Title: Sex and Love (In the Age of Therapy)
Author: Michelle K. (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Summary: It's isn't love and it doesn't pretend to be, unlike so many of her previous relationships.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.
For: rachelflax, on the occasion of her birthday.
Sex and Love (In the Age of Therapy) by Michelle K.
It isn't love and it doesn't pretend to be, unlike so many of her previous relationships. She prefers it that way. The fallacy was never convincing and eventually, she found out that what passed as adoration was a cover for something: courting the female vote, being obsessed with someone else, wanting to piss off a husband. She represents more than she actually is, so why not let it be as simple as possible?
(When Amy informed her therapist of this theory, Dr. Murphy nodded and said, "Our time is up.")
Amy knows that this isn't demeaning to herself. It's realistic. And sex is just such a pleasant vice with which to pass the time.
CJ likes to be fucked first, though it's never predictable as to how she'll want it. Tonight, it's Amy's tongue and a vibrator. Tonight, it takes her forever to come, but she doesn't tell Amy to do anything differently.
Amy wipes her mouth, places the toy on the nightstand. "You wanted me to fuck you slow tonight? Or just too tired to give the normally lengthy instructions?"
"I'm never too tired for that."
"Good. Because if you were too tired for that, I might not get mine."
"Are you talking like a rapper?"
"I'm talking like someone who wants to get fucked. Such a person may rap. I don't."
CJ may be unpredictable but Amy isn't, so CJ doesn't hesitate in sliding her mouth down Amy's body. CJ's hand moves to Amy's breast as her tongue snakes around her clit.
Amy says, "I don't want it slow."
In the middle of the day, she finds herself thinking about CJ. Thinking about her until she has to retreat to the bathroom, one hand in her panties and the other under her bra. She has to be quiet as interns gossip about who's fucking whom. As Amy flicks her clit and imagines CJ, Amy learns she's back with Josh. She has to stifle a laugh along with her moan.
"I don't know," one of them says, "she seems like a dyke to me."
That's even funnier, so she purposely tries not to listen to them as she draws circles with her thumbs. "Fuck, CJ," she whispers before she comes.
(When Amy divulges to her therapist her suspicions that she's a sex addict, Dr. Murphy gives her the name of a support group. At a red light, she rips it up and drops the pieces into the rarely used ashtray.)
One day, she gets tired of herself and goes to CJ's office. Even though Amy's wet and ready, CJ still wants to get fucked first. Amy obliges.
Amy finds herself in CJ's apartment daily, in CJ's office almost every other day. The fact that neither of them complains is, she supposes, proof that women in their forties are at their sexual peak. Or that they got lucky in their choice of regular fuck. So when Amy says, "What time should I come over?" as she's straightening out her skirt, and CJ responds with, "I don't think tonight's good," Amy is not pleased.
CJ buttons her blouse. "We're going to get drunk."
"Sounds like a good plan. Maybe I could come." She pauses. "Is Josh going to be there?"
"Are you going to torment him?"
"Well," CJ says. "Then you have to come."
But she doesn't end up tormenting Josh. Watching CJ is much more interesting.
No wonder the interns think she's a dyke.
Then, she sees a hand on CJ's thigh. She watches as Toby moves his thumb against the fabric of her pants. She glares at him, but witnessing that little bit of intimacy bothers her less when CJ goes home with her.
"Do you still fuck Toby?" Amy says.
"I don't have the time."
"And if you did?" Amy scrapes her teeth against CJ's nipple.
"I don't know. I'll free up my schedule and see what I feel."
It's a joke, and Amy pretends that she takes it as such as she fucks CJ again.
Amy's mind becomes plagued with the idea of CJ with someone else. Usually Toby, but anyone can fit the bill. It's not jealousy, per say. Just... something she can't shake.
(When Amy says to her therapist that she fears she might be getting obsessed with the person she's fucking, Dr. Murphy asks her why she uses the phrase "person I'm fucking." Amy says, "Because she's a person and I'm fucking her.")
She makes CJ say her name when she comes for the vague assurance that no other name might be in the back of her mind.
CJ kisses the outside of her breast with a quality that would seem like tenderness if Amy's mind weren't trying to label it as something else. Mammary fetish, boredom, foreplay for another round. But CJ seems content to stay where she is.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," she sighs.
"Are you building to something?"
"Could you just fuck me already?"
With a question like that, CJ's an affirmative sort of girl.
Amy watches CJ while she sleeps with something that might seem like adoration. She pretends she's an insomniac with nothing to do.
Amy feels like she's in love. That familiar blush of happiness when she sees CJ; the warmth that lingers after she comes. That sort of need that is just desperate enough to be called devotion and comes with blinders attached, the ones that could lead her to believe that CJ is perfect even when there's ample evidence to the contrary.
Love, of all things.
(When Amy tells her therapist she's terrified that she's fallen in love, because this is definitely obsession and, fuck, isn't love a form of obsession anyway?, Dr. Murphy says, "Is that what you think?" Amy says, "That's why I'm saying it." She cancels her next appointment.)
Amy decides to keep fucking her until the fallacy of love goes away. And maybe, after.
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