inscription that reads the year 1969 imbedded into the frame. Something about it, the placement on the wall perhaps makes me want to act out in over the top fashion.
The wallpaper surrounding it is light beige, embroidered with microscopic pinstripes of something akin to turquoise stripes running from the ceiling to the floor. I can't tell because of the other furniture in the waiting room. Everything seems smallish and low to the floor as I glance down at what passes for a coffee table finding a few tabloid magazines, some decidedly mainstream publications like Time Magazine and one oddly appropriate child's coloring book on the table. I feel crazy as I check the face of my phone.
I've been waiting almost thirty five minutes past my designated appointment time.
"Hey, you can come on back now." I glance up finding her in the door.
She's kind of leaning against the door frame watching me in sterilized, clinical fashion, her eyes hidden behind some old school shades. I notice her suit jacket is beige colored matching the shit on the wall while her blouse is a rich brown color along with the knee length skirt covering her lower half. Her shoes are brown too and I wonder about my own sanity as I stand up to follow her back to the office. It's my fifth visit and I notice the undeniable curve of hips straining against the material. I can't help but notice the bulging fullness of her ass which is plainly visible despite the dark colored material of her skirt.
I can't help it; I always look whenever I get a chance. It feels like she knows sometimes as she pushes the door open revealing the cramped interior of her office. It's eleven am on a Saturday and the building is almost deserted other than a few adjacent areas used for a number of rehabs. This floor is reserved for shrinks. I feel crazy as I check the face of my phone.
"Have a seat on the couch there; you can lay down if you prefer, darling." It feels kind of weird whenever she refers to me in this manner, but I never say anything about it, and I don't know why.
"We'll start in a minute; how have you been doing?"
"Sticking to the basics I guess; keeping things close to the chest and working." She retrieved a file from cabinet under her desk looking through a manilla folder.
"Nothing wrong with that; are you seeing anyone?"
"Nothing serious, nobody I want to claim." There was a laptop on her desk that she kept typing away at as we conversed.
The office itself was sparsely furnished with a basic desk, file cabinets one large behind her back along with the one under her desk and a table next to the couch which had some sort of kid's Jungle Jim toy on its surface. Sometimes I felt like playing with it but thought it'd make me look crazy.
"Care to elaborate?"
"Coworker at the insurance office where I work; we were messing around for a good two weeks."
"Not anymore?"
"No, I had to let that go because she was getting too familiar."
"Explain."
"I really liked sleeping with her and she was non threatening enough to allow into my home, but she started leaving things there, so she'd have a reason to come back. Don't get me wrong, she's beautiful and built just the way I like, but she's way too immature to have anything serious."
"Good enough to screw, but not have an actual relationship." She was still writing in that folder as I glanced out the window at the street below finding sparse traffic and a few pedestrians.
"She lives with a roommate, a guy named Ermin who's a little over the top-he's gay. That's not the problem before you ask, but he works at the same place we do and uhm, he was getting a little overbearing. Just to put things in perspective, he wanted us to hook up so that he could have some alone time with his boyfriend. Shaila, that's her name; was cramping his style and he steered her in my direction. Well, after we were kind of on the regular, Ermin didn't seem to like it all that much because Shaila was always over my house."
"He also invaded your personal space." She filled in the blank as I unconsciously nodded my head.
"Came over my house with his boyfriend, a couple of other gay dudes and a few girls from the office to quote-unquote see how we were doing. I played along, decided to be the good host ordering up some food and making drinks, but they were kind of trashing my place. No one was really talking to me and whenever I'd talk, one of the girls would stare at me like I wasn't supposed to say anything."
"In what manner did you reassert your dominance?"
"I went to my bedroom silently pissed while Shaila and her clique continued the festivities. There was this selfie stick left behind by my ex-wife. I attached it to my phone and went live on social media walking back out into the living room. I got verbally savage explaining things from my point of view, even going in on Shaila for bringing this nonsense to my home. In the end a lot of people got an impromptu show as the entire group was ejected from my home ala that old Jefferson's show. Shaila was pissed, so she was asked to leave too."
"No reconciliation?"
"She's messing around with some Nigerian dude with a huge penis; Ermin made sure to pass that information along. I just shrugged, but later I called up Nichelle to come over and top me off."
"Still messing around with your ex-wife's best friend, I see."
"Not really, we just have an understanding."
"Explain."
