With a touch of Tourette’s and manic depression, he was an autism psychologist with a private practice on Fifth Avenue. He worked part time with children but made bank, spending his spare time on side projects. He lived in a condo with a collection of Marvel figurines standing on his oriental furniture. He raved about his Comic Con tickets and showed his skin-tight leather Batman costume in the bedroom closet, explaining this was not a fetish but a favorite pastime.
On their second date, he revealed his manic depression by also diagnosing her with bipolar disorder. She asked if he took medication and he said It’s so subtle. I have it under control unlike most people. The accomplished psychologist was very set in his ways and could not even solve basic problems. He had a nervousness that was separate from the tics in his neck and shoulders. But she was grateful to see a licensed professional for free, even if she did throw in the fuck.
He planned an axe-throwing date that went south. She met a former flame that day, a wealthy banker with a penchant for drugs, alcohol, and prostitutes. They pregamed together before going their separate ways, her to the barcade and him to a yacht party. She was not slurring her words but the therapist had a “hunch” that something was off. When they were asked to sign waivers, she could not manage to lift her finger to the kiosk.
He sustained her company, awkwardly looking around and hurrying through his first beer. But when he saw the metal ring on her middle finger (which doubled as a knife) he freaked out. Instead of thinking how sweet of her to wear the ring I got her, his suspicions went to she went to a stranger’s place before this and wore the ring for safety. Despite her adamant denial, he huffed and puffed out of the bar. She stumbled behind him convincing him to stay. He reluctantly spent twenty minutes on the sidewalk while she chain smoked, repeating like a broken record I don’t want to be here. She explained that her drinking was as voluntary as his jerky movements were. He left.
She felt so dejected she needed something to feel alive again. Her doorman was enchanted by the sudden switch of a demure young woman into the blatant temptress calling him into the mail room. He pounded her from behind as she balanced herself on a stack of empty boxes. Mid-thrust, he told her to wait in the employee john because the door was opened to the lobby.
Suits in polyethylene plastic sheets hung on the walls above a small table covered with paper and Expo markers. She trickled in the nearest stall, panicking when the door locked from the outside. She wiggled her way out on the floor as he came in, moving towards him unsure if she was dreaming or about to finish off her doorman. He lifted her on to the table with her pants drawn to her ankles and wrapped her legs around his neck. He thrust hard and fast, knees jerking with every motion, her ass bruising by the second. She looked over his shoulder at the white boards and ceiling lights blurring together as he pushed her up and down. She closed her eyes, praying he would hurry up. He let out a big moan before telling her to get down on her knees, spraying cum all over her face.
He went back to work and she cleaned herself before using the back door to exit. She exhaled as the Uber pulled up, relieved at another chance to escape again.
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