Nympho by ninabina
Summary:

Over the past few years, Justin Timberlake has become a nympho.  No longer satisfied with the true meaning of life, he just wastes it away on each countless broad that can get him off.

But can his friends or family beat some sense into him and get him to change his ways?  Or is he destined to loneliness, or even worse--a deadly disease.

 


Categories: In Progress Het Stories Characters: Chris Kirkpatrick, Group, JC Chasez, Joey Fatone, Justin Timberlake, Lance Bass
Awards: None
Genres: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Romance
Challenges: None
Series: The Dirty Series
Chapters: 17 Completed: No Word count: 36938 Read: 43523 Published: Oct 01, 2009 Updated: Aug 18, 2013
Story Notes:

This story was inspired by the movie, Choke, which I just watched--and I thought--how cool would it be to have a story about Justin being a nympho.

Anyway--my stories have been deep and troubling lately--I promise they're not all that bad.  I'll work on a love story soon, I promise.

 

Author's Note:

Wrap it before you slap it, kids. :) 

1. So it Begins by ninabina

2. The Trip by ninabina

3. Checking In - Part 1 by ninabina

4. Checking In - Part 2 by ninabina

5. Day 5, Pt. 1 by ninabina

6. Day 5, Pt. 2 by ninabina

7. Day 6: The Aftermath by ninabina

8. Day 6 & 1/2: Boy Meets Girl by ninabina

9. Day 9: Glass Walls. by ninabina

10. Day 12: Nurse Jackie by ninabina

11. Day 13: The Non-Dismissal by ninabina

12. Day 17: A New Day, A New Therapy by ninabina

13. Day 18: The First Encounter by ninabina

14. Day 19: New Introductions by ninabina

15. Day 19 & 1/2: Let There Be Light by ninabina

16. Day 20: Tides, They Turn by ninabina

17. Day 21: Human Contact by ninabina

So it Begins by ninabina
Author's Notes:

This is super dirty, haha--but well--if you're reading it after the title "nympho" then you kind of know there's going to be a dirty element.  It wont' always be dirty, though.  There will be lots of substance to this, just need to build it.

Hope you enjoy it. 

 

“Fuck me,” she whimpered, her voice echoing against the walls in the small bathroom.

 

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing?” I ask.  God, this one has some brains.  I sure know how to pick ‘em.

 

It doesn’t matter, though.  I don’t really give a shit whether she is a rocket scientist, or if she's the stripper I just slid $100 in one dollar bills to.  As long as she gives me my fix, that’s all I really need from her.  And that’s all I really care to have.

 

I can feel my cock slide into her heat, the wetness from her pussy sending all the sensations to my brain that I need.  My fingertips grip the fleshy part of her hips just a little tighter, pulling her hips faster against mine as I fuck her doggy style in the dingy bathroom in the back of the strip club. I'm desperately chasing the itch I feel in the pit of my stomach.

 

I can’t explain to you how this feels, this utter need for release.  The mixture of sweat, screams, and subtle movements are intoxicating by themselves, but it’s the pure physical ecstasy that drives me back to this situation almost every night.  The feeling of getting the anger, the rage, and the hurt out, of being able to pound my hips at a feverish place, and not give a shit if I’m hurting the recipient.  

 

It’s kind of like a game.  A sick, hedonistic game. 

 

But it’s one that I'm addicted to, nonetheless.

 

I’m chasing that feeling as it starts to build in my lower abs--chasing the feeling of complete and utter contentment.  It’s almost like feeling in love, but better, because it can’t disappoint you.  It can’t rip your heart from its chest cavity, stomp it on the ground, and force you to eat the bitter juice that was just created.

 

No, it’s a rush.  A complete, and total mindblowing feeling that rips through every single muscle fiber in your body.  And as I grip onto her hair, yank her head backwards, and pull her closer to me, I can feel my body cry out with need. I'm so close to feeling that release.

 

“Harder!  Harder, Jesus, oh.....fuck,” she hissed, my hips moving faster into her, obliging her loud, obnoxious cries.  I’m sure someone can hear us outside, and it’s only a matter of time before someone comes into break it up.  I wish I could be quicker, but if it's one thing I've learned from my experiences, it's that you can’t rush pleasure. It only makes you crave more.

 

Unsatisfied with my ability to get what I need in our current position, I pull out of her, my cock throbbing from the absence. The cool air now swirling around my hard-on makes it ache even more.  I grab her shoulder, the pads of my digits sinking into her skin as I pull her up and spin her so she’s facing me.  I never do this, because I usually can’t stand to see their faces, but it’s been so long since I’ve fucked a girl from the front, that I desperately need the change of pace.

 

I move my hands and grip her soft, fleshy ass cheeks to pick her up in one solid motion, resting her body on the sink.  I move my gaze from her face, not caring to see what she looks like.  Instead, my eyes shift back down to my cock, which is now purple from not having its release.  

 

I allow my hand to stroke it a few times before positioning it at her entrance.  My head slides back in ecstasy at the feeling of her heat at my tip, and I can’t even control the urge to thrust.  And as soon as my dick is at her entrance, it’s thrust deep inside of her.  I can feel the depths of her encase around me, and it makes my breathing quicken.  

 

Ah, yes.

 

My hands move to either side of her head, and I keep my head tilted back, deathly afraid that I’ll either catch my face in the mirror she’s in front of, or that I'll catch her eyes.  I start rocking my hips again, and it doesn’t take long before I’m thrusting into her so fast and so hard that we’re almost rocking the sink from the wall.

 

I hear her cries getting louder, and I don’t want to hear her anymore.  My hand moves to her face, covering it languidly with my palm, the other hand going to her hips and I start fucking her harder and faster than anything I had fucked in a long time.  The friction was so fast that I could barely feel it, this numb sensation beginning to wash over my body.

 

And then it hits.  It starts in my toes, slowly creeping up my calves and thighs, causing them to shake slightly.  I bite my bottom lip in expectation, and can feel my balls starting to tighten.  This feeling, right here, is what I live for.  In one fell swoop, I feel every inch of my long, thick cock starting to pulse and throb, the hot, sticky liquid making its migration from my balls into the condom.

 

My entire body is shaking, and I grab at her hips in attempt to get her as close to me as possible.  I can barely breathe as I slowly come down from my high, and in a weak moment, I rest my forehead on her shoulder out of pure exhaustion.

 

“Mmm... that was good, Justin,” she cooed.

 

I hate it when they do that.  Actually, I’m not sure if it’s the cooing that I hate more, or the fact that this dumb blonde actually thought I cared.

 

“Mmmhmm,” I respond non-commitally.  All the girls think that because I solicit them for sex, that I somehow actually wanted to have sex with them because I like them or find them attractive.  But the truth is, most of the time, they just happen to be there when I get the urge.  I know that’s not saying much about me as a person, but what can you do?  If you’ve got an itch, you’ve got to scratch it, right?

 

I pull away and quickly discard the condom, not wanting to have anything more to do with anything that had been in contact with this woman’s body, which is the only part of these situations that I still battle with.  

 

You see, I’ve been doing this casual, non-committed sex thing for a while.  At first, it was just for fun, part of the lavish lifestyle that I led.  Then, it quickly became a status thing, almost a rite of passage in my teen years, puffing up my ego with "the boys" every time I etched another number on my belt.  And then it became an addiction, something that I had to have, or I would go crazy.  Now, it’s blossomed into this obsessive nightly requirement, complete with numbness and disconnectedness.

 

I’ve been doing this so long now, in such an unhealthy way, that I can honestly say that I’m numb, utterly and completely.  I no longer keep a record, and have no idea how many women I’ve slept with.  No, no it’s just a need.  A need to get off by the first thing that will get me there.

 

And when I'm done with them, I want nothing to do with them. I don't want to touch them, I don't want their fluids on me, and I certainly don't want them to come over to my house or vice versa. 

 

“You know, you should come over later...” she whispered, the sultriness slipping from her candy coated lips.

 

I roll my eyes.  “No, thanks.”  I don’t even give her a reason.  She doesn’t deserve one.

 

“C’mon, you always do this,” she sighed.

 

“And you always do this, whore.”  I spat in return.  I bent down, grabbed the pants from around my ankles, and pulled them up.  “See you ‘round.”

 

I step out of the bathroom, and as I’m buckling my belt, I see Trace and JC still at the bar watching the game.  I walk up to them, pat them both on the back and nod to the bartender.

 

“Three shots of Patron, please.”

 

JC turned to look at me, and I could see him shake his head in disapproval.  They both knew my antics at this stage, and had tried everything under the sun to get me to change my ways.  Of course, I was cool about it at first--but now, their preaching is starting to get old.

 

“When are you going to stop pulling this shit, man?  If you keep going like this, you’re either going to end up with a disease, or you’re going to end up alone,” Trace finished, as if reading JC’s thoughts.

 

I roll my eyes, deciding to ignore them and do my shot.

 

“You fuckers can either come with, or you can stay here.  We’ve got to pack and rest up for our trip tomorrow.  Now let’s go,” I finish, making it obvious that I was ending this conversation.

 

I always get the last word, and they know it.  I smile triumphantly as we close out our tabs and make our way out the door before the dumb bimbo can come find me.  

 

Another successful evening, if I do say so myself.

 

 

 

 

The Trip by ninabina
Author's Notes:

Thank you to whoever nominated me, and in so many categories.  If you like this story, please go vote at the NF Awards for Supreme Newbie!  Also read Doctor Doctor and vote for it, if you feel so inclined.  And if you like these stories, vote for the Dirty Series.

Thanks so much--so glad that you all enjoy my work.  Thanks for the lovely reviews.  Keep 'em coming, and I'll keep arming you with words. :) 

 

I smile to myself as I slip in the last piece of clothing into my oversized suitcase.  I probably didn’t need a suitcase this big, but when you travel the world for a living, it becomes all you have.  Besides, it leaves more room for condoms, anyway.

 

It’s been awhile since I’ve been on a long trip that wasn’t work related, but I can’t deny that I’m looking forward to it.  Sometimes it’s so easy to get yourself stuck in a rut when you stay in one place for too long, or if you only leave for work.  It’s important to have a little variety in life.

 

Especially women.

 

But this trip--this will be fun.  JC and Trace somehow convinced me that we needed to go snowboarding for two weeks in Canada.  I’m not sure why they chose Canada over Aspen or the Swiss Alps, but hell--who am I to argue?  Canadian women are hot, especially the French Canadians.  Although, it wouldn’t hurt if they shaved a little.  And it’s not like Canada is a typical tourist destination, so we should be safe on the security/paparazzi front.  It’ll be a nice getaway, indeed.

 

I heard a knock on the door, and turn my head to see JC pop in.

 

“You ready man?  Car’s here,” he said simply.  He had a goofy grin on his face, and something about it triggered a slight worry in the back of my mind, although I’m not quite sure why.

 

“Yeah, dude.  Just let me do one last check, and then I’m ready.  Is Trace good to go?” I swiftly moved back to the suitcase, doing a mental inventory of every item I needed, and nodded approvingly when it was there.  I quickly zipped it up and pulled it off the bed, glancing up at him expectantly.

 

“Oh, yeah.  He’s ready,” he laughed.  “Come on, let’s go.  Let’s go.  I can’t wait to get there, and the jet is waiting.”

 

He loved it when we took the damn jet.  But guess who gets to pay for the jet?  Oh, yeah.  Me. 

 

Fucker.

 

I walk away from the bag and let him take it, knowing full well I’m not going to roll that shit to the car myself, considering I’m paying or this little party of theirs.  I may be Mr. Moneybags, but I’m not going to be Mr. Pack Mule too. 

 

I stop in the mirror before leaving the room, and check my appearance.  Damn, I look good.  My hands reach down to smooth out the slight wrinkle in my WR jeans before lightly adjusting my bulge.  My hands reach up, lightly tugging down the light green and yellow sport jacket I was wearing, making sure it was even against my hips.  Lastly, I check my face for bags under the eyes, and after being satisfied that there were none, I lightly run a hand through my slightly growing curls, disheveling them a bit for effect.  Women love the disheveled look.

 

Looking good, Timberlake.

 

I check my platinum watch one last time before heading out of my room and down the stairs, making the last call to anyone left in the house that we were leaving.  I stop at the door to give a little love to my puppies before standing and leaving.  

 

That was the only hard part about leaving for trips--my poor puppies hated to see me go, and their little whines almost tore me to pieces every single time.  That’s one reason why I never want to have kids or a wife.  I hate the whine, and if I think a dog whine is bad, then what would I do if it was my kid?  I’d never step foot outside of the house. Ever.  So fuck that entirely.

 

I slid into the limo after the driver opened the door for me, and I was surprised to see that I was the first one in.  Normally, I’m the last.  As I was waiting for Trace and JC to arrive, I looked down at my lower half, and I silently cursed when I realized there was a scuff on my brand new tennis shoes.  This would not do.  I was about to get out when JC and Trace popped in.

 

Oh well.  Too late now.  I roll my eyes as they immediately start programming the music for our drive, cracking open the champagne, and talking up a storm about how excited they were going to be once they got to Canada.  I roll my eyes.  You would think that they’ve never travelled in their lives considering how much they were acting like little bitches right now.

 

“Seriously?  You guys are out of control.”  I finally couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.

 

“Oh, stop being a bitch ‘cause you haven’t gotten laid yet this morning,” Trace replied, mimicking my earlier eye roll.

 

Here we go.  “Don’t even start with me on that shit right now.  You two act like you’ve never gone on vacation before.  We’re just going to Canada to go snowboarding, it’s not that big of a deal,” I finished, grabbing the bottle of champagne.  But I couldn’t help but feel this nagging feeling in the back of my head that there was something up their sleeves.

 

“Don’t hate because you can’t get excited about anything anymore.  We’re happy to go on vacation, and you should be too.  Now stop being a bitch, and let’s have some fun,” JC finished.  He never did like confrontation that much.  In fact, JC would do his best to smooth over any situation as quickly as possible.  He hated fighting.

 

Trace and I, on the other hand, we would get into it until one of us ended up punching the other.  Then, it would spiral out of control, and both of us would end up sparring on the ground, leaving us with blood stained clothes.  In fact, there was a photo shoot that I did a long time ago right after Trace and I got into a fight.  I thought it was hilarious that the Director wanted to keep the bloody theme going, so I went with it.  Looking back at those photos, they still make me laugh a little.  It’s a good thing Trace is like my brother, or I would have killed him by now.

 

We finally get to the airport, and I’m all too happy that we can bypass all of the security bullshit and drive straight on to the tarmac to the jet hangar.  We all get out, and file one by one to the plane, getting ready to walk up the tiny stairs as the driver brings our bags behind us.

 

I’m the first one on the stairs, and as I near the top of them, I set my eyes on a perfectly round ass clad in a perfectly taught flight attendant skirt.  This hot little number is bent over fixing some drink trays, but I could care less about what she’s doing.  All I care about is that ass. 

 

And then it starts.  I feel my veins constricting, and all of the blood rushing from my brain to my dick.  My fists clench, and I want nothing more than to just lift her skirt and pound the shit out of her right now.  I try to shake my head of my thoughts, and just keep walking.  I literally have to force myself to my seat.

 

I don’t want to have sex with everything that comes my way.  I really don’t.  But it’s times like these, when I see something that I want, and this feeling rushes through my body.  My simple want turns into a desperate need, and once it becomes a need, there’s no rational thought left to stop it.  I will do. whatever. it. takes. to. fuck. her.

 

I watch as the other guys get on the plane and take their seats.  My breathing is getting heavier, and my dick is getting harder.  I watch her silently, from afar.  The way she stands up, showing off the gorgeous curvature of her ass from the profile view I have, is driving me crazy.  That skirt is way too tight, but I love it.  Then she’ll bend back over, adjusting something else, and I’ll get a glimpse of those gorgeous tits in her top.  And man, are they gorgeous.

 

Fuck.

 

We all get settled, but my eyes are not leaving her form.  For this moment, I am obsessed with her.  The way she bites on the bottom of her cherry red lips, the way she’ll blow some hair off of her face.  I can just imagine tearing that little top off and sucking on her breasts.  I’ll be they’re a C-cup, and I’ll even venture to say she has perfectly round nipples.  And those thighs...mmmmm....those thighs are dangerous.  I can tell by the way her calves look in those high heels.

 

I watch her as she closes the doors, and I can’t help but lick my lips at the way her tits bounce as she tries to move the heavy door all by herself.  I can just imagine that’s how they’ll look when I’m fucking her from behind.

 

It feels like time drags on slowly as we prepare for takeoff, and finally we’re in the air.  I smile as the young woman takes care of my friends before she comes to me, and I look up at her with a smirk.

 

“Sir, what can I get for you?” she asked sweetly.  Her voice was sweet, like sugar.

 

Oh, I know what you can get me.  “How about a jack and a coke, and your phone number.”  I smirk a little at her awkward face.  They always feign innocence, but every girl is a slut for the right man, even if she doesn’t think she is.

 

“Excuse me, sir?” she repeated.

 

“You heard me.  Jack and coke.  And your phone number,” I smile again, just as sweetly.  She just stands there awkwardly, and I know there’s no way she’s going to deny me.  I look around, but Trace and JC had already gone to the front to play guitar hero, so I was in the clear.  I reach my hand up and cup her breast, biting my bottom lip as he slowly let my eyes move from her neckline to her face.

 

“Or, you can be a dear, and come to the bathroom with me,” I finish, brushing my thumb expertly over her now taught nipple.  I knew they would be perfectly round.

 

“Uh...excuse me, but I...I’m not....that’s.....that’s unprofessional,” she stammered, obviously trying to gain her senses.

 

“Look.  You know who I am, and I know you want to fuck me.  I can feel it.”  I let my left hand slowly slide to the back of her knee, lightly tickling the flesh as I move my fingertips up her thigh ever so slowly.  “I know you want it, ‘cause you’re not pushing me away.  So....you can do yourself a favor, and come to the back and have the best fuck of your life....or you can pretend that you’re not a slut and wonder what if until the day you die.”

 

She was choking on her words, and I knew I had a small window to seal the deal.  I moved my hand up to her center, pushed aside her panties, and slid a long finger inside.  I slowly stroked her g-spot, and I felt her quiver against me, her thighs trapping my hand against her.

 

“Or we can just fuck right here.  Your prerogative, baby.” I could be so cocky sometimes.

 

“No,” she hisses.  “Just...give me five minutes.  I’ll...uh...I never do this, but I’ll...meet you in the bathroom.  Just leave it unlocked,” she nodded.  I could tell she was questioning herself, but she wouldn’t deny herself the simple pleasure.

 

I nodded to her as I pulled my hand from her throbbing center, which was already dripping wet at this point.  I pulled my fingers to my lips and slowly started sucking on them as a bit of a tease.  This was a long flight, so I was going to make sure I took my time with her.

I waited for her to disappear before I stood up, adjusting my thickness in my pants, starting to feel the need to have a release.  I walk with a slight limp to the bathroom and slip in effortlessly.  I loved flying in a private jet because the bathrooms weren’t as tiny as regular commercial airliners.

 

Impatiently, I unbuttoned my jeans and pulled my cock out of my boxers.  If she was going to take five minutes, I was going to at least get a little pleasure while I waited.  I just sat on the toilet, stroking my cock painfully slow as I waited. 

 

My head jumped up when I heard the door open, and as soon as I saw her, the smirk returned to my face.  “Took you long enough.”

 

“Sorry, I had to make sure the captain was alright, and make sure your friends were taken care of so we could have some time,” she replied, closing and locking the door behind her.  I could tell by her face that she was slightly shocked at the size of my dick, standing at attention for her.  They usually were.

 

“You like what you see, babygirl?  It’s all yours if you want it.  Come get it,” I reply, my voice now husky with desire.

 

“Mmm....maybe,” she giggled.  She was actually kinda cute.  I watched her saunter over to me and slide onto my lap.  The closeness of feeling her heat so close to my dick was intoxicating, and I couldn’t help but push my hips towards her, desperate for some friction.

 

“Not so fast.  If I’m going to be a bad girl, I want it to at least be worth it,” she smiles.  She leaned in and kissed me, something that I rarely allow, but it wasn’t so bad with her.  I enjoyed the mini make-out session as she started stroking my cock and grinding on me.

 

I took the liberty to start unbuttoning her shirt, pulling it off of her roughly when I had succeeded.  I pulled away to take a look at her chest, and I smiled approvingly.  I moved one hand to her back and undid her bra in one swift, easy motion, releasing her soft mounds from their confines.

 

After tossing the additional material to the side, my lips found one of her breasts, as the other began kneading its twin.  She had the softest flesh I had ever felt, and I loved the whimpers that were departing from her lips.  I could tell she was getting a little impatient by the increased pace of her grinding.

 

I gently tapped the side of her thigh and smirked. “C’mon, baby.  Get up.  I want you to give me a show, ‘cause I’ve been dying to see that ass since I saw it bent over in my face.”

 

She smirked and I nodded to her approvingly.  I watched her get up, and she was about to take the heels off, but I stopped her.  She had damn nice legs, and I loved her heels.  As she was working her skirt off, I pushed my boxers and my jeans down to my ankles, not wanting this to be a problem when the urge fully took over my body and I had to be inside of her.

 

I smiled as she did a little dancing for me, and slowly undid the back of her skirt.  She put one hand on the sink, bending over slightly for me, as she pushed down her skirt, stepping out of it gracefully when it hit the floor.

 

And here I was, staring at her perfectly round, perfectly taught ass, just a foot from my face.  “Take the panties off, baby.”

 

She obliged, hooking her thumbs in the waist band of her g-string, and she did a teasing dance as she pulled them over her round ass.  I leaned forward and slowly slid a few fingers into her dripping wet pussy, pulsing them ever so slowly to tease her as much as she had just teased me.

 

“Bend over, baby.  All the way,” I mumbled.

I watched her as she obliged, and I grabbed her hips roughly and pulled them to my face, gently starting to work my tongue against her nub, my fingers starting a gentle pace.  I wanted to make sure that she was nice and wet.

 

I listened to her moan, and watched as she began to writhe beneath my touch.  I definitely knew how to please a woman, even if I didn’t do it very often.  By the time I worked her up to her first orgasm, I was ready to blow, and that itch was getting so bad that I almost couldn’t stand it.

 

“Are you ready, baby?” I ask quietly, my voice filled with need.

 

“Mmm, damn right I am.  How do you want me?” she asked.

 

“Well, I usually don’t ask this...but you’ve got a damn fine ass, and it looks like you know how to use it.  Why don’t you ride me, show me what you got.”  To be honest, I was a little tired today, and wasn’t looking to do all the work.

 

She smirked and obliged, tantalizingly crawling over my body as she gripped my cock.  She placed it at her entrance after I slipped on the condom, and she whimpered as she slid down on me.  I leaned my head back, placing my hands behind my head as I looked down and watched her.  

 

Soon enough, after she adjusted to my massive length, I felt her starting to rock her hips faster, moving in a figure eight motion, and it was starting to drive me crazy. 

 

“Fuck,” I hiss.  “That’s it, just a little faster baby.  Keep rocking those hips.”  God, she could move.  Finally, I moved my hands back down to her hips, and I helped guide her around my cock, making her hips move in ways she didn’t even know she could move.

 

And then something snapped, and I needed my release.  This wasn’t about her anymore, this was about getting off.  In one swift motion, I stood up, my hips holding onto hers tightly as he I started to pulse into her while we were standing.

 

I could hear her moans getting louder, and it just pushed me closer and closer to the edge.  I finally needed more leverage, and I pulled her off my cock and spun her around, looking at her in the mirror.  I gently lifted one of her legs onto the bathroom counter, keeping her there by holding onto her heel, and I thrust deeply inside of her.

 

She was surprisingly pushing back with her ass, its flesh pushing against my lower abs and driving me crazy.  My hands got lost in her hair, pushing her forward so her face was against the mirror, pulling her leg further away for more leverage.  I started pounding into her, but not at my usual feverish pace.  This was slower, but harder.  Every few seconds I would pound into her completely, burying every single inch of my cock into her depths, to the point that she would scream out in a painful pleasure.  I would hold it deep inside of her, and without warning, would pull out, and push into her just as hard again.

 

“Fuck me...oh god,” she whimpered.  “Faster, please.”

 

I knew this torturously slow pace was driving her crazy, and it felt good.  I needed to feel her come though, desperately needing that deep clenching feeling around my cock to make me go over the edge.  I reached my hand around, thumbing her clit as I continued my rough, slow assault.

 

Finally, she was writhing so badly in pleasure, that I could feel her start quaking and trembling around me, and that was my cue to just rip into her so fast and so hard that I had no choice but to come.  

 

And come I did.  Over and over into her depths as I gripped onto her ass, trying to get it all out.  And just as we both finished reaching our highs, the captain came over the loudspeaker, announcing the initial decent into Canada.

 

I thrust into her once last time for effect and grunted.

 

“Perfect timing,” I smirked.  I pulled out, discarded the condom, and was shocked when she dropped to her knees to lap it all up.

 

“Must have been good for you to do that,” I finished.

 

“Damn right,” she mumbled, her mouth full of my cock, teasing my balls a little.  “I’ll make sure I’m on your next flight, maybe we can have a little more time,” she winked.

 

Not likely, bitch.

 

“Yeah, maybe,” I replied, noncommittally.  This is where it all goes wrong.  They all want more.  I can’t help it I’m good at what I do, but that doesn’t mean I want to fuck you all the time.  At least this was the first girl that I didn’t mind touching me after I came, but still--not going to happen sweetheart.  I waited for her to finish lapping me up before I got dressed.  I smacked her ass on the way out of the bathroom and found my way to my seat, a happy man.

 

JC and Trace both saw me come back out, and I could tell they were both shaking their heads at me, but I didn’t care.  As we landed, I grabbed my things, rubbing her ass on the way out for desperate measure, and was happy to be met with the chilled Canadian air.

 

“So what is this place that we’re going to?” I asked as we got into the town car.

 

“Well, actually--that’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” Trace mentioned, but JC shook his head, as if saying "no."  Something was going on, I could feel it.

 

“What do you mean, that’s what you wanted to talk about?” I asked.

 

JC jumped in.  “It’s nothing man, we’re just excited to be here.”  I was worried, but I dismissed it.  Whatever it was, they would tell me, right?

 

As the car drove, I could feel myself starting to get antsy.  There is something not sitting well with me, and I don’t know what it is.

 

But as soon as I saw the sign for the Rehab Treatment Center, my eyes got wide, and I knew exactly what this was about.  

 

“Stop the car!  Stop the fucking car, right this fucking instant!” I screamed. 

 

Oh, hell no.

 

Checking In - Part 1 by ninabina
Author's Notes:
This is split into two parts, 'cause it makes more sense that way.  Hope you enjoy it--thanks for the wonderful reviews.  You make my heart happy.

 

I can feel my heart pounding out of my chest as the rage works its way to my brain, forcing my cheeks to flush even more than they already are in the freezing tundra that is Canada.  I’m standing in front of the sign that I forced the car to stop in front of.  

 

Upon closer inspection, I finally made out the words: “Hersch Center for Sexual Wellness,” and in case you thought I was lying to you about the frozen tundra part, the entire sign is covered in a thin layer of ice, topped with a thick layer of snow.  My fists clench, and I can tell that the rage surfacing beneath my previously calm exterior is about to burst.  

 

This could get ugly.

 

“What the fuck, you ASSHOLES!” I scream.  At this point, I turn around to face them, making sure they received every inch of my death glare.

 

“Justin, calm down, man.  Just...calm down.  Let’s just talk about this,”  JC tries to reason, taking a step away from the car that he and Trace were standing in front of to watch me. 

 

Unfortunately for him, there would be no reasoning today.

 

“Calm down!?  Calm the fuck down!?  How dare you say that I calm the fuck down!?  Not only did you fucking lie to me, but you’re trying to force me into fucking sex rehab?  I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but I don’t have a fucking problem!  So no, I don’t think I’m going to CALM THE FUCK DOWN!” I slam my fist against one of the poles of the sign to make a point, but the motion knocks some snow onto my head, fueling my anger even more.

 

“Maybe we should have taken him to rehab for anger management instead,” Trace finished snidely, as if I wouldn’t hear him from the distance.

 

That’s it.

 

“Fuck you, you asshole.  This is all your fault” I scream at Trace, beginning my approach towards them heatedly, my blood pressure rising with every step that I take. 

 

“How the hell is this my fault, Justin?  I’m not the one that can’t keep my dick in my pants,” he replied, his voice almost serene, with just a hint of sarcasm.

 

“It’s not my fault that you’re fucking jealous that you can’t get laid!  I know you’re short and you have a small dick, but don’t take it out on me because women love everything I bring to the table,” I smirk.  I don’t care if that was below the belt.  He deserves it.

 

Short little fuck.

 

“Come on guys, let’s just calm down and talk about this.  Can we get back in the car?  It’s freezing out here,”  JC finished, his teeth chattering a bit from the wind chill.  He was always the reasonable one.

 

“You can sit here and insult me all you want, Trousersnake--but it wasn’t our idea to bring you here, although we fully support it,” Trace brought up, amusement written all over his face.  This was fun for him, and it just made me more angry.

 

“What do you mean, it wasn’t you’re idea?  I’m pretty sure it was you two that convinced me to get on a fucking plane to go SNOWBOARDING, and instead, conveniently drove me to the fucking sex rehab center,” I finished, obviously confused.

 

JC piped in, “It was your label’s idea.  Fueled by force from your publicist, and your mother.”  He bowed his head as he said it, and I could see the disgrace written all over it.  Jace didn’t like to lie, and part of me hated to see him like this.  The other part of me wanted to beat the shit out of him.

 

I just stared at both of them in awe.  “What?  But how....?  How could they...” I trailed, beginning to pace as the information slowly sank in.

 

“Your habits have gotten out of control, and they’re tired of covering for you.  We’ve been trying to protect you for long enough.  It’s time to face some facts, J.  You don’t have the option of not going, so it’s just easier if you come with us peacefully,” Trace finished.

 

All I could do was stand there and stare at them.  I wasn’t sure how to react.  If this was really the label’s doing, then why didn’t they tell me?  We should have had a meeting about this, not a fucking surprise visit to the arctic tundra.  And my mother knows?  

 

Fuck.  

 

I mean, don’t get me wrong--we’ve always had a good relationship, and for the most part, she’s pretty cool with my lifestyle and the choices I make.  Hell, we’ve even smoked weed together.  She knows about everything in my life--so she’s totally cool with most things.  But how cool can she really be about the fact that I have sex with a lot of women?

 

My mother supported this?

 

All I can do is run a hand through my curls distractedly.  This was a lot to take in.  I could feel my veins constricting, the pressure mounting inside my body.  I can’t control it.  My legs involuntarily start pacing back and forth more quickly while desperately try to sort the words battling inside my head.

 

This. is. not. happening.

 

“So what’s it going to be, Timberfuck?  We can do this the easy way...or the hard way.  Your choice.  But you’ve got about five seconds before I grab your ass and throw you in the limo,” Trace stabbed once more, his words biting like venom.

 

That was it.  I couldn’t take it anymore.  I wanted to be calm and rational, but the feeling inside my body wouldn’t let me.  Not to mention the fact that Trace just uttered two nicknames that I hated more than life itself in a short span of 3 minutes.  

 

In a matter of seconds, I feel my body lunging at Trace.  There’s no thought process behind it, just pure, carnal instinct.  Before JC can stop us, the two of us are on the ground, rolling about in the snow, throwing punches wildly.

 

“Fuck, Justin!  Stop!”  JC was desperately trying to pull us apart, but he was no match for our sparring.

 

And there we stayed for a good thirty minutes, beating the shit out of one another.  It finally came to a halt when Trace started coughing up blood into the neighboring snowbank.

 

I could feel the wetness from my now soaked jeans sticking to my clothes.  I could barely breathe, sure that I had at least a few broken ribs.  I was coughing sporadically, desperately trying to regain my composure.  At least the pressure was gone.

 

JC was the first of the three of us to stand up, and he certainly came out with the least amount of wounds.  He extended a hand out to me, and I slowly stood up.

 

“Fuck,” I mumbled, clutching my side.  I ended up leaning on the trunk of the car, unable to stand on my own.

 

JC was working on getting Trace to stand up, and he nodded.  “Come on.  It’s time to go.  You’re going to rehab, and now we have to see if they’ll patch Trace up while we’re at it.  I swear, one of these days you two are going to kill one another.”

 

Trace chuckled, even though he was spitting up blood.  “Justin couldn’t get that lucky.”

 

“Fuck you,” I mumbled.

 

And with that, we piled into the car, soaking wet and looking like we just got the shit beat out of us by a bunch of gang-bangers.  This would certainly be interesting. 

 

Checking In - Part 2 by ninabina

 

The ride to the facility was eerily quiet, except for the soft whimpers from our baited breathing.  I spent my time staring out the window at what would become my temporary home for God-only-knows how long.

 

As we pulled up to the large building, my forehead hit the window in defeat, the coolness of the glass curbing the sweat that was starting to form on my brow from nervousness.  

 

The center itself was massive, at least the size of a Los Angeles city block, and it was in the middle of absolute nowhere.  The only thing in sight were a few evergreens and the barren expanse of snow-covered nothingness.

 

The sight of it made me shudder, an eerie feeling slithering down my spine.  I always viewed these places as death traps, the type of place you go when you’re an absolute loon, or when you’re at the end of your rope. 

 

I don’t consider myself to be either, but apparently, the rest of the world thinks otherwise.  

 

I felt the car slowly grind to a halt in front of the neatly shoveled walkway, sliding precariously from the black ice buried beneath the snow.  I wait patiently, dreading the door opening.  Once it does, I stare up at the driver.  I’m avoiding getting out, and he knows it.  I don’t want to move. 

 

Unfortunately, Trace slaps me upside the head, and I knew I needed to depart before another fight got started.  I’m not sure my ribs could handle it.  I stick my almost perfectly manicured sneaker out, and it gets buried in the snow.  I silently curse to myself as I get out, nearly doubling over in pain.  

 

This is going to be a long week.

 

I made the walk inside alone, even though I knew the guys were following me.  I refused to look back, though.  This was already taking every ounce of energy I had, and if I saw the car, I would hop back in, kick their asses out, and disappear in a heart beat.  Instead, I stumbled inside and forward to the counter and gripped it painfully, not even noticing the petite blonde that was startled by my appearance.

 

“Oh my God!  Are you okay!?  What happened to you?  How did you get here!?” her voice was quiet, serene, and filled with worry.

 

“I...I’m fine,” I utter.  My voice wasn’t very convincing, though.  Maybe it’s because I’m not fine.  I’m in fucking rehab.  There is nothing fine about this situation. 

 

“No you’re not.  You’re bleeding....we need to get you to see a doctor,” she finished, getting up from her seat.

 

“Can you just check me in, and take me to my room?  I don’t give a shit about seeing the doctor.  I don’t want to be here, but I’m being forced to be here against my will.  So the sooner we can get over this shit, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair, and the sooner you won’t have to look at my bloody features.”

 

I didn’t have to see her face to register the shock that was undoubtedly there.  I rested my head on my hand as I waited impatiently for her to tell me whatever it was that I needed to know.  All I could hear was the tapping of her fingers on the keys, and some shuffling of papers.

 

“Name?” she asked.

 

“Timberlake.  Justin Randall,” I sighed.

 

“Date of Birth?” 

 

“January 31, 1981,” I groaned.  “Look, don’t you have this on file?  Or can’t you look this up in some teeny bopper magazine.  I’d really just like to go lay down right now.”

 

“I’m sorry, sir.  But this is procedure.  I need to get all your vitals, and then I have to ask you a few questions.”

 

“Fine,” I reply, pointedly.  She continued asking me the most mundane questions about my person, to which I answered robotically.  And then she started spitting out some things I wasn’t quite expecting.

 

“How many women have you slept with?” she asked.

 

Uh.....

 

“Excuse me?” I asked, feeling completely incredulous at the thought of the question.

 

“How many women have you slept with,” she repeated, very nonchalantly.

 

“I have no fucking clue.  Why would I know that?  I’m a fucking rockstar for God’s sake.  You think fucking Mick Jagger knows how many women he slept with?  I doubt it.”

 

“Sir, there’s no reason to get hostile.  I just need you to answer the question, even if it’s a guesstimate.”

 

I took about five minutes to think about it.  Let’s see....seven national tours plus five global tours, plus tons of international promo work, plus 4 steady girlfriends....times sex three to eight times a day.  But wait....

 

“Does a threesome or foursome...or an orgy, really--does that count as one partner....or....two, or three...or however many?”

 

I watched her blush, and couldn’t help but smile.  This was way too easy.

 

“Yes, Mr. Timberlake.  Each person counts.  So...your guesstimate?”

 

“Well, in that case, I would say that I’ve slept with thousands of women.  I have no idea how many.  But I’ve been having sex since I was 16, and for the past five years, I usually get laid about five to six times a day, depending on whether or not I’m in a relationship or not.”

 

“Alrighty....” she nodded.  “Right...’thousands.’  SO....STD’s?” she asked again, looking up at him.

 

“Not so far,” I chuckled.

 

“How often do you get tested?” she asked.

 

“Tested?  Never.  I always wear a condom, and I don’t have any itching or any physical deformities.  I’m straight.”

 

She started typing away furiously.

 

“So you’ve never been tested for an STD?” she asked, incredulously.  

 

“Well, I mean...once or twice a long time ago.  But not recently.”

 

She started typing again, and it was starting to make me nervous.  I didn’t like it when she asked me questions like that.

 

“What are you typing?” I finally ask, really curious about what she could possibly be typing that much about.

 

“It’s just information for your file, Sir.  It’s part of the procedure.”  I rolled my eyes.  Everything is a part of procedure around here, and that word makes me angry and sick to my stomach all at the same time.  “Have you ever had sexual relations with a male?”

 

I nearly coughed.  “Why on earth do you need to know that?”  This was not going in a direction I was happy about.  “I’m a straight man...”  I paused to look down at her name tag and sighed at the sight of her tits slightly popping out of her little nurses outfit. I could feel the itch starting to work it's way up my spine again.  This was not good.  “...Veronica.”

 

“This is a sexual rehabilitation facility, Sir.  I need to know everything about your sexual past.  Now...have you had sexual relations with males?”

 

“I don’t feel comfortable answering this question...” I trailed.

 

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need the answer.  Please just answer the question, Sir.”

 

I nervously start scratching at my sideburns, and I sigh a little.  “Um...” my voice barely above a whisper.  I was really hoping Trace and JC weren’t behind me, because they would never let me live this down if they found out.  “Yes....I mean.  I’m still very much a straight man...but...I’ve unfortunately had a few run-in’s with men...sexually.”

 

“Were they with, or against your will?” she asked again.

 

“Um....a little of both.  In...different situatons,” I nod, unsurely.  I don’t know why, but the question made me feel really vulnerable.  “Are we done now?” I ask, meekly.

 

“Yes sir...that about covers all of the information I need.  Why don’t you say goodbye to your friends, and I’ll have the Doctor come out to meet you and take care of your wounds before taking to your room and giving you your weekly schedule.  But first, I need you to sign these.”

 

She hands me a clipboard, and I don’t even bother reading it.  At this point, I just wanted to go curl up somewhere and hide.  I was in pain, and I felt violated. I scribbled my name on the blank boxes and turned to see JC and Trace waiting in the lobby area.  I slowly walk over to them and nod.

 

“So, this is it.  How long will I be in here for?” I ask, a little more politely than before.  I was still angry, deep down, but I was too exhausted to fight any more.

 

“The pamphlet said a month.  But it may be longer or shorter, depending on what they diagnose you as, and how your therapy goes.  So I guess it’s up to you,” JC said, standing up to greet me.

 

“A month?” I sigh.  Shit.

 

“Hey...man, I’m sorry....about earlier.  I didn’t mean to get you all riled up.  I just...we’re both really proud of you for doing this, even though we know you don't want to be here.  But you’re going to be better when you get out of here, okay buddy?  We’re going to stay in the next town over....so we’ll be here, visiting when we can," Trace offered.

 

“It’s okay.”  I look down at my feet and shrug.  “So, this is it.  I guess I’ll see you guys around....” I was trying to hold off the inevitable, until I heard someone call my name.  I look up just as a gorgeous woman walks out one of the steel plated doors to greet me.

 

“Mr. Timberlake?” she asked warmly.  Wow, did she have a smile that lit up the room.  And those glasses...mmm.  It’s been awhile since I’ve been with the nerdy type.

 

“That’s me...” I nod, raising an arm.

 

“Wow.  Veronica was right.  You banged yourself up pretty good, huh?” she asked, that smile warming the pain away.

 

“Yeah...something like that,” I finish.  Is this some kind of joke?  Should all rehab centers have drop dead gorgeous doctors treating their patients in sex therapy?  This has to be morally wrong on so many levels.

 

“Well, let’s go.  I’m going to clean you up, give you a sponge bath, and then get you to your room to explain your schedule.  That sound good?”

 

Did she say sponge bath?

 

This might not be so bad after all.

 

“You got it...” I smiled.  Before I disappear behind the steel plated door, I turn around to the guys one last time and give them a solid wink with a shit eating grin adorning my face.  And then I disappear.

 

Let the Rehab begin.

 

Day 5, Pt. 1 by ninabina
Author's Notes:
This chapter is long, so I broke it up into two parts.  Sorry for the delay...life's been busy.  Thanks for your patience, and hope you enjoy it.  Thanks to keediluv for being my beta.

Day 5. 

 

Wake up.

Whack it.

Chores.

Stupid Meeting.

Eat food reminiscent of elementary school cafeteria.

Throw up.

Try to sleep for afternoon nap.

Toss and turn.

Dream about sex.

Wait for roommate to fall asleep or leave, whichever is first.

Whack it.

Sleep for 20 minutes.

Wake up starving, with “nap wood.”

Cold Shower.

Dinner, more reminiscence of cafeteria.

Try to seduce a patient or a nurse, whichever seems most willing.

Get shot down because I’m in fucking rehab.

Group Counseling.

Pretend to shoot myself in the face.

 

....repeat.

 

This is my life. For the next. 25. Days.

 

Fuck me.

 

“Paging Mr. Timberlake. Please report to the front desk, immediately.”

 

“What now?” I mumble.  Unwillingly, I pull myself away from my deck of cards and my lonely game of solitaire, and begin forcing my languid body down the hall.  The little foot booties they forced me to wear are too big, so they scuff against the dull, worn tile as I walk, no matter how much effort I put in to avoid the sound.  Maybe I just stopped giving a shit.

 

I approach the central nurse station after going through a series of extensive metal doors with high tech locking systems, and I silently smile inwardly when I see Nurse Jackie twirling her long blonde hair as her mouth absent-mindedly chews at her gum.  Ah, yes. Jackie.

 

“Umm...excuse me. I, uh....seem to have lost my way to my room, but I somehow remembered how to get back to the nurse’s station.  You know...first day and all.  Could you tell me how the hell you get to...fuck.” 

 

“Sorry, sir.  I don’t think there’s a fuck on that map,” she replied cutely. 

 

I glanced up to see her popping her gum and twirling her hair incessantly, as if it was her job. Her perfectly manicured nails ever so slowly, tantalizingly pulled the thin blonde strands around effortlessly, and I felt a tightening in my stomach.  Damn, did she have nice nails.  Hot red, and perfectly manicured--just the way I like them.  What I wouldn’t give to have them around my...

 

“Sir?” she asked, again.

 

I was knocked out of my reverie and finally came about.  “Uh, sorry.  I just--I can’t even read this, the print is so small...” I finished, my tongue reaching out to lightly lap at my lips in a vague attempt at hiding my subconscious thoughts.

 

All she did was giggle.

 

“It’s not THAT small.  You’re probably just fighting it because you don’t want to be in rehab.  It’s okay, we get that a lot,” she finished, giggling again.  Her laugh was infectious, despite its obnoxiousness.  I ignored her, and instead continued to try to read the blasted piece of paper in front of me.

 

“ And really?  What’s with the French everywhere on this thing?  You fucking Canadians....How am I supposed to read this?,” I mumble, looking back down at the paper, trying desperately to decipher it and get my mind off of her perfectly pink lips and her red hot nails.

 

“Oh come on.  French is the language of romance, Mr...” she paused to look at her clipboard.  “...Timberlake...?  Oh, are you the singer?” she asked, a glow tinkling in her eyes.  I knew that glow--and that’s when I knew that I had her.

 

“Yeah, you could say that,” I smirked, flashing her my trademark side smirk.  I have yet to meet a woman that could resist it.

 

“Oh, wow.  Don’t tell anyone I said this, or I could lose my job--but, uh--I’m honored to help you out.  You know...I’m a big fan,” she giggled again.  “You look different in person.”

 

“Really?” I asked confused.  “But, you checked me in when I gave you my name earlier...I’m surprised you didn’t say something then.”

 

“Oh, that wasn’t me.  That was Veronica.  She doesn’t know anything about pop culture,” she laughed.  “And she hates everyone, so not surprising,” she finished.

 

“Oh...” I stated, looking at her in thought.  That explains the stark contrast in friendliness.  “So who are you then?”

 

“Jackie.  Nurse Jackie...they have this thing...calling everyone by their title, even the nurses.  It’s stupid,” she rolled her eyes.

 

I nodded, giving her a soft smile as I leaned my elbows against the counter slightly, trying to be closer to her. “So you’re a big fan, eh?”

 

“Oh, yes,” she blushed.  

 

“You know, you’re pretty cute when you blush like that.  All the men make you turn that shade of pink ‘round here?” I smirked.  Oh yes, I would do anything to get those nails scratching down my back.

 

“Oh...” she looked down, desperately attempting to shuffle papers, her light pink flush easily flashing into a red hot blush.  “No...just the hot ones...”

 

I flashed her another million dollar smile and nodded. “I’m flattered.  So, you think I’m hot, huh?”

 

She looked like a lobster at this point from embarrassment.  “Of course.  I mean, you’re Justin Fucking Timberlake.”

 

“Mmm...yes I am.  And I’d really like to be fucking you right now,” I whispered, my voice barely above a monotone whisper.  It was late by now, around 9pm, so there weren’t very many people walking the halls.  In fact, I was supposed to be in my room for lights out, but I really didn’t give a shit.

 

She couldn’t respond.  She just stared up at me, shock and intrigue registering on her face.  “I...I can’t.  I could lose my job.  Besides....you’re here to stop....you know...wanting to fuck people.”

 

Ah, she was going to play hard to get.  Little does she know, I’m aware she’s just playing coy.

 

“Well, if that’s how you want it, fine.  I just thought it’d be really nice for the two of us to have a nice welcoming present before I entered the life of celibacy tomorrow morning.  But...you know, I understand.  I’m sure you get propositioned by rockstars everyday here...”

 

I watched her face contort in thought, and shortly she was cocking her head to the side. “Well, yes...but they’re not you.  God, I’ve dreamt of sleeping with you since I was like 13 and you were in *N Sync,” she giggled.  “I would be pretty stupid to turn down such a proposition, wouldn’t I?”

 

That was too easy.  “Well, that’s for you to figure out, sweetheart.  But I promise you, I’d make it worth your while,” I finished, gently reaching in to push some of her blonde hair behind her ear.  “You have a copy room?” I asked, my voice still low and husky. 

 

I watched as she shuddered and nodded.  She slowly picked her body up, allowing me a chance to get a full glimpse of her short ass nurse outfit, complete with white stockings.  I could see her cross necklace buried between her gorgeous breasts, and I could feel my mouth start to water.  It’s been entirely too long.  Twelve hours is practically murder to my now lonely cock.

 

After we do a double check to ensure that there was no one around to see us, I follow her towards a room a few feet away, labeled “Employees Only.”  I watch the way her ass jiggles in those heels and I visibly bite my bottom lip to keep from pushing her against the wall and taking her right there.

 

Instead, we sneak into the copy room, and I shut and lock the door behind us.

 

“You know, I’ve never done it in a copy room,” I laughed a little, closing the distance between us, gently backing her towards the copy machine.  In no time, I have her pinned against it, my lips instantly drawn to hers like bees to honey.

 

My lips begin their attack, not even allowing her to answer.  My hips instantly start gyrating against hers, finding a way to maneuver my body between her legs.  My hands are everywhere, cupping her breasts, her ass, anything fleshy that I can get ahold of.  

 

“Mmm...damn baby,” I grunt, smirking when she grabs my thickness through my jeans.

 

“You are definitely ready to go,” she laughs.  “I’ve never seen anyone this horny before.”

 

“Well, it’s not often I find hot nurses like you,” I finish, pulling her around and leaning against the copier.  “C’mon, baby.  Use those beautiful hands of yours.  I need to feel you,” I whimper.

 

She obliges, taking no time to get my pants off, and I almost lose it at the sight of her gorgeous red fingernails stroking my cock like her life depended on it. 

 

“God, yes...” I hiss.  I feel that familiar tingling sliding up my legs, but I’m not ready for it to come yet.  I need to be inside of her first.  “Baby, no.”

 

“What...was that not good...” before she could even finish, I had spun her around and lifted the lid to the copy machine up.

 

“You were great,” I smirked, my lips attaching to her neck as I slid her body up, resting her against the glass of the copier.  “But this will be better,” I smirk, ripping her stockings off her body, smirking when I saw that she was panty-less.  “You always run around here without panties?”

 

“Umm...no.  I just...forgot today,” she moaned as I slid my fingers into her depths, letting my digits stroke her g-spot to make sure she was sopping wet and ready for me.  I didn’t care that her juices were dripping onto the glass.

 

“Mmmm...what a bad girl, you are,” I whimpered.  “You want me to take care of that for you, baby?”

 

“Mmmhmm...please,” she whimpered.

 

“I can’t hear you...” I uttered, hitting the copy button accidentally as I brace myself at her entrance. “What did you say?”

 

“God, don’t play around.  I’ve been waiting for this for fucking ever.  Just....do it....” she whimpered.  And with that, I obliged.  I pounded into her over and over again, making her scream as we rocked the copy machine holding us up.  I moved my hands to get better leverage, and accidentally hit the copy button again, fueled by her nails raking their way down the flesh of my back.  God, she was tight.  

 

By the time we were done, we had made a mess of the glass and 58 copies of us fucking in various stages.


“Damn, Nurse Jackie.  You have a pretty photogenic ass,” I smirk, lifting one of the sheets from the machine after we had finished.  She was buttoning my pants, and I turned the paper towards her for her to look at.  “You think you’d give me your autograph,” I smirk.  She just slapped me.

 

I still have a copy.  And she signed it.

 

“Mr. Timberlake?” I was broken out of my thoughts, looking down at the girl I had fucked senseless the first night I was here.

 

“Nurse Jackie,” I nod cordially, giving her my playboy smile as I nod.  “What do I owe the pleasure this evening?”

 

“There’s a Mrs. Harless here to see you...she’s going to accompany you to your group session.”

 

“Oh, right,” I mumbled.  Group session.  This stupid idea where I have to confront my sexual past once a week with my fellow inmates or with people linked to my past.  Apparently, my mother was first on the docket.  I haven’t seen her in three years.

 

This was going to be fun. Not.

 

“Where is she?” I ask quietly, my cheerful mood upon seeing her immediately gone with the revelation of this new information.

 

“Just down the hall to your left.  Good luck,” she finished.

 

“Yeah...thanks.  I’ll need it.”

 

 

Day 5, Pt. 2 by ninabina
Author's Notes:
Sorry this took so long. :)  Enjoy.
I took a deep breath as my booties scuffed down the hallway, taking in the sound in hopes that it would drown out my thoughts.  I’d rather listen to annoying sound of my booties scraping against tile than to see my mother’s face when she looks at me.  Three years is a long time, particularly for the two of us--a pair that used to be unhealthily inseparable.

After rounding the corner, I found the door that read “Counseling,” and I stopped to stare for a moment.  This is it.  My heart was beating so loudly that I could hear its pale echo in my eardrums, and I could feel the lump forming in my throat.

Now or never, Timberlake.

Swallowing hard, I reached my hand out for the door, slowly turning the handle as this heaviness washed over me completely.  I realized I was holding my breathe, and I could feel every muscle in my body tense, not quite allowing my body to push the door open of it’s own accord.  Instead, I stood there like a jackass.

Never is good.

Unfortunately, never wasn’t a part of the plan.  As soon as my hand had touched the handle, it was being flung open and pulled me along with it. My unwilling body stumbled carelessly into the room, unknowingly looking at the doctor that had just opened the door I was pathetically holding onto.

“Uh.....hi....” I stuttered nervously, looking up at the doctor as I steadied my weight beneath me.  I didn’t look around yet, for fear of seeing my mother’s sad face, those eyes--the disappointment that I knew was there.  Instead, I laughed nervously.  “Didn’t know you were there.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Timberlake.  We’ve been waiting for you.  I was just about to go find you,” he finished.  “It’s time for your therapy session.  Your mother is here, but I’m going to step outside and let you have a moment alone with her--let you get reacquainted before we start.”

“Thanks,” I nodded.  I could feel the temperature rising inside of me, and I stared at my feet as the doctor left, the clicking of the door closing making my throat constrict. It felt like the room was closing in on me, and in this instant, all I wanted to do was run.  Or Fuck.  But that obviously wasn’t an option.  I may be addicted to sex and from the South, but I certainly would never cross that boundary with my mother, no batter how bad I could feel my veins itching.

We were alone.  She could see me.  I could feel her staring, her eyes boring into my soul.

“Justin?” she asked.

Her voice was faint, and much more mellow than I had remembered.  I finally turned my head to look in the direction the sound came from, and upon seeing her, I took a shallow breath.

She looked awful.  Her bright eyes were now dull, her body thin and emaciated, and her once buoyant blonde hair was now lifeless and a canary yellow.

“Mom!  Holy shit!  A-are you okay?” I asked nervously.

I instantly closed the distance between us, opting to take a seat on the couch next to her.  I just couldn’t believe how different she had become in three years.  This was not the mother that filled my memory.

“Yeah,” she laughed.  “I’m fine.  Just getting over cancer, you know,” she looked down.  I could tell by her face that she was scared and alone, probably because of me.  And that hurt more than anything had in a long time.

“What?  You had cancer?” I asked, my words almost breathless.  “Why?  Why didn’t I know?  Why didn’t you call me?  Why...just....why?”

She laughed a little, but there was a sadness to her tone that I had never heard before.  “Well, you said you never wanted to talk to me again...after I asked you to stop.  This.”  I watched her make the motion to the room around her, and I nodded in response, the guilt easing its way into my heart.  I watched her take a few shaky breaths as she went to pick at the scarf that was laying in her lap for a distraction.  I got that habit from her.

“I tried calling Trace to get to you, but you had him programmed to turn away my calls.  I figured you just didn’t want to be in my life anymore, even if I had cancer.”

Wow....that was like a punch straight to the gut.  

“Mom, I didn’t know.  God, I didn’t know.  I’m so sorry,” I whispered, gently touching her face, and I could feel the tears welling up.  

Something about my mother could always turn me into a little bitch.  I wrapped my arms around her instantly and held her close to me, just resting me cheek against her temple as she cried.

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole,” I mumbled.  

Had the fame really gotten to my head that badly, that I would disown my own mother and not be there when she had cancer?  Even after she gave up her entire life for me, to take me around the country and babysit me while I pursued this career that I now completely take for granted?

I’m such a fucking prick!

“It’s....it’s okay,” she whispered, reveling in the fact that my arms were around her.  

I could tell by the way her nails dug into the flesh of my arms that she was afraid to let me go.  And there was a part of me that was just as scared too.  But that fear was quickly turning into something that I couldn’t control--the other part of me that took over when the pressure got to be too much.  The part of me that was the reason my mother and I hadn’t talked in three years.

Ever since I was little, my mother has been my best friend.  Throughout all of the *N Sync days, for every tour, every album, every interview, every award show--she was there.  She was my sanity, the person I told everything to.  Everything.

But somewhere along the line, it changed.  Maybe it was when we started touring heavily, maybe it was after the breakup with....her, or maybe it was just a normal evolution.  I mean, a guy can’t go his entire life having his mother know the intimate details of....well, everything?  Or was there more to it that I didn’t understand?

The thoughts running through my head were starting to consume me, and just as I moved to say something, I heard the familiar click of the door again, looking up to see the Doctor walk in with a clipboard.  The two of us slowly pulled away as he sat down, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose and getting out his pen.  Guess I’ll have to deal with this later.

“Sorry to break up the happy moment folks, but it’s time for the session to start,” he replied.  

“No, problem, Doctor Kramer,” my mother answered.  She was always so polite.

The doctor smiled in return as he crossed his legs.  I didn’t know much about Dr. Kramer, but I know that I didn’t like him.  His overly obese body hidden beneath his starch-white coat jacket that was just a little too tight.  But it wasn’t the coat that really bothered me.  It was the way that he smacked his lips and nibbled on his fingernails that really got to me.  It was like his fingers were twinkies, and it just made me want to vomit at the pure sight.

The itch was starting to get worse.  I could feel it moving from my toes and into my ankles.  I nervously pulled at my pant leg to try and curb it before it got out of control.

“So, why don’t we start with you, Mrs. Harless.  When did you first start noticing Justin’s behavior changing?” his eyes darted to hers.

“Oh, I don’t know.  It’s hard to say.  You know...all celebrities have a little bit of reckless abandon, and I always tried to let Justin explore that.  You know, as long as he was safe,” she replied.

“And when did it start getting bad?” he continued.

“Well, I guess I noticed it when he started missing shows.  First it was just not making radio interviews.  Then it was showing up late to media appearances.  And then he just stopped caring at all.  At some point...he just was so consumed in his pursuits that he was starting to ruin his career,” she explained.

I had to interject.  “Ma, it wasn’t that bad.  I didn’t miss appearances,” I replied, rolling my eyes a little.  Honestly, hearing this out of my mother’s mouth was a little uncomfortable for me, particularly her calling me out.

“And what were you doing, Mr. Timberlake, at the point of time your mother was referencing?” he stated simply as he continued to write on his little clipboard.  The sound his pencil made was deafening. Scribbly Sribble.  I wanted to throw it against the wall.

“What was I doing?  Fuck if I know.  I was living my life.  Have you ever been a celebrity, sir?” I finished, the itch creeping up my calves now, and making the threshold for losing my temper a lot lower.

“Sir, there’s no need for you to use profanity.  This is a calm environment.  There’s no judgement here,” he stated.  He didn’t even look up at me when he said it.

Asshole.

“I use ‘profanity,’ so get fucking used to it...” I hissed.

“Justin!” my mother replied.

“God, fuck.  I’m sorry Mom, but Jesus!” I looked at her.  She pulled her hand away from where it was resting slightly against my thigh.

“Don’t use that language.  Your Grandfather would be rolling around in his grave right now if he heard you,” she finished, her voice showing her exasperation.

“What?  Mom?  Seriously?” I laughed.  “We used to fucking smoke pot together on the tour bus, and I’m pretty sure you taught me a few swear words yourself.  It’s not like you were model mom of the year, or anything, as far as Mom standards go.”

I saw the whiteness creep up her face, and she just stared at me in awe.  It didn’t take long for the tears to start welling in her sad eyes.  

Shit.

“Ma....wait.  I didn’t....I didn’t mean it like that.  I mean...you were a great mother.  I’m just saying...it’s not like you haven’t heard me say things like this before...” I tried to counteract, but the look on her face told me that the damage had been done.

“I cannot believe you, Justin Randall.  I did not raise you to be this person.  To talk back to your mother?  To say the Good Lord’s name in vein?  To...to...even dare say that I was a bad mother to you when I gave up my entire life for you?  The audacity, you have!  Ooh, if you weren’t a grown man, I would throw you over my knee and slap you silly.  I do not know who you are, or where you got that lip...but I do not need to sit around and hear any more of it,” she finished as she moved to grab her purse.

The doctor gently sat up and put a hand up, as if it would stop her. “Mrs. Harless, please.  I know this is difficult, but this is the first session where he’s facing his past, and this is imperative to your son’s recovery.  Please, stay.  It will be better for the both of you in the long run.”

“Mom...please.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it.  I just...this is hard for me,” I offered.  “I mean, you got cancer.  I haven’t seen you in three years.  I didn’t even want to come here.  I just...this is a big adjustment for me to even be doing this.  I just....I’m sorry.  I thought I was in sex rehab, not church.”

She didn’t respond, except with a disapproving shake of her head and a sad huff.  But she did sit down, to my surprise.

“Thank you, Mrs. Harless,” the doctor smiled.  “So, why don’t we shift the discussion a little.  Justin...why don’t you tell me why you and your mother stopped talking?”

There it was.  The bomb I had been waiting for.

“Um...I don’t know, really.  I just....I got wrapped up in my life,” I responded, picking at the lint on my scrubs.  I knew exactly why we had stopped talking, but I wasn’t about to let that out this early on in the game.  I wasn’t here for therapy.  I was here to get out of this hellish prison Trace and JC dumped me into.

“What were you wrapped up in, exactly?  Tell me about that time period,” he finished.  

He was so damn clinical with his stupid monotone responses.  It was like he just spewed words, void of emotion and real meaning.  Sometimes I wondered if he was just reading from a little script on his clipboard, instead of taking in what we were actually saying.

“Uh, well.  I guess...I don’t know,” I said as I turned to my mother.  “What was it...like...after the Grammy’s?”

“No.  It was for the golf course opening,” she offered quietly.

“OH, right.  Yeah, the golf course opening,” I started.  “I had come home for the opening ceremony of this golf course that I had built--the first eco-friendly golf course in the country.  We did it to save the old one in our town,” I smiled proudly.  I couldn’t help but be happy about my accomplishments.  It’s all I really had anymore.

“Tell him the rest of the story, Justin.” she whispered.

“...and, uh.  I brought a girl home,” I finally mumbled after what seemed like hours of stalling.

“You didn’t bring just any girl home.  You were supposed to bring your fiance home, but you didn’t.  You brought her instead,” my mother interjected, a hint of venom in her voice.

I rolled my eyes, and at the mention of my fiance, I felt the itch creep up twice as fast, working its way to my thighs.  “We broke up.  What did you want me to do?  Bring her home anyway?  ‘Cause that would have been fun...” my voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“You had a fiance,” the doctor asked curiously, starting to furiously flip through is records.  “You never mentioned that...”

I sighed.  “I try to forget that it happened.”

“You could have at least told us that you broke up!  And how do you even break up with someone you’re supposed to spend your life with?”  She turned to the doctor.  “Instead, he just showed up with this whorish little tart on our doorstep.  You know, his Grammy Sadie almost had a heart attack with that skirt she was wearing.  Or should I say strap of fabric?”

My mother always knew how to paint a picture.  All I could do was groan.

“Mom...” I trailed.

“What?  She was a whore.  What do you want me to say about it?” she finished defiantly.

This was a bad idea.  Three years of life altering events mixed with pent up anger and drama from two inseparables that became separable.

What were they thinking?

“You know, you didn’t have to judge her, Mother.  She may have been wearing skanky clothes, but she could have been a really nice person.  You didn’t even give her a chance,” I turned to her.  If we were going to argue, we might as well do this right.  

“Judge her?  JUDGE HER?  I didn’t need to.  She did all the judging for me,” she said.

“Oh, really.  How?  How exactly did she do the judging for you? Huh?  All she did was show up!?” I replied, our voices getting louder.

“Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe when she sat in our living room talking on the phone to her ‘bestie’ about how she slept with you 16 times since she met you two days before?  That’s probably what did it for me.”

“She did not say that,” I replied.

“Oh, so now you’re not going to believe your own mother.  You know that I gave birth to you, right?  When have I ever lied to you?” she finished.

“There have been plenty,” I whispered, looking up at her with a cool icy glaze, and by the look on her face I know that she knew exactly what I was talking about.  The itch had now made it’s way full to my groin, and I knew it was only a matter of minutes before the pulsing made it all the way to my brain.

“This is great.  We’re really getting somewhere,” Dr. Kramer offered, a hint of excitement in his drab mumble.

“I’m done.  I don’t want to do this anymore,” I stated.  I could feel my chest starting to constrict, and I needed to get out of there.  Right now.

I stood up and started for the door. Nothing else in my mind mattered at this moment other than getting the fuck out of here.

Need.

“You can’t leave, sir.  We’re not finished with your session,” he called.  I could hear him putting his clipboard down, and frankly, I didn’t give a shit.

To.

“Sir.  Sir...where are you going?” the doctor finished.

Get.  Find.

“Justin!” I heard my mom yell as I reached the door handle.

Out. Pussy.

As soon as I got to the hallway, everything seemed to move in slow motion.  I tried to move as quickly as I could towards the front desk, knowing Nurse Jackie was there.  She would make this go away.

One. Foot. In. Front. Of. The. Other.

“JUSTIN!!”

“Mr. Timberlake.  Stop!”

Nurse. Jackie.

Their voices seemed so distant.  As I rounded the corner, I watched as Nurse Jackie saw me.  At first it was a smile, and then it was shock as I lunged for her.

“We need a tranquilizer, stat!  Get security!”

“Oh my God!”
Day 6: The Aftermath by ninabina
Author's Notes:
So this is kind of like a part 1 to the next chapter, and a little short--but necessary!  So bear with me!  haha.

“He’s so fucked....”

“Seriously.  Look at him.”

“I wish we had magic markers.  We could totally fuck his world up, take some pictures, and sell that shit on eBay.  We’d be millionaires.”

“I know, right?  I don’t know how they consider magic markers weapons...”

“He looks kinda pretty sleeping.”

“Yeah, unlike the McGrumpster he usually looks like.”

“You know, for a popstar he has a pretty bad attitude...If I had that much money and that fly of honeys willing to do A-N-Y-THANG for me, you know I’d be the happiest man on the planet.”

“Mmm...you’d be the happiest man on the planet if he’d fuck you like he did Nurse Jackie...”

“No...he did not!  He really fucked her?  Already?  Man, he’s fast...”

“Sure is.  You wish he’d fuck you that fast...”

“I’ll turn him gay before the end of his stint here...”

I could hear faint voices coming from the corner of the room, my head starting to pound.  I don’t know what happened, and I don’t remember a damn thing about where I am or how I got here, but I do know that I feel like I got hit by a Mack truck.

I tried to open my eyes, but to no avail.  Then I tried moving my arms, and that wasn’t happening either.  My muscles were just too tired to function, as if they were protesting my entire existence.

“Where the fuck am I?” I happen to grunt out.

“Oh shit.  He’s awake.”

“Fuck...we’d better get out of here.”

A few shushed hisses and the voices were gone, and I was faced with dead silence as the door shut behind them.  

“Hello!!!” I try to cry out, but my voice is scratchy, and I feel utterly alone and trapped for the first time in my life.

A few minutes passed, followed by what seemed like hours.  I have no idea how long I was laying there, let alone how long I had been there since before I woke up, but it felt like time was moving at a snail’s pace.  Finally, I heard a click of the door and I grunted.

“Hello?” I asked, my voice meek and quiet, a shadow of my normal cocky self.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Nurse Jackie?” I asked.  I definitely recognized the voice, but my head was splitting so badly that I wasn’t quite sure if my mind was playing tricks on me.

“In the flesh,” she responded.  I heard her feet scuffle over to me, my vision still blinded.  Slowly, she took whatever was blocking my eyes off of my face and smiled down.  I blinked several times to try and readjust to the bright lights overhead, desperately trying to get her face into focus.

“What happened?  Where am I?” starting to panic a little, the realization of the situation starting to hit me.

“Shh, calm down.  You had an attack.  Well....to put it mildly, you ran out of the councelor’s office and attacked me, specifically.  Knocked the chair over and everything.  Then you started humping my leg,” she let out a soft laugh.

“Oh...my,” I mumbled, slightly embarrassed.  I don’t remember that at all.  “Sorry about that.  I don’t know what came over me.”  That was a lie.  I knew exactly what came over me.  It’s what came over me every time this kind of thing happened.

“Don’t worry.  I would have freaked too.  But they did shoot you up with a tranquilizer and have security drag you down here to the “Time Out Room,” as we like to call it,” she giggled again.

For the first time, I look down, noticing that my legs and arms were strapped down, my arms to my side, and my feet spread evenly apart.  I just groaned, letting my head fall back against the pillow exasperatedly as I stare at the ceiling.

“This is so fucked up,” I mumbled.

“I know...it’s procedure, though.”

“It’s not like I’m a fucking murderer.  I didn’t come at you with a pick axe or anything.  They really didn’t need to tie me down, especially not in front of my mother...” I responded, my voice quiet.  “Oh God, my mother...” I whimpered, trying to move my hand to rub my face, but realized I couldn’t with the restraints in place, which just frustrated me more.

“I know you didn’t.  That’s why I’m down here.  If they know I am talking to you, I’ll get fired,” she finished, gently pushing a piece of unruly hair off of my forehead.

“How’s my mom?” I asked quietly.

“She’s fine.  She had to go back home for some chemo treatments, but she’ll be back when she can and we’ll try this again,” she finished as she sat against the edge of the bed.

I felt my lungs constrict.  Chemo....Cancer.   Fuck.

I want to slap myself in the face.  This is the last memory my mother is going to have of me before she goes to get injected with radiation?  What if she doesn’t make it, and I never get to see her again, and this is the only memory she has of me?  The only memory I have of her?  

Fuck, I’m an asshole...

“I just...I need to get out of this place.  Just for a few hours.  You know, clear my head so I can come back and finish out the rest of my time here and get this shit over with,” I sigh.  “I need to get back to my Mom.  Be there for her, you know.  I haven’t done, and I need to.”

“You want to get out?” she asked.

“Not want.  NEED.  I just need time to sort this all out in my head,” I reiterated, being sure to emphasize my point.  “I didn’t know she had cancer.”

“I can help you,” she whispered, gently trailing her finger down my forearm.

“Oh, you can, huh?” I raised my eyebrow, a soft smirk coming to my face.

“Not like that....well, yes like that--anytime.  But I mean...I can bust you outta here.  Get you a car, let you go into town for a few hours.  But you have to PROMISE to come back or I’ll get fired--and I really really need to keep this job right now,” she whispered.

“Really?  You’d do that for me?  Why?” I asked.

“Because.  You seem like you deserve a little help.  Seems to me like your friends aren’t really being your friends.  I mean, I appreciate that they dragged you here because you definitely need the help--but sometimes you just need to work things out on your own.  Sometimes people don’t understand that,” she smiled, and she hesitated a little before she spoke again, a hint of playfulness in her voice.  “And maybe I really enjoyed having sex on the copier.”

“You are such a dirty little tart,” I smirked, enamored by her candor and consideration.  Even my best friend would never say shit like this, and she’s a complete stranger.  Part of me didn’t even know what to say in response.

“So what do you say?  You want to bust on out of here...?” she asked, gently fingering the restraint around my left arm.

“Yes, please...” I whined.

“Let’s do it...” she smiled as she started unlocking me.  All I could do was utter a soft thanks, unsure of how to repay my debt.

"...thank you," I whispered meekly.

Day 6 & 1/2: Boy Meets Girl by ninabina
Author's Notes:
Two chapters in one day.  You love me. ;)

I stare down at the GPS for a moment and sigh out loud.  Not to anyone in particular, but just out of frustration. It's been a long day--I think I have the right.

One more mile.   

This marks what seems like forever driving on the iciest road known to man, pathetically attempting to make it to the nearest city so that I could get my mind clear.  To top it off, I was driving Nurse Jackie’s car, since she lent it to me for the afternoon, making my already awful driving worse. I'm definitely not used to the brakes or the reaction time in the pedals. I probably could have walked here faster--it certainly would have been safer--for everyone.

I wish I had my driver.  I miss my life.

“Destination. Ahead. On the Left.”

“Finally!” I smirk, this giddyness feeling washing over me that I haven't felt in forever.  I've never been this happy to be somewhere, even if it is a snowy ass town in Canada. 

I finally start to see the lights of the city donning stores and restaurants.  It wasn’t like a normal city where you slowly drove through a residential area, then hit the outskirts, and then to downtown.  No, Canada has to go and be all kinds of different.  Everything is all together.  In once place.  Why, I have no idea.

As I continue my ascent into the city, I see a little strip mall with a book store, a food shop, a donut shop...and ah, yes, my favorite--Starbucks!!  God, how I’ve missed my grande drip with a double shot of vanilla and soy milk.

I didn't know Canada had Starbucks! 

I carefully tug the wheel into the parking lot, trying not to shit a brick when the car started to skid on the black ice beneath the caked on snow of the pavement.  Thank god there was one of those cement barriers there to stop me, or I might be buying Nurse Jackie a new car.  Maybe I should buy her one anyway for being a good friend.

Friend?

As soon as I calm my nerves, I open the door to get out.  The cold hits me like a ton of bricks, nearly knocking every ounce of air out of my chest, a mild cough emitting as a result.  Shit, Canada is cold.

I grumble a little to myself again, something about JC and Trace and how I’m going to kill them the next time I see them, and instead pull my coat tighter around me and lower the beanie on my head, mostly to mask my identity, but also to protect my ears.  

Did you know that you lose almost 80% of your body heat through your head?  Or is that 40%?  Fuck if I know.  It’s a lot.  I bet the percentage is higher in Canada.  Anyway, it’s not like that many people would probably recognize me in rural Canada, but you never know.  I didn’t think that about the people in Prague either, but boy was I sadly mistaken on that one (I lost a few shirts and some skin on that trip).

I shut the door to the tiny little toyota and shake my head.  If TMZ could see me now.  Freezing my ass off in Canada for sex rehab and driving a shitbox Toyota to the nearest ghetto town just for coffee and some sanity. I chuckle a little at the absurdity of it all before I hit the lock button, and wait for the double beeps of assurance before heading for the entrance.

Wouldn’t want anyone to steal the piece of shit.  Eye roll.

As soon as I walk in, I’m hit by the wafted scent of ground coffee beans and the grinding noise of blenders, and it smells and sounds like pure heaven. I don't even care that my nose has practically frozen off of my face and should be devoid of any practical smelling function.

I smile, the fact that I’m in a Starbucks when nearly an hour ago I was tied to a table and recovering from being tranquilized makes me giddy.  I stuff my hands in my pocket and glance up at the chalkboard menu, even though I already know what I want.  I don't even bothering to take in my surroundings.  I just want to revel in that small little chalkboard, the perfect sign of freedom.

I never understood why people look up at the Starbucks menu, come to think of it--I guess you want people to think that you’re not as predictable as you really are by putting on the guise that you’re actually considering your options, even though we all know that everyone, myself particularly, always gets the same thing.  It’s rather absurd when you really think about it.    

Anyway, all I really care about at this point is getting a cup of coffee and warming up my chilled body.

I finally take the few steps towards the counter and smile quietly at the male barista.  I always get kind of shy in public settings, particularly in unfamiliar territory because I never really know what’s going to happen.  And this may be bumfuck egypt, but I don’t have Tiny or Lonnie here to help me--and you just never know what can happen.

“How can I help you, sir?” he smiled warmly.  

He was young--about twenty years old, at most.  He looked pretty run of the mill--clean cut, dressed in the standard green Starbucks mock. I can’t quite tell by his smile whether or not he recognizes me.  He could just be really polite, or he could be gay and flirting with me, or he could know who I am.  I hate it when I can’t tell.  It makes me feel on edge.

“Uh...Grande drip with a double shot of vanilla with soy milk, please,” I finish hurriedly, starting to feel uncomfortable as I reach into my back pocket to grab my wallet.  Unfortunately, my clumsy ass drops it in doing so.  “Fuck...”

As soon as I bend down to retrieve it, my head bumps into something hard and solid, and I immediately reach for my head where the collision occurred.  I stand up rapidly, the blood rushing to my head, and I try not to pass out.  My body has just been through way too much trauma in the past day.

I finally get my bearings and open my eyes, seeing another person still huddled on the floor, hands over their head as well. 

Shit. It was a person...  

I didn’t even realize there was anyone standing behind me in line.  That goes to show you how much I pay attention.

“Ouch,” a soft feminine voice mumbled, and I’m shaken from my reverie.  I couldn’t tell at first whether it was a girl or a guy by the way she was slumped over, as her jacket was covering her body and her hat was covering any semblance of hair she might have.  But now I’m definitely sure it’s a female.

I open my mouth to say something, but instead decide to reach my hand out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” I whisper quietly, helping her to her feet.

As soon as she stands upright, my eyes catch the most beautiful creature I think I’ve ever laid eyes on.  Ever.  I mean, she has to be a direct descendant of God, or at least an angel.  I just can’t take my eyes off of her, let alone utter a single word.

What is wrong with you, Timberlake?  You’ve seen millions of girls in your lifetime.  You’ve dated the most powerful and gorgeous women in the world, and fucked everyone else.  She’s no different...

I can feel my heart starting to thump loudly in my chest, and my throat starts constricting as I attempt to move my mouth again to apologize for my retardedness.  She, unfortunately, beat me to the punch.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, laughing a little.  “Didn’t mean to do that.  I just...thought I’d pick that up for you...”

God, she had the most angelic laugh I’ve ever heard.  It was like a soft choir, singing the most gorgeous hymnal on Sunday morning as the sun rises over the earth.

What?  Are you fucking serious?  You sound like such a fucking pussy right now.  A soft choir?  Have you been watching too many chick flicks with Lance lately?  Seriously....

“I...uh....it’s.  It’s okay,” I nodded, finally getting my voice back.  “It’s my fault, I should have looked where I was going...”

I can’t remember the last time a girl made me speechless.

“No, it’s my fault.  I kinda snuck up over here,” she laughed again.

God, her laugh makes me hard.  So hard.  Yet I somehow feel dirty for thinking that.

“Please.  Let me buy your coffee, you know--for the headache.”  I can’t help but laugh at my own pun, feeling extraordinarly cheesy today for no apparent reason.  Maybe it's the angel.  Maybe it's the coffee.  The reason has yet to be determined.

She rolled her eyes in a playful response and smiles.  “Guess I can’t turn down free coffee in this recession.”

“What would you like?” I asked, gently.

“Uh...I don’t know,” she smiled.  I watched her stare up at the blackboard like I had just done, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

“You don’t know?  Come on...everyone knows.  Everyone walks in here, they stare up at the board as if they are contemplating something different and unique, and then they get what they always get.  It’s a Starbucks science,” I finish, confident in my theory.

“Well, actually--I don’t.  I never get the same thing,” she replied.  She didn’t even look back at me, her eyes fixated instead on her choices above.

“What?  How can you not get the same thing?  Like you don’t get the same thing at Starbucks, or you don’t get the same thing at like...anywhere...?” I ask, incredulously.  This girl cannot be serious.

“I don’t get the same thing.  Ever,” she smiled.

“Humanly impossible.”

“It’s not,” she replied, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth slightly with her teeth, obviously deep in contemplation.

“Why not?” I ask, still baffled.

“Some people like monotony.  I don’t,” she finished.  She didn’t seem like much of a talker.  I had to break her.  Every girl talks to me.  I’m Justin Timberlake, American God to females everywhere.

“Having a favorite coffee is not monotonous,” I scoff, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets.

“Sure it is,” she finished again.  God, what is it with her and her non-explanations?

“That’s not an answer,” I reply again, feeling myself de-elevate to a second grade level rapidly.

“Yes it is.”  Okay, now she was starting to piss me off.

“No, it’s not.”

“Pretty sure it is.”

“Pretty sure it’s not.”

“What are you?  Five?”

“What are you?  Two?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Are you going to copy me now?”

“I thought about it.  But you’re not that original, so copying you would continue the monotony in my life, and that is so boring,” she finished.

UGH!

“How do you know I’m not original?” I asked, quietly--contemplating how a woman like that can just "know me" without even knowing me.

“I can just tell...” she finished.

She can just tell.  Right.

“How?” I asked, completely incredulous and cautious of her tactics.

“Just can,” she was still staring up at the chalkboard.  I was not getting anywhere with her.  Seriously...what is her deal?

Finally, I decide to ask her about this strange anti-monotony thing of hers.  I have to know. 

“What monotony?”

“You know...” she trailed.  Her arms were across her chest, and she was rocking slightly on the balls of her feet. I could see her taking in all of her options, and I just sighed.

“I don’t know.  That’s why I asked.  I don’t meet many people that consider the world monotonous.”

“Seriously.  Have you looked around?  This is hell.  Frozen.  You have limited choices here, so you might as well explore all of your options to maximize your experiences.  That’s what life’s about anyway....” she finished.  

I stood there, speechless.  She kind of has a point.  A small one.  

“If you don’t like it, why are you here?” I asked, stating the obvious.

“Sometimes life isn’t that simple, is it?  Anyway...I know what I want,” she stated, walking towards the counter and leaving me back a few feet where we had been somehwat “conversing.”  She was so hard to crack.  “Could I get the flourless brownie and a Venti caramel machiado with a shot of espresso, a touch of hazlenut, soy milk, and no whip please.”  

What??

“Are you from LA?” I ask, disbelivingly shocked at her order.

She laughed.  A little too loudly, and a little too long for my taste.  Was she making fun of me?

“Do I look like a bitch?” she asked with a laugh.  My face drops.

“Well...now that you mention it...” I trail off, being half serious, but half playful so that she didn’t bite my head off.  You never know with girls like her.

Girls like her?  I’ve never met a girl like her.

“Hey...don’t take it out on me because I tried to pick up your wallet out of the kindness of my heart, and then you challenge me on my coffee selection because you like monotony and I don’t.  You’re the one with the problem, not me, bud.”

“I do not have a problem.  I was just....” God, she is so fucking frustrating!!  Hot one minute, cold the next.  I run a hand over my face with a sigh.  “You know what, it doesn’t matter...” I whisper, defeated.

She just laughed.

“What?” I asked, a pout clearly adorning my face.

“You’re just funny, that’s all,” she smiled.  “You gonna pay for my coffee or what, moneybags?”

“Moneybags, huh?  Are you a gold digger?  You sure you’re not from LA?” I ask again, smiling a little again as I hand my credit card over to the cashier who is watching us in part anger, part intrigue.

“No...are you?”

She just laughs again.  God, if she weren’t so angering, I would pick her up and spin her around--maybe even lay her down on this counter and have my way with her. She is seriously the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, even if she is a brat.

“You offered.  Can’t go back on your word now,” she smiled again.  “Unless you’re not a gentleman...”

“God, you women,” I sighed playfully, waiting for him to hand me back my card.  “Thanks.”

“Pretty sure I’m the only woman in here, thank you very much.  Actually,” she paused, looking around, “looks like we’re the only two in here.”

Hmm.  I hadn’t noticed.

“Guess that means you’re stuck with my coffee company,” I smiled.

“Hardly,” she scoffed playfully.  “Just ‘cause you bought me coffee doesn’t mean I need to sit here and drink it with you.”

“Yeah, but if you didn’t, you would not only be incredibly rude, but you would also be continuing the monotony.  I’m probably the most interesting thing to walk into your Starbucks experience in years.  I’d say that means you should sit down and drink with me,” I smile triumphantly, turning on the charm.

“Well....when you put it that way,” she smiled, rolling her eyes a little and she laughs.  “I guess...” she drawls out.

“Well...I guess I have a point,” I laughed, almost shocked that she agreed with me this time.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name before...you know, head collision and all,” she offered.

Wait...she really doesn’t know me?  I figured she was giving me a hard time because of who I was.  This is an entirely different ball game, then.

“Uh...” I pause, slightly taken aback.  I am so not used to this.  “Justin,” I smile.  “And you?”

“Cadence.”

“Cadence?” I smile a little.  “Like the musical cadence?”

“Something like that,” she laughed, a slow red creeping up her beautiful facial features.

“Wow...that’s.  Beatiful.  And one of the most interesting names I’ve heard in a long time.”

She smiled.  “Thanks.”

“Grande drip and a Caramel Machiado!”

“Guess that’s us...” I offer, gently touching the small of her back to lead her over to the pick up area, to which she pulled away slightly.  No woman ever pulls away from me.  She is definitely shaping up to be the most intriguing woman to cross my path in...a long, long time.  Possibly ever.
 
I definitely need to get to know this girl.

Day 9: Glass Walls. by ninabina
Day 9.

White walls.

The paint is peeling slightly in certain areas of the large cement blocks making up the eerily square walls in my room.  It kinda reminds me of my middle school cafeteria, way back before the MMC days.  In theory, the memory should conjure up some remote thoughts of happiness, but in all honesty, it just makes me feel like I’m in a prison even more. I’m pretty sure I’ve replayed my entire life at least four times, yet the part where I get to mentally choose to leave this fucking nightmare conveniently never shows up.  Fuck me.

Every once in awhile, mostly out of boredom, I’ll reach over from my sedentary spot on the bed to touch the shriveling paint, watching it crumble and leave a chalky dust on the floor.  I’m sure when they find it, they’ll bill me some outrageous repainting fee, but it’s the only physical thing that I can do to keep my mind somewhat occupied.  

I’ve been trapped in what I like to call “solitary confinement” for almost two days now.  You see, I fucked up royally when I got back from my little outing into town.  I had been so excited about the girl I had met at the Starbucks that I forgot to throw my cup away.  I waltzed my stupid white ass right back in here, cup in hand.

This wouldn’t have been a problem if Nurse Jackie had still been on post at the front desk.  Unfortunately, she had been on a lunch break, and there had been a changing of the guard.  It was my luck, of course, that I got the most ruthless bitch that was in this place. She saw my Starbucks cup, the inquisition followed, and here I am--stuck in “solitary confinement” for an indefinite period of time.  Luckily, I was deft enough to ensure Nurse Jackie didn’t get ratted out and lose her job.  I needed to keep her on my good side.  Plus, she’s an easy lay if I get desperate.

Anyway, it’s officially day 9 of rehab.  I’m not sure if it’s the solitary confinement, or the lack of sexual release from someone other than myself, but I can literally feel myself starting to lose it a little.  I know it may seem silly, but it’s true.  I’ve only been here an entire week, but not only have I lost my cool at least a half dozen times, but I also can’t get my mind off of Starbucks girl.  

Cadence.

Cadence, Cadence, Cadence.

Cay-dense!  

I let my head fall back on the pillow with an exasperated sigh.  Fuck.

I just see her face, her hair, her laugh.  And then I get so hard I can’t stand it, spend 20 minutes jerking off into toilet paper, and then I lay in the middle of my twin bed languidly, wishing there was a warm body I could do something with.

God, she gets me so hot and bothered.  

Just as I’m about to reach my hand down for my dick again, the doorbell turns, and there’s a doctor there that I haven’t seen before.  It’s a guy, and he looks fairly friendly, although it’s probably because he’s in his mid-40’s and reminds me of a nicer version of House.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Batey.  How you feeling, Mr. Timberlake?”r32;
I laugh.  “How the fuck do you think I’m feeling.  I’ve been in here for only God knows how long.  How would you feel?”

“Touche.  Well, with that, I’d like to let you know that you’re free for the afternoon to just kind of meander about, get reacquainted with the patients and the doctors, and hopefully we won’t have any more incidents that require us to isolate you again.  You understand, right?”

I sighed.  Blah, blah, blah.  “OF COURSE I do!” I could be a sarcastic prick when I wanted to be.

“Great.  Come on...it’s dinner time, and then you’re free until lights out.”

I was so ecstatic that I jumped out of bed and ran out into the hallway.  As sad as it was, I was actually looking forward to some food.  It wasn’t that good, but it was on a tray that I got to procure, so it was infinitely better than the bag mush they were feeding me in “confinement.”

I sat down at the table after going through line, and was more than happy to be by myself.  I really didn’t want to get to know anyone, but since I was at least in the same room as people, it wasn’t as nerve wracking.  And perhaps not quite as lonely.

I bowed my head, said a quick word of grace, and moved my nimble fingers to the orange juice carton.  I fumbled a bit a few times, but finally was able to pry the two pieces of triangular cardboard apart.  Longingly, I tipped the carton to my lips, closing my eyes and enjoying the flavor.  When I pulled the carton away, I heard a loud moan.

Startled, I opened my eyes rather quickly and noticed two gay men that had eerily parked themselves uninvited at my table.  They were definitely staring at me, and it was definitely uncomfortable.

After regathering my wits, I reached the back of my hand up to wipe my mouth from the sloppy sip I had just taken.  Part of me also hoped that it would deter them from thinking I was sexy.  I might be horny, but I certainly wasn’t about to let some crazy asshole find a way to pound himself into mine.

“Uh, can I help you?” I asked.

“Mmmhmm, you sure can, honey.” A very small, Italian looking man that was completely unattractive responds.  He kinda reminds me of The Situation from the Jersey Shore.  Except gay.  Very gay.  Well, moreso than that guy, anyway.

“Well, keep dreaming.  I don’t swing that way, and you’re not my type.  You can see yourselves to a new table...” I finished defiantly, focusing on my orange juice again before preparing my meal for consumption.

“Eh.  Davey, you hear the way he’s talkin’ to me?”

“Yeah, little sissy boy over here thinks he’s too good for us, Jonesey.”

I just rolled my eyes.  “I am.”

“Woah, woah, woah.  You’d better watch what you’re saying around here.  We run this place.  You hear me?  What we say goes, and if you’re not careful, we’re going to have prime access to that prissy little ass of yours.”  The man I assume was named Jonesy/aka The Situation! replied, in a very hostile tone.r32;
“My ass doesn’t go anywhere I don’t tell it to go, so let’s just get that straight.”

The two men just laughed at me, and I wanted to fucking kill both of them.   Davey was a little scary looking.  He was one of those big ass security guard type guys that was a closet freak and dressed in drag on Sunday nights at the local lesbian bar.  I didn’t really want to fuck with him, but I certainly wasn’t going to allow myself to be entered into some sex rehab bullying situation.  I needed to stand my ground, even if it meant breaking another rib.

I was about to stand up when I felt another presence next to me.  A tray clicked against the wood table, and I turned my head to see another man joining the table.   I suddenly felt very anxious, and really wasn’t liking the way this situation seemed to be unfolding.

“Leave the new blood alone.  Get the fuck out of here, you fucking gay ass trash.  No one wants you, or wants to fuck you.  Skedaddle!” he nodded carelessly.

Whew.  My heart rate slowly started going back to normal, and the testosterone was starting to even out a little.  I was ready to rumble, but was infinitely glad that it didn’t seem like it was going to be necessary.  It was better anyway, because if I did get into a fight, I would most certainly end back up in solitary confinement.  And let’s be honest, we all know I don’t need any more of that fucking punishment.

“Thanks,” I offered, once the two men scattered.

“No problem.  Those two are douches.  They watch way too many reality shows, and try to scare each new guy into fucking them.  It’s the only way they get laid in this joint.  I just thought I’d save you some trouble.”

I nodded and thanked him cordially.  “Thanks man, I appreciate it.  What’s your name?”r32;
“Jake.”  I watched him smile, and he had this thing about him.  I could tell he would be a cool dude, and it felt kind of good to feel like I had someone on the inside with me.  Maybe I wouldn’t have to go through this painfully alone.

“Nice to meet you.  Justin,” I offered.  I reached my palm out to shake his, and was surprised by how firm his grip was.  He wasn’t a skinny dude, but his frame was small.  He was muscular---kinda built like a soccer player, although his muscles were a bit understated.  “How long have you been in here?”

“Oh, you know.  Almost two months now.”

“Holy shit, two months!  I thought this was supposed to be over in a month.”  I could feel my heart starting to pound again at the prospect of being stuck here longer than necessary.  If I didn’t have a heart attack before, I was surely about to have one now.

“Yeah, well.  I don’t know many people that get out of here before six months.  You’re lucky if you do, that’s for sure,” he nodded.

Shit.

“Fuck me.”

“Yeah, right?” Jake laughed.  “You kind of get used to it after a while.”

“You do?” I asked.  I lifted my head to look around at all of the men wearing white.  They obviously separated the women from the men during most social times, which made it even more awkward for everyone.  The entire dining room was built with glass, so that you could see the hallways with people coming in and out.  Somehow, it was supposed to make you feel like you were “part of a living organism,” instead of rehab.  I call bullshit.

“Yeah.  I mean, I know it looks...clinical, but you really do kinda get used to it, I guess.  Just kinda get numb to the glass and the white everywhere after awhile.”

Hmm.  “Well, still waiting for that to kick in, I guess.”  I nodded again and looked around.  I watched a group of young children pass through the hallway corridor between the male dining room and the toy room.  “They let kids in here?” I asked, confused.

“Oh, yeah.  This building is shared with a kids hospital--you know, the kids with cancer?”

That’s odd.  A kid’s cancer hospital sharing space with a sex rehab clinic?  That just screams disaster.

“I know it’s weird, but the old hospital burnt down a few months ago.  They’re here temporarily until they get the new hospital built again, I guess.  And they’ve temporarily not allowed any pedophiles in, I guess.”r32;r32;“Oh, that makes sense,” I laugh a little, although it came out slightly awkward.  I watch as the line of children finishes passing through the glass hallway next to the dining room, and then I see a woman.  She was tall, had legs for days, and as I allowed my eyes to travel up her chest, I notice a familiar sweater.  It was the same sweater that the girl from Starbucks had.  My eyes raced up to her face, and as soon as I saw her eyes, I knew it was her.  I shake my head to make sure I’m not imagining things, since I have been daydreaming about her for three days now, but it definitely looks like her.  Cadence.  Starbucks.  

Cadence!

Am I hallucinating?  Seriously, I have to be crazy right now.

“She’s hot, isn’t she?” Jake asked.  “I always sit here ‘cause I get to watch her take the kids to the toy room in the afternoon.  She’s...yeah, she’s gorgeous.  I’d hit it.”

I just nodded.  That’s all I could do, since there was a really awkward lump forming in my throat.

“Who is she?” I finally muttered.

“Oh, I dunno.  One of the teachers or something.  Doesn’t matter, you won’t ever get to talk to her, so just get it right out of your head.  That glass is just there for looks.  It’s like a cruel test.”

Cruel indeed.

I can’t.

I can’t get her out of my head.

Holy jesus.

I can feel my dick instantly harden, and I almost squeeze my carton of orange juice to the point where it exploded.

“I’ve got to go.” I finished.  “Thanks...for....yeah, going.”
Jake looked up at me confused, obviously by lack of sensical English.  I just shrugged and bolted.  There wasn’t much else I could do.  I needed to get to a bathroom quick before I grabbed the nearest body and fucked the shit out of it.  With her, at this point, it could happen.

I heard Jake’s laugh get quieter as I sprinted to the nearest bathroom.  

This is a cruel joke. A cruel, cruel joke.
Day 12: Nurse Jackie by ninabina
Author's Notes:
So sorry for the delay.  Reality sucks sometimes.  Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.

“What does it feel like when you get these urges?” Dr. Kramer asked.

 

I sighed.  Between all of the therapy sessions I’ve been going through on the day to day basis, I’m about over all these damn questions.

 

“I don’t understand the question,” I responded flippantly. 

 

With three therapy sessions a day, including group sessions, one on ones, and confronting the outside world with their issues regarding me, I’m about “answered” out.  Everyone wants a fucking answer from me, but I just don’t have them anymore. Maybe I never did.

 

“Mr. Timberlake, I understand that this is a difficult process.  We’ve been patient with you over the past few weeks as you’ve become acclimated to this new environment, but I’m afraid that if you don’t start cooperating and allowing us to treat your problem, you’re going to have to be here longer than you would like.  That choice is entirely up to you.”

 

They always throw that out, and trust me, it’s not like I want to be here.  I certainly don’t want to extend my stay, but sometimes I honestly do not have the answers to their questions.  I just don't understand what they're hoping to get out of me. 

 

Feeling anxious and bored, I pick at my jeans again, pulling the lint from the lined fabric.  I hear Dr. Kramer clear his throat, and I shift my gaze up to his.  All I can do is just stare at the fat fuck blankly, hoping he understands that I’m not going to answer his fucking question.

 

“Fine, I see that’s how you’d like today’s therapy session to go,” he uttered, scribbling on his stupid piece of paper with his stupid pen.  Whenever I didn't give him what he wanted, he would make that annoying scribbling sound.  Nothing like a pen making that vacant sound against a clip board.  How ironically clinical of him.

 

I meet him with another blank stare as the silence starts to suffocate us both.  Finally, with another clearing of the throat, he approaches his next series of questions.

 

“Okay, so moving on to the next question.  Why don’t we start discussing your first sexual experience...” he stated as he peered over his bifocals.

 

Have I mentioned how fat Dr. Kramer is?  I mean, seriously.  He has to be at least 320 lbs., which by the way, should be illegal for any person in the medical profession.  I know that he's a psychologist, but I'm supposed to take you seriously when you look like that?  On top of it, he wreaks of cheetos and junk food, and he has this chronic habit of sweating profusely just from sitting there.  I'm really not trying to be an asshole, but looking at him literally makes me want to vomit.  

 

“What about it?” I sigh.

 

“Why don’t you tell me about your first blow job?” he stated, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

 

I nearly cough at hearing him say the word ‘blow job.’  It’s kind of funny to picture Dr. Kramer saying anything remotely sexual.  In fact, I wonder if he's ever had a blow job?  Or maybe he's gay.  I shudder a little at the thought of his chubby little twinkie fingers trying to wrap around a little pencil dick of a 20 year old med student.

 

“Um, what would you like to know about it?” I asked, shaking myself from my reverie.

 

“How old were you?” he asked.

 

I sigh again, not really wanting to answer this question either, mostly because I much preferred thinking about the ways in which he might have become a psycholigist in a sex rehab clinic.

 

“Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe 13, 14?” I finished, my mind taking me back to the MMC days when I was living in Florida. 

 

I frequently remember the times Britney, Ryan, and I would lock the doors to our room and play truth or dare. Yes, those were definitely good times.  Anyone who says Britney Spears was a virgin when we were dating in our teens obviously wasn't aware of her dark and dirty days.  She's been a slut for a while, and I might have had something to do with it.

 

“I see.  Where were you at the time?” he asked.

 

“Well, um.  I was living in Florida at the time.  I was working on this kids show, called the Mickey Mouse Club.” I responded.

 

“So it was while you were working?” he interjected, as if he was making some valid point.  I assure you, he wasn't.

 

“No, not really.  I mean, I guess technically.  The reason I was in Florida was because I was working, but that wasn’t the reason I got the blow job,” I laughed.

 

“So why did you get the blow job?” he probed a bit further.

 

I scoffed.  “Why not?”  Seriously, who needs to ask that kind of question?

 

“Well, you certainly had to be a bit intrigued.  Your penis starts to get hard, you start to touch it because it’s foreign, and well...you can’t help the feeling, right?  Do you remember first touching yourself?  Do you remember who first touched you?”

 

Okay, this is just weird.  I don’t feel like looking back on my pubescent years by a disgusting doctor who sounds like he’s getting off to his own pedophila-like fantasy of me.  

 

“I mean, I don’t know.  I guess.” I sigh, uncomfortably, shifting slightly in the chair and crossing my legs to keep him from being able to see my lap, more for comfort than anything else.  He kind of creeps me out, even more so when he starts scribbling furiously.  The sound his pen makes as it furiously writes against the clip board makes me nervous. I often wonder what he writes about.

 

“What did it feel like when someone first touched your penis?  How did your body react?” he asked.

 

I groan.  “Fuck!  I don’t know...I was a kid.  I probably thought it felt good.  Why the fuck are you asking me these questions?” I sigh, running an abrupt finger through my disheveled curls.  I’m beyond uncomfortable and pissed at this point.

 

“Sir, please watch your language.  I have to ask you these questions because we have to explore your sexuality, in hopes that we can understand what turned sex from a healthy activity, into an obsessive disorder,” he replied, very clinically.  His head moved back to the clipboard, and the scribling sound began again.

 

“First of all, it’s not an obsessive disorder.  I don’t have a problem.” I reply, in obvious defiance.

 

“Your friends, your employer, and your family all seem to think that it’s a problem,” he responded.  “You don’t?”

 

“No, I don’t.  I don’t hurt anyone, I don’t have any diseases, and I do my job just fine.  I don’t see what the problem is.”  I crossed my arms to accentuate my distaste for this conversation.

 

He started flipping through some papers.  “Well, I have a schedule from your last three months of engagements for your employer.  It appears as if you’ve missed 66.8% of your appearances.”  He paused, and began flipping through some more papers.  He paused to connect eyes with me.  “I also see here, that you stated upon admission that you have never been tested for an STD, so how can you be sure that you’ve never affected any of your partners, or yourself, in a negative behavior?” he asked, simply.

 

His shit brown eyes were bearing into my soul.

 

I sighed, letting my eyes shift to anything that they could in the room that wasn't near him.  As I took in the information, I was a bit surprised.  I really didn't remember missing any appearances, and no one said anything to me otherwise.  It couldn't have really been that big of a problem, could it have?  Then again, when the urge strikes, the urge strikes.

 

“Look, I don’t have an STD, and I’ve never had any complaints.  As for my missing appearances, I don’t know what to tell you.  I’ve never received any notices or complaints from the label about me missing gigs, so perhaps you should lecture them on better notifying me of their problems with my "employment.”

 

Dr. Kramer sighed, obviously realizing he was heading down a dead end road with me.  It's about time he figured it out.

 

“Look, let’s just get back to your first sexual experience, okay?  This is part of the process, and you can either answer the question now, or be here for as long as you decide until you answer the question.  We’ve been doing therapy for nearly two weeks now, and you’ve hardly answered any question.  At this rate, you won’t be out of here within the 30 days promised.  We can’t help you if you don’t cooperate.”

 

“That’s just it, I don’t need any fucking help!!” I yelled.  Was he fucking really that dumb?

 

Dr. Kramer just groaned.  “Is there anything that you actually do want to talk about?”

 

“Not a chance,” I finished pointedly, recrossing my legs uncomfortably.

 

“Well, then, I guess there's not much else for us to do here today.  We will try again tomorrow.  But Justin, please know...you’re only making this worse on yourself.”

 

I laughed, completely fed up with his irony.  “I’ve had enough of your self-help psycho-babble bullshit.  As soon as you recognize that I’m cognisant enough to be aware of my surroundings, that I actively choose to do this because I enjoy it, and that I’m not hurting anyone, the better off you and everyone else around me will be.  I do NOT have a problem.  Maybe you people do because you’ve never had a good lay...” I finished.

 

“For that, Mr. Timberlake, you’re going to have to spend the rest of the day in solitary confinement.  Nurse Jackie will be in this evening to administer your pharmeceuticals,” the Dr. responded with a shake of his head.  I could see the hint of disappointment and frustration written all over his wrinkly face.  I've become way too familiar with that look.  But what do I care?

 

“What else is new,” I mumble as I got up.  “Thanks for nothing, Doctor.  As usual.”  I let the door slam behind me before the guards showed up to escort me to my next destination.

 

It didn’t take me long to make my way to solitary confinement, which was quickly becoming the “Justin Timberlake Room.”  It’s no secret to anyone at the facility that I’ve had my fair share of discord with the staff.  Part of that has been intentional, mostly because of my most recent deal with Nurse Jackie.  If she comes to deliver my “drugs” in solitary confinement, I’ll give her a nice fuck, she’ll get me off, and I’ll at least be able to keep some form of sanity in this godforsaken place, even if it does break my cardinal rule of never fucking the same girl more than once.

 

The only hard part is waiting for her to arrive.

 

I pass the time by staring at the wall, but am relieved when I hear the door open with a slight creak.  My eyes drift up to see Nurse Jackie walking in with her tray of pharmaceuticals and a smirk on her face.

 

“Well, well.  If it isn’t my favorite person,” I smile.

 

“See you got locked away again today,” she smirked.  “You’re in luck...I swapped out your Xanax for Viagra.  Thought you’d enjoy that...” she smiled devishly.

 

“Looks like one of us will enjoy it even more,” I smiled, letting her walk over to untie me arms from their constraints.  With her help, I down the pill concoction and enjoy the water sliding down my throat.  “I hope you’re going to come back every few hours so I don’t have to suffer with a hard on for hours.  I suffer enough here already,” I mumbled as she straddled me.

 

“Oh, poor baby.  We don’t want you to suffer,” she grinned.  I felt her tiny hands grab my wrists again and push them over my head.  The way she was bending over me, her tits were right in my face, and I couldn’t help but bury my nose in her cleavage, nipping adamantly at her skin so that I could get a taste.

 

“No, no suffering needed here, baby,” I whimper, trying to unbutton the top button of her shirt with my teeth.  “Don’t make me suffer.”

 

I felt her hands clamp the restraints around me and I groan.  I certainly hadn’t planned on her restraining me, but I’m not opposed to trying new things.  When she pulled a little too tight on the ties, I bit into her breast, prompting her to only tie my hand constraints tighter.

 

“Owww,” I yelped.  But something about this was definitely turning me on.  I instantly felt the blood rush down my arms and torso, straight to my dick.  I don’t even think the viagra hit me yet.

“Too rough, Jay?” she asked, feigning innocence.

 

My voice squeaked a little as she moved one hand down to grab my dick hard, prompting any blood that hadn’t made its way to the brain below the belt to make a prompt exit.  

 

“Holy fuck,” I uttered. 

 

In all my experiences, there were very few where I was the one that was left vulnerable.  I almost always had control, and I always set the pace the way that made me happy.  While I like some kinky shit, I rarely let any woman have control over me.  It didn’t look like I was going to get much of a say in this one.

 

“W-what are you doing?” I asked, barely getting the breath out as she started roughly pulling my scrub bottoms down, leaving my hard dick exposed to the cool, surrounding air.

 

“I’m fucking you for a change, instead of you fucking me” she whispers.

 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 

She laughed, a hearty laugh that had her head falling back and her nails sliding their way up my thighs.

 

“Shit,” I hissed.  “Seriously, what the fuck?”

 

She smiled again, lowering her face over mine as she smirked.  “Listen, I’ve been reading your files.  I’ve read the stories that your friends and family have submitted, and I’ve been letting you fuck me for the past two weeks, which I know is completely against your code,” she uttered, barely taking a breath.   

 

“So...” she finished, pushing up my scrub top, so that it was bunched at my arm pits, exposing my hairy chest.  “Since you seem to only like to have sex your way and to talk about it on your terms...I’m going to give you a little therapy of my own.”

 

I was harder at this point than I had been in years.  I couldn’t help my hips buck up, despite all of her weight being on me.

 

“W-what kind of therapy?”  I hated feeling vulnerable, and I felt my arms pulling tighter at the ties.  This feeling was new, and even though my body was crying out in a panicked pleasured, my conscious mind was not liking it.

 

“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” she smirked.

 

I let out another shaky breath as she slid off me and the table.  Lying half naked with my tops and bottoms bunched around my skin made me feel more exposed than I have in a very long time.  I watched her shimmy her way over to a bag she had left at the foot of my “bed,” and I couldn’t help but peer at her ass as she bent over to grab some of its contents.  Asses were my weakness, in case you hadn’t noticed.

 

“What’s in the bag?” I asked, meekly.  I was trying to muster up some strength so I didn’t let on how much this was affecting me, but it was hard.

 

She shook her ass a little for me before standing back up.  “Anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions?”

 

I watched her turn around, feather and whipped cream in hand.

 

“No, no.  Please don’t.  I’m ticklish, you can’t...not like this,” I responded, a bit petrified.

 

She smiled, letting the edge of the feather start at my big toe and work its way inside my left calf.  “No?”

 

My left leg started to twitch, fighting the restraints it was in already, making even more cold air rush around my dick.  The head started to turn a blushing red color, the more blood it accumulated.

 

“Please, don’t.”

 

“You don’t like not being in control, do you Timberlake?” she whispered, letting the feather work its way up my inner thigh, lightly letting it tickle my balls.  I felt these electric pulses start to slide through my veins, and I was left powerless as my muscles reacted, causing my hips to buck and my legs to quiver. 

 

“Ah...God, god no,” I whispered in a hurried hush.

 

“And by no, you mean yes, don’t you?” she smirked.  She continued to tickle around my penis, to the point that the veins were starting to protrude out, and began pulsing with my quickened heart beat.

 

“Fuck yes,” I mumbled, closing my eyes and letting my head roll back and forth as I desperately tried to gain any semblance of control over my body.

 

All of a sudden, I heard a slap against my face, followed quickly be a sharp pain.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

“Keep your eyes open.  You close them, you get hurt.  Capiche?” she smiled again, picking up the can of whipped cream she had apparently set down to slap me, and she slowly started pushing the little button to release some of it into her mouth.

 

I watched the way the cool white foamy liquid melted on her tongue.  I watched the way her lips sucked on the tip, teasing me even more as the feather continued to tickle my skin.  I watched her tongue reach out to lick any remnants of the white liquid from her lips, and I was dying inside.  God, how I wished that was my cum.  I wished that was my dick in her mouth and it just made everything ache that much more.

 

I peered down my quivering body, seeing my dick standing at attention.  There was a bit of pre-cum starting to seep out of the hole, showing everyone that noticed that it was in desperate need of attention.

 

“Please...” I whispered again, the pain evident in my voice.

 

She smiled, putting the feather and the whipped cream down.  Thank God.

 

“Please, what?” she asked, her tone a bit harsh as she climbed the table and mounted me.  I could feel her heat so close to my penis that it ached.

 

“Fuck me, please...” I nodded, bucking my hips in hopes that it would just slide in.

 

She pursed her lips and moved her hands from her breasts, down to her thighs. I was powerless to stop my eyes from following her motions.  I watched her hands teasingly work back up her abdomen and stop at her breasts, pushing them up so they were nearly spilling out of her little nurses outfit.

 

My hips bucked again, nearly getting a taste of her wetness, and I bit my lip in response.   “Come on, baby...”

 

“Is this what you want?” she smiled, pulling her nurses outfit down and exposing her pink, taught breasts.

 

I nodded, knowing it wasn’t what I really wanted, but didn’t know if I had much of a choice in the matter.  “Please...”

 

She smirked, bending over and sliding further down my legs.  She picked up the can of whipped cream and sprayed them all over her ginormous fake tits, letting them spread the solid white cream all over my calves and thighs.  My head went back in response.

 

“You’re killing me,” I uttered.

 

I felt her push her luscious breasts around my dick, the cream wetting our skin as she moved them up and down around my hard cock.  It was so painful at this point, that I was sure it was red, and my balls were blue.  At least I’m a full blooded American.

 

I let her titty fuck me for a few minutes before started to buck my hips at the response, just needing to feel a little more friction.  My moans and whimpers were going unnoticed, and she certainly wasn’t giving me what I wanted or needed.

 

“You’re not very patient, Timberlake...” she uttered, and as she spoke, I could feel her breath near my balls.  I had abandoned watching her a long time ago because it only made the pain worse.

 

“You’re fucking a-right I’m not,” I screeched.

 

“Tsk Tsk...you should really learn to enjoy yourself,” she mumbled.  

 

I heard some rustling, but was too afraid to look down.  Before I knew it, I felt a painful pinching over my nipples, and I looked down hastily to see her affixing some strange kind of clamp over them.

 

“What the fuck is that?” I yelled, my anxiety about this situation getting more and more heightened.

 

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it,” she smirked.

 

And in one foul swoop, she pulled her skirt up and slid her way onto me just as she pushed a button that sent a shock through my nipples, and into my body.  I came right there.  I didn’t even have a chance.

 

“Holy fucking Jesus, I’m...fuck, fuck...” I whimpered, my body convulsing heavily into her heat, noticing that she didn’t bother to put a condom on.  I was so far gone at this point, however, that I couldn’t take a moment to care.

 

I laid there, and figured she would be disappointed with my performance, but would leave me alone.  She didn’t, though.  She stayed on me, milking her hot vagina around my dick, and it was then that I realized that I never went soft.

 

“Oh, fuck me...” I whimpered.  I had never wanted sex to end in my life, but I did right now.

 

“I thought I told you that’s what I was going to do?” she smiled, waiting for me to be ready again before she started working her hips in a manner I had never seen before.

 

And we had sex.  Boy, did we have sex.  More sex than I had ever had in a short period of time.  Ever.  I was electrocuted, fucked with a dildo in my ass, bitten, scratched, and tortured to the highest feeling of pleasure I had ever felt.  It was torture.  And it was fucking brilliant.  So much so, that I passed the fuck out halfway through, and don't remember much thereafter.

 

____ 

 

The next morning, I awoke exhaustedly.  As I started to come to, I realized I was no longer in solitary confinement, and that there was a weird presence in my room that wasn't normally there.  When I looked over, I realized it was the new guy Jake, that I had met a few days ago in the cafeteria.  I was wondering what he was doing here, since it wasn't common practice for people to be in your room if they weren't your roommate or a doctor.  As I sat up, I ran a sweaty palm over my face, still trying to adjust.  My body felt like it had been hit by a Mack truck.

 

“Dude, are you okay?” Jake asked.

 

I shook my head, hoping to wiggle the cobwebs loose and figure out what the fuck had happened the night before.  

 

“I think so.  I don’t remember getting back to my room, though.  I thought I was in confinement?” I asked tiredly.

 

“You were.  They found you last night, tied up and getting fucked senseless by one of the girls that just got out of the psych ward...I guess you were passed out or something.”

 

Immediately, I sat up.  “What do you mean...psych ward?  There’s a psych ward?”

 

Jake nodded.  “Yeah, there’s like...a place where they put the crazies that get a little too...you know, hard to handle.”  I nodded.  “Apparently she got out, knocked one of the nurses out, tied her up, and left her in one of the abandoned rooms.  She was walking around here pretending to be Nurse Jackie.”

 

I felt my blood run cold.  “What???”

 

Jake just nodded in sympathy.  “Yeah...”

 

“So...Nurse Jackie...she isn’t...but...but she...”

 

All Jake could do was nod.  "Yeah."

 

"Oh, fuck." 

 

 

Day 13: The Non-Dismissal by ninabina
Author's Notes:
Woo, another update.  I hope you enjoy.  I happily welcome and appreciate your reviews!! :)

Well, this isn’t very ideal.

My feet are tapping relentlessly against the floor, and out of sheer boredom, my hands smooth against the wooden arms of the old chair I’m sitting in. It’s one of those chairs that make you feel like you’re sitting back in the principal’s office in school about to receive the punishment of a life time.  Not that I really remember what that was like, since my schooling experience was very limited, but I’ve seen enough movies to spark the memory. I guess that’s the perk of having a show biz career and a stage mom.

The longer I sit here, the more tense I get.  My fingers start to move faster, my foot starts tapping more rapidly, and my breath starts to turn into heaves.  I’ve been waiting in this seemingly abandoned, haphazardly messy office for almost 30 minutes now, but it feels like I’ve been here for an hour.  I can assure you that the restlessness isn’t getting any easier.  Rehab hasn’t done much for my patience, that’s for sure.

Tiring of playing with my seat, I decide to let my eyes wander.  This is an old office, obviously one of the older parts of the rehab facility, and it’s tucked away in a mess of twisted hallways.  I’m not sure if I could remember how I got here, even if I wanted to.  

Taking a bit longer to inspect every inch of the small space, I start to wonder who’s office this is.  The walls are shelves of books, almost resembling a library.  Except in this case, there were books missing, strewn about, and left open here and there.  I guess that probably means the office belongs to a doctor of some sort.  Or a boring administrator.  Either way, they’re messy as fuck.  My mother would highly disapprove.

After satisfying my curiosity for the room, my eyes meander to the desk.  Following suit with the messy surroundings, there are a ton of papers strewn about its top:  a few books, some typical office supplies, and finally, a stack of files.

File folders.  Hmm...interesting.

Deciding to investigate a bit further, I apprehensively look over my shoulder to make sure no one was behind me before I allow my body to lean over the mahogany desk. Peering at the top file folder, my eyes quickly scan the tab.

Timberlake, Justin R.

I feel my lungs start to constrict, and a mixed bag of emotions passes over me.  Part of me is concerned that my private business is so easily on display for anyone to read.  The other part is massively curious about the contents of my ever elusive file.

Should I?

My teeth sink slightly into my bottom lip as my left hand nervously itches at the forearm of my right hand.

I shouldn’t.  

I’m in a position to finally get out of this place, considering Nurse Jackie was a psycho patient that essentially raped me because they weren’t more careful with their security procedures.  Certainly, that’s grounds enough to break myself out.  I could sue them for all their worth if they try to deny my request for dismissal.

But as I stare at the file, I know that I would love nothing more than to know what this “so-called therapy” and these kooky, retarded psychologists have to say about my “so-called condition”.

I really shouldn’t.

Taking another deep sigh, I peer back over my shoulder nervously.  The silence fell around me eerily as I glance back at the file.  I let my neck roll lazily from side to side as the mental debate ensues in my head--to open the file, or to not.  

I finally reach across the desk and feel the course ground paper of the file folder slide against my calloused finger tips--the ones that used to play guitar, but have longed abandoned the musical instrument to make girls scream in pleasure.

Pulling it towards me, I let it drop languidly into my lap.  I sat there for a few moments, the curiosity mounting as I stare intently at it.  The longer I stare, the more I can feel my mouth salivating, like a dog at dinner time.  Finally reaching the limits of my patience, I start to push the front of the folder open.  I can’t contain myself any longer.

“Ahem.”

Just as the folder is about open, I’m startled by the sudden voice echoing in the hallow chambers.  In a last ditch effort to preserve what’s left of my integrity, I jump quickly.  The sudden movement causes the file folder and its contents to spew from my lap and onto the floor.  

“Shit,” I utter.  Papers are everywhere, and what started as an innocent look into my diagnosis, now makes me look like a guilty troublemaker.

Laughter surrounds the empty room, echoing off the walls.  And the laughter is eerily familiar.  Snapping my head back around, my eyes set sight on the beautiful creature that I had run into at Starbucks my first week here, and I’m almost floored at the revelation.

Cadence.  God, is she beautiful.

But, what the fuck is she doing here?

I feel a massive blush creep over my features as I bent down to try and shove the contents of the file back into the folder.  The faster I try to move, the more difficult it becomes.  It feels as if I lost all motor function, and each simple task I try to accomplish takes twice as long as I had hoped.  By the time I finish, I not only feel guiltier than OJ Simpson, but I am embarrassed to boot.  And trust me, that never happens.

“You know, I was waiting to see how long it would take you to open that file,” she finishes, her tone very matter-of-fact while allowing for a hint of sarcasm.

Her heels click loudly as she makes long, confident strides across the creaky, wooden floor towards me and the desk.  Why didn’t I hear her heels before?

I blush a little more, if that was even possible.  Instinctually, I reach for my tie, as if to loosen it, only to realize that it wasn’t there.  I’m still not quite used to the scrubs, quickly missing my business casual attire that made me famous after Sexy Back.  Regardless, I could feel the flushness radiating off my skin like a third degree sunburn.

“Oh,” was all that I could muster.

She smirks a little, crossing her arms over her chest as she stood behind the desk, using it to create a barrier between us.

“Oh is all you have to say for yourself?” she asks again, this time taking a seat at the desk, beginning to fix up the messy file folders into a more straight forward fashion.

My voice creaked slightly as I tried to talk.  “Um. Sorry?”

A long silence passed between us before I found my voice again.  “I guess I’m not really sure what to say.”

“Nothing to say?  That's a first for you, isn't?"  She waited for my response, but I didn't give her one.  "Honestly, I figured the file would have been the first thing you went after.  You know that’s your file folder, right?” she asks as I put what’s left of the folder back on the desk.

I sigh.  “Yes, I’m aware.  I was looking forward to reading it.  I mean, it was left out on the desk in plain view.  That isn’t a violation of my patient/rehab privacy?”  I know, I’m grasping at straws here, but there’s not much else to say to her.

She shakes her head in front of me, as if to iterate her massive distaste for me.  All I can pay attention to, though, is her dark brown curls bouncing a little off her shoulder.  She really is beautiful, and I’m not just saying that because my pole is harder than a block of ice in the North Pole because I haven't had sex in 24 hours.

“Do you ever have anything positive to say, Mr. Timberlake?” she asks, incredulously.

I’m confused.  “I’m not sure I understand the question...  I wasn’t aware that that was negative.”

“Look.  I’ve looked through your file, and it’s obvious that you’re not really into being here.  You’re not cooperative with the doctors.  You’re not cooperative with other patients.  And most of all, you’ve broken several rules while on campus--including sleeping with another patient, and leaving the facility.  You don’t find that a bit on the negative side?” she asks, her exterior changing from her sarcastic humorous tone to a very somber, serious one.

I just sigh.  “I haven’t broken any rules,” I scoff.

“Really, Mr. Timberlake?  There’s video footage.  This is a highly secure facility, even if it may not seem like it to you,” she responds coolly.  “Not to mention, you bought me a coffee at Starbucks.  I was there, in case you forgot.”

“Well, first of all--one of your crazy patients got out and raped me, so if anything--I should sue you and you should release me immediately!”  I really don’t want to be a jerk to her, but I can’t just let her steam roll me like she’s doing.  She acts all high and mighty, as if she knows everything about my situation.

“Again, Mr. Timberlake--you went after said patient long before the incident, while you still thought she was a nurse.  That proves your intent was to break the rules.  While we definitely apologize for the error--you certainly didn’t stop it either.  If anything, I’d say maybe the two of you deserve each other.”

I immediately realize that there’s nothing I can say to her that will save me at this point. She was obviously there when I gave her coffee, and if she has videographic evidence, I'm screwed.  Not even the Nurse Jackie situation will save me at this point. Perhaps some groveling would help.

“It’s not like I want to be here, alright?”

“Then why are you?” she asked, pointedly.

“I was forced to be here, by my 'employer' and my 'friends.'”

She nodded, relaxing back in the chair slightly.  The way she was sitting, I could see her cleavage, and I had to physically shift in my seat slightly so that I didn't get distracted.

“So you don’t think you have a problem?” she finished.

I sigh.  “Of course not.  I’m just another celebrity that has a lot of girls throwing themselves at me.  What would you do if you were me?”  I hoped the logic of this situation appealed to her somewhat.

“I’m not here to judge you, Mr. Timberlake.  I’m here to see you get better.”

Nothing else can escape me other than another sigh.

“There’s nothing to get better from!” I groan, exasperated.

I watch her groan, and pick up what was left of my file.  “No?  You don’t even know how many women you’ve slept with in the past month.  You don’t know how many women you’ve slept with overall.  You’ve never been tested for an STD.  There’s no sexual position you haven’t tried.  You won’t talk about your sexual history.  Should I go on?” she asked, her eyebrow raising in question.

Suddenly, I feel violated.  

“Who are you, and why do you have my file?”  I couldn’t help it.  The only time I had ever seen her was at the coffee shop, and it just felt awkward to me that here she was, intimately aware of all of the details of my sexual history.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but I run this place.  And I take it very personally that all of the patients check in here get better.  I’m just a little concerned here that you aren’t even trying.  You seem like a nice enough guy...so what’s holding you back?  No judgement.”

I can tell she's trying to reason with me. Taking another deep breath, I rub my hand frustratedly over my face.  This was not how I planned this conversation at all.

“What’s holding me back?  Probably the fact that I haven’t had sex, and I hate my counselor.  He asks dumb questions, and I don’t feel comfortable talking to him.”

She nods.  “Okay, why don’t you feel comfortable talking to him?”

Another groan passed my lips.  “Jesus, is everything fucking therapy with everyone around here!?  I don’t fucking know, I just don’t like him!!!”

“You know, I really want to help you,” she started, closing my file.  “But if you can’t tell me why he’s ineffective with you, I can’t do anything about it.”

“I just don’t like him, okay?  He freaks me out, and he asks dumb questions.  He just sits there and writes in his pad, and I feel like he judges me.”

Silence ensues, and it makes me feel like she’s waiting for more of an explanation.  I try to hold out, but I’m ineffective.  I hate silence more than anything.

“He doesn’t really care about me.  He just wants to get his answers.  And I hate fat fucks.  Guys bother me, they always have.  I relate better to women, in case you couldn't tell.”

I really hate that she got me to even say that.  Who is this woman, and why does she have so much of an effect on me?

“So, if you had a female counselor, you would feel more comfortable?” she asks, supportively.

I couldn’t help but shrug my shoulders.  “Maybe, I don’t know.”

“Would you be willing to try it?” she asks.

I laugh a little, a hint of sadness in my voice.  “Only if you’re my counselor...”  I'm half joking. I don't really want her to be my counselor because I don't want someone as beautiful as her to know anything about me.  But it just kind of slipped out.

She took a few moments before staring at me, and the way her deep green eyes peered into mine, it felt like they were piercing my soul.

“Okay.  Will you honestly start talking if I agree to be your counselor?”

Part of me was taken aback, and the other part was petrified.  I didn't really think she'd agree.  

“I mean...are you even qualified to do that?” I respond.  I'm still kind of in shock that she would agree to this, and the reality of having to talk about my sex life with her is starting to sink in.

She laughs.  Her laugh is infectious, and under better circumstances, I know I would be laughing with her.

"Of course, I'm qualified.  Would you like to see my degrees from Columbia and Yale?" I watch her point to a bunch of degrees on the wall behind her.  Why didn't I notice those before?

Part of me is stunned.  "R-really?"  That's really all I can mutter at this moment.  I'm not really sure what's happening, or what I'm agreeing to.  She has an effect over me that I'm not quite used to.

"If it's okay with you, and you think it might actually get you to take this therapy serious, I would like to give it a shot." 

 She smiles, and it's like my chest starts to contrict.  Her teeth are a beautiful pearl, and the way her front teeth bite slightly into her bottom lip sends my thoughts into hypergear.  

No.  Come on, you can say it. No.  No, I don't want to do therapy with you.  No, I don't want to tell you about every girl I've ever slept with.  No, I don't want to have to go through shit therapy with my family and friends about what a huge fuckup they think I am.  I don't want you to see the shitty side of this situation.  No, no, no, no, no.  No.

"Okay."

I'm fucking pathetic.

“Promise?” she smiles.  "You'll really give this a shot?"  The hopeful tone in her voice is really endearing.

I sigh.  “Anything for you...”  Part of it was sarcastic, and part of it was in defeat.  She had won, and I had a feeling that this was only the beginning of her dominating my psyche.

"Great!" she smiled.  "I think this will be really wonderful for you."

So much for getting out of rehab early.

Day 17: A New Day, A New Therapy by ninabina
Author's Notes:
Pre-lude to the next chapter, which I will publish momentarily. 

*Knock Knock*

I’ve been staring at the clock for what seems like forever, watching the numbers change in a painfully slow time-tick. My first day of therapy with Cadence starts this morning, and I’ve been nothing but a nervous wreck. I have absolutely no idea how I’m supposed to share the most intimate details of my subversive subconscious with the only woman I’ve been drawn to since before...well, since before it happened.

“Come in,” I managed to squeak out. 

My voice was stretched so thin, the person waiting for me on the other side might have confused me for a fourteen year old boy. I heard the door creak open, and the orderly walked in to greet me.

“Dr. Shaw is waiting for you, Mr. Timberlake. Are you ready to start your session?” he asked.

I looked up, and noticed the aged man’s face. After my surprising meeting with Cadence last week, they moved me to a room room in a secluded area of the facility with absolutely no access to any women, whatsoever. Apparently, Dr. Shaw thought it would be best if I weren’t even tempted with the very thought of a female.

“Yup, ready as I’ll ever be,” I offered. I slapped my thighs in an act of agreement before convincing my languid body stand up.

After I was ready, we walked slowly down a hallway that I didn’t recognize. The move to this side of the building left me feeling very secluded and disoriented. This side of the building seemed to be made mostly from wood in contrast to the white cement lined walls, which made it seem much less clinical and stale. Even my room was large, almost stately, with a very comfortable bed and quarters instead of the cramped dorm-style room I had gotten used to previously.

The orderly stopped in front of a large mahogany door. His wrinkled knuckles rapped lightly against it again, waiting for the faint feminine voice to allow their entry. When she did, he opened the door, and I followed, eyes never leaving the floor. By the time I heard her voice, the door had shut behind me, and the orderly mysteriously disappeared.

“Mr. Timberlake, so nice to see you,” her voice echoed. 

I felt my body take a deep, shaky breath before I allowed my eyes to look up to meet her face. 

“Ditto,” I squeaked again. She chuckled in response, and I felt a blush creep over my features. I cleared my throat and then nodded. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem. Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable,” she finished. She was standing in the middle of the room, holding a few papers in her hand. 

The room itself was large, very bright. It felt like a formal living room in a stately, royal palace. There was a large, overflowing sectional near the enormous bay windows. Comfortable looking chairs were littered intelligently throughout the space. Green plants were abundant, and the light was so bright, it was almost overwhelming. In fact, it was difficult to make out her features because the light was so blinding.

“Umm...where would you like me to sit?” I asked, obviously uncomfortable. 

She laughed again. I really wish she would stop doing that. 

“Come, sit on this big floaty thing” she offered, patting a spot on this large, suspended looking oval couch. It looked awkward, yet very comfortable. 

I moved a little closer, keeping my eyes on her before cautiously taking a very uncomfortable seat on the edge of this floating couch. The moment my body hits it, it feels like I’ve sunken into a cloud in heaven.

“Wow, what is this made of?” I ask, curiously. All inhibitions are tossed out the window as I relax, my mind filling with curiosity on how exactly this odd piece of furniture could have come into existence. My body instantly relaxed as I lay back, feet still touching the ground, but allowing this amazing couch to conform and coddle me like a baby.

She smiled, and her pearly whites were almost as bright as the light filtering into the room. I could hear her heels move closer to me.

“Isn’t it comfortable? I love this room. It’s just so...warm and fuzzy. Makes you feel like you’re in heaven. I thought you would like talking here. Do you feel comfortable?” she asked.

I almost didn’t hear her words because I was so happy and relaxed.

“Yes, it’s great,” I nodded. 

A few moments of silence passed between us before I felt her move to lay next to me. I could feel her body heat, and it sent a warm feeling through my body. Surprisingly, though, I didn’t get the feelings I normally got when laying this close to an amazingly attractive woman. I didn’t move away, either.

“I’m going to lay next to you, okay? We can just talk like this. No pressure. Just two friends talking. Is this okay?” she asked again. For the first time, I felt like she actually cared about me and what I had to say.

“Yes,” I finished.

We laid there in slight awkwardness, making small talk about life in general because that’s all that felt natural. I could feel my guard slipping, though, as our chat and this couch bed made thoughts of therapy exist in a far distant past.

Suddenly, I felt her shift so that she was facing me. Her head was perched on her elbow before she asked me the first in a series of questions, something I would learn to expect from her.

“Justin?” she asked, meekly.

“Cadence?” I finished. My head turned towards her, and I smiled.

“Tell me about the fist time you had sex?” she giggled, almost like a teenager. “What was it like? Who was it with? How did it feel?” she smiled, so full of life and exuberance, that I couldn’t help but smile warmly. Then, as the subject drifted across my mind, a dark  mask overtook my features, and the fun was almost gone. The itching started to pool at my feet, and I knew it was only a matter of time before this comfort disappeared.

And then I felt her hand slip into mine. A concerned look passed over her features, and she brought me back to the world around us.

“I’m sorry if it’s painful,” she whispered. “I just want to help. Talking will make you feel better.”

I took a deep breath and squeezed her hands, letting them interlock before I felt the exhale leave my body -- and with it, the hold I had been keeping on this deep, dark secret.

“The first time I had sex? Or the first time I had a sexual experience?” I asked.

Surprised by the question, she responded. “Both, if you’d be willing to share with me.”

I nodded, and it was from there that I lost all memory as the story fell out of my mouth like verbal diarrhea.

Day 18: The First Encounter by ninabina
Author's Notes:
NOTE: This deals with a very sensitive subject manner. This is your warning. 

--- 

*FLASHBACK*

“I can’t believe this is happening. The boys seriously have a record deal, and this could really happen. I mean, have you heard all about these boys called the Backstreet Boys?” Lynn asked.

“Yes, I’ve heard about them. I mean, I was hesitant to let my little Lansten join the group, but he seems really adamant. So what happens after rehearsal again?” Debbie asked.

“They just need to get an investor and an advance to get them oversees for the tour. In the meantime, they rehearse...” Lynn started.

“Hey!” 

I growled. I was trying to listen to the parents talk, but some jerk interrupted me. 

“Justin!” A few hisses, followed by some racket pulled me away from my focus.

“What!?” I moaned loudly. “What do you want, Lance?” I sighed. We were all staying in this house in Orlando while we rehearsed for this tour, whatever that meant. All I knew is it meant that I got to dance, and I really liked dancing. The house wasn’t far from the large warehouse our manager had rented for us to to dance.

“Hey! Britney’s outside. She wants to go rehearse in the warehouse. You wanna go?” he mentioned excitedly. “C’mon, screw the grownups.”

I rolled my eyes. Lance was always so excited to hang out with Britney, and I never understood it. I mean, she was my friend. We had known each other since the Mickey Mouse Club. He was stupid for thinking she liked him, but I wasn’t going to say anything.

“Sure,” I shrugged. 

We grabbed our stuff and snuck out the back door to see Britney waiting, dressed in pigtails and a skirt. I couldn’t help but give her a cheeky grin. She made me feel funny, but I wasn’t sure why.

“Hey,” she smiled at me. I saw her clasp her hands together and shrug her shoulders a little. To be honest, it looked really weird. She did that a lot lately, but I didn’t understand why. When we hung out last summer for the show, she was like a total tom boy, and now she was acting different. I just wasn’t sure what kind of different.

“Hey,” I nodded in return.

I saw her just start giggling and I shook my head. “What are you laughing about?” I asked.

She stopped immediately. “Nothin...” she trailed. Things were weird for a second.

“Last one there’s a rotten egg,” I laughed, running off down the street with my friends.

We crossed over the bridge into this hidden cul de sac community. It was scary and exciting for us because we weren’t supposed to be over there. There were even signs that said you weren’t allowed, with a guard that guarded the bridge. Luckily, he was old and didn’t pay much attention. He was easy to get by.

Once we got to the warehouse, we looked around, unsure of how to get in.

“What do we do now?”  Lance asked, staring up at the front door. Britney tried to open it, but it was locked.

“It’s locked,” she pouted.

“Let’s try the back!” I stated. I was going to get us in there, come hell or high water. We meandered around through the bushes and trees. It almost felt like fighting to get through the jungle on an epic hike. 

“Are we there yet?” Britney whined.

“The castle’s just on the other side!” I yelled, making up my own adventure as we stepped through mud and puddles. When we came through the brush on the other side, none of us recognized the building that we thought was our rehearsal space.

“Look, there’s a door!” Lance smiled. All of us were a little dirty and muddy at this point.

The three of us ran up to the it, trying to the knob simultaneously. Surprisingly, it opened.

“Ooooh,” the three of us let out. We walked in, dripping a little from wading through the watery trenches of mud. Unfortunately, none of us recognized this place.

“Where are we?” Britney asked, suddenly unsure of our surroundings. “This doesn’t look like the warehouse. Are we supposed to be here?” she asked.

“Shut up, Britney,” I mumbled. “We’re supposed to be having fun. I knew we shouldn’t have brought a girl on this adventure, Lance.” I wasn’t trying to be mean, but girls always ruined fun time.

Lance looked at Britney and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry...” he started.

It didn’t last, though. Britney immediately started crying. “You’re such a jerk, Justin!” she cried, running deeper into the house. 

I groaned. “Come on, let’s go find her.”

“Why did you have to be so mean to her?” Lance asked.

“Because! She’s being a stupid girl!” I sigh. “And she’s been acting funny lately. She’s being lame.”

Both of us stopped immediately as we looked up, standing next to an also-silent Britney, as we tried to process what was going on in front of us.

“What is that?” Lance whispered. Our argument was long forgotten.

“I don’t know...” I answered, confused.

An old, heavy set man was sitting on a couch, slightly facing them in a room that looked a lot like a makeshift theater. His pants were down to his ankles, and he was breathing heavy as he stroked this odd, hard rod-looking thing that was strangely placed between his legs. Confused, my eyes turned to the projected images he was watching.

On the screen, there were two naked men and a naked woman doing things that I didn’t understand. It was intriguing, though. They all seamed to be either in pain, or extremely happy. I couldn’t understand which, though.

Apparently, I let out a noise, because the old man looked at us. Britney and Lance were gone in a flash, running as fast as they could out of there. I, unfortunately, seemed to be stuck in place. I wanted to run, I just didn’t know how.

“Hey, kid!” the man yelled. “What are you doing in my house?” He stood up, leaving the strange rod between his legs pointing straight at my face, even though he was a good 20 feet away from me.

“Uh...” I stammered. 

“Get out!” he yelled.

“I...what is that?” I pointed.

The man softened a little when he realized that I was a kid who had absolutely no idea what was going on in the world.  “What are you doing here?” he asked again. “How did you get into my house?”

“Uhh...uh, we were just trying to get into the warehouse. We’re dancers. We wanted to practice dancing. We’re...we sing and stuff. Going on tour,” I stammered again, still fixated on the thing between his legs.

“Tour, huh?” he asked, curiously. “Oh, your parents are renting my warehouse, huh?” 

I just nodded.

He finally shrugged, about to pull his pants up. “What are you staring at kid. You’ve never seen a penis before?” he asked.

I shook my head no.

“Do you know what those people on the screen are doing?” he asked.

I shook my head no again.

“Do you want to?” he asked.

I nodded yes.

“Do you promise not to tell your parents?” he asked.

I nodded yes again.

“Come here,” he stated, patting the spot next to him. I cautiously moved my way to the couch and sat next to him.

“This is a penis,” he offered. “All boys have one. You have one too...” he trailed off.

“I do?” I asked meekly.

He nodded. “Pull your pants down, I’ll show you.”

I obliged, although I felt uncomfortable doing so. I looked down at the little thing between my tiny legs. 

“That’s a penis?” I asked.

He nodded. “When you get excited, it gets hard. Like this. Do you want to touch it?” he asked again.

I shook my head no.

“Come on...just touch it to feel it...” he offered. Hesitantly, I did. It was so hard, and I wasn’t sure how that was ever supposed to happen to my body.

I pulled my hand away as soon as I touched it.

“W...what do you do with it when it’s hard?” I asked.

“You put it in things. You can stroke it yourself, which feels good. Or you can put it in a girls mouth. Or in her vagina. Or in a guy’s butt.”

I made a disgusted face.

“Ewww!” I shrieked.

He laughed.

“It’s not eww at all. It feels great. You should try it sometime,” he offered.

I looked up at the people on the screen. I tilted my head to the side as these two men tied this poor woman up while they rammed the weird thing between their legs into the thing between her legs.

The man finally shook his head. “Get out of here. Go hang out with your friends...”

I nodded, jumping off the couch and pulling my pants off, running outside and back through the jungle. I finally found Lance and Britney standing in the middle of the road just waiting for me in confused silence.

I nodded to them when I got to them.

We never talked about it again.

--- 

I heard a sigh. "Wow, so...this man. He...he didn't do anything bad to you, did he?" she sighed.

I shook my head no.

"Not that day..." I trailed off, looking down. "But that was my first exposure...to sexual anything. It was very innocent. I felt like he just thought I was kid who didn't know anything about it and was curious."

"Were you curious?" Cadence asked.

I shrugged. The truth was, I was curious. I battled with myself for a long time over it. Why I didn't run away. Why I wasn't scared or apalled like Lance and Britney had been. Maybe it's because I grew up in the South. Maybe it's because I wanted to know. Maybe it's because I didn't know any better.

"I don't know. Something kept me there, I guess." I sighed.

"Why did you touch his penis?" she asked, squeezing my hand.

"He was an adult. He asked me to," I whispered.

"Did you enjoy touching it?" she asked.

I shrugged again. "I just wanted to know what it felt like because mine wasn't like that. I couldn't have that conversation with the guys or with my parents. It was like...having this taboo answer book right in front of you. And with all the emotions and hormones that were coursing through my body...I couldn't help but...you know." I sighed.

"You said that...he didn't do anything to you that day. Does that mean you went back to see him again?" she asked. Her voice was so soft and gentle.

"No," I finished quietly. "I didn't go back to see him."

Cadence looked at me confused. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"He came to find me," I finished, a complete look of defeat taking over my features.

Cadence could tell my mood had shifted after sharing such a deep, personal story. And sadly, I think she also knew that this was just the tip of the iceburg.

"Why don't we call it a day. I think you could use some food and some rest. Same time tomorrow?" she asked.

I nodded. For the first time, all I wanted was food and a nap. Sex was the furthest thing from my mind right now.

"Thank you," I offered as I got up. And with that, she was gone as soon as she appeared. Tomorrow was another day. 

Day 19: New Introductions by ninabina

I felt the warmth of the sun tickling my face, arousing my mind from its natural sleepy state. My arms moved above my head to stretch, a groan languidly escaping my lips with my overdue yawn. I push myself to sit up, and just look at the window defeated.

I look at the wall at the hash marks. It’s officially been 19 days since I’ve been in rehab. This marks the second day I haven’t had a constant hard on. In fact, little guy hasn’t even thought about being hard since I told Cadence about my first sexual encounter. Part of me wishes I hadn’t told her, because I sorely miss the amazing feeling of jerking off in the morning, but the other part of me is relieved to experience life, even for an hour, that doesn’t center around finding a release.

Deciding to not worry about it, I stand up and hit the shower. It’s relieving to feel the hot water wash over my skin, taking the time to actually focus on the soap. It’s weird to me to see my penis so soft and out of commission. I gently wash it, partially hoping something happens, but nothing does.

“Weird...” I mumble.

I settle on letting it go, finishing rinsing off and dressing in my scrubs just as I hear the knock on the door.

“Just a minute...” I yell. I fix my hair in the mirror and walk to the door to open it. I smile when I see the familiar face of the old man orderly. The perks of being on this hidden side of the facility was that everyone was the same. I liked that.

“Morning, Mr. Timberlake,” he offered in his kind tone.

I nod. “Good morning. What was your name?” I asked.

“Daniel,” he offered. 

I smile, nodding again. “Daniel. Nice to meet you. Time for my session?”

He smiled agreeably, holding the door for me as we enter the long hallway to Cadence’s door.

“Dr. Shaw,” he offered, pushing open the large mahogany door to the “wonder room,” as I liked to call it. “Mr. Timberlake is here.”

I walked in, hands shoved deep in my pockets. I nodded to Daniel, and then bowed my head slightly to Cadence. “Mornin,’” I offer, my slight southern drawl coming out.

She smiled at me, and it was like the sun got a little brighter around her. I took my spot on the crazy oval bed hanging from the ceiling, and just stared up at the ceiling. “Good morning, Justin.”

“So where are we starting today?” I ask, folding my hands over my abs, letting my fingers interlock in comfort.

She smiled and sat comfortably next to me. She was always smiling, and she looked so comfortable in her hippy-looking skirt outfit.

“I thought we could pick up where you left off. Perhaps you can tell me what happened with Lance and Britney?” 

I could tell she was being cautious, knowing how sensitive this topic was for me. I appreciated that about her, in a way. She was so safe, and so comforting for me. 

“Okay...” I trailed off. I let my eyes close, and took a deep breath. My mind wandered, and I started to remember what happened after my encounter.

--

Lance, Britney, and I never really talked about what happened that day. I certainly didn’t tell them that I stayed to watch a dirty movie with the old neighbor, or that I had touched the thing between his legs. I wasn’t sure what they would say if I did bring it up, so I didn’t.

It had been few weeks since the encounter with the crazy neighbor, and I couldn’t stop thinking about any of it -- the movies, the hard thing between the legs, how excited those people seemed. I was captivated, but had no way of exploring any more without either getting my hands on a movie or going back to the old man’s house. Neither seemed like they were in my immediate future.

I ran down the stairs and was headed to the pool in the backyard, since it was an off day, and was surprised to see Britney standing there in a bikini. I had never seen her in a bikini before, so it was kind of awkward, but intriguing. I finished walking down the stairs to greet her.

“Hey Brit...” I started. “Didn’t know you were here...”

She nodded. “Lance invited me over. Said we could go swimming. You down?” she smiled. I saw her twirl her hair and I felt a little bit of a hitch catch in my breath. A new tingling sensation started happening, and I had no idea what was going on.

My voice squeaked as I tried to answer. “Uh...um, yeah!” I laughed, blushing slightly. "Last one in 's a rotten egg!”

I ran off to the pool with her and smiled as I just went for it and cannonballed into the water. “CANNONBALL!!!” I yelled, splashing Britney in the process. When I surfaced, I looked up to notice the water dripping down her body, even though she was making an unhappy face. I swallowed hard and immediately felt this strange twitching and stirring between my thighs. 

I watched in what seemed like slow motion as Britney jumped in the pool after me, obviously attempting to beat my splash and repay me for getting her wet. All I could do was laugh in response and barrage her with water when she surfaced.

“That was the worst cannonball I’ve ever seen,” I teased. I didn’t know why I was so mean to Britney sometimes. I guess it was because it was easier than being nice to her. She did look really pretty today, though. 

Britney scoffed. “Oh, really?” she asked, incredulously.

“Yeah...really!” I smirked before I splashed even more water at her.

“Stop!” she screamed out of frustration. Just as I stopped, Lance walked to the pool.

“Justin! Why are you always such a dick...” Lance trailed. He was a little bit older than me, so Britney seemed to gravitate towards him sometimes. I wasn't sure if she "like liked" Lance, or if she was just happier to see him than me because he was nicer. Either way, she screamed excitedly as she swam to the edge of the pool.

I just grunted in response. I don’t know why I did what I did, it just happened. Lance was certainly being a buzzkill, though. I watched mutedly as Lance jumped in the pool and continued to be overly nice to Britney. Part of me started to feel a different tingle, and soon I realized I didn’t like Lance and Britney talking together with her scantily clad. Jury's still out on why I felt that way.

I swam over and splashed both of them out of spite before getting out of the pool dramatically. I walked into the house, not caring about the fact that I hadn’t grabbed a towel and was dripping water all over the place, even though my mother would murder me if she knew I had done so.

I stomped up to my room, which was a large communal room that Lance, JC, and I shared. I plopped down on JC’s bed, not wanting to climb to my top bunk in my frustration. I also didn’t care that I was getting his sheets wet.

“How could Lance do this to me? How could she just...be so nice to her! Making her giggle. It's crap!” I groan out of frustration, letting my fist pound the bed. In the process, I knocked the pillow off of JC’s bed. When I slid down to pick it up, I noticed the edge of a magazine sticking out slightly from beneath the bed.

“What’s this?” I mumbled. I tugged on the magazine until it came unearthed from between the mattresses.

“Hustler...” I mumbled. “What is this?”

I curiously flipped through the pages, and I realized it was a nudey magazine. With each page I flipped, I revealed a new naked woman, to the point where the throbbing and twitching between my legs was intolerable and impossible to ignore

I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I decided to drop my pants and try touching myself. It felt...oddly good. I took turns glancing at the magazine and closing my eyes, taking solace in the pleasure and strange feelings coursing through my body. I had no idea what I was doing, but I liked feeling good. I felt this pressure building, although I didn’t know what it meant. I just wanted to keep feeling this good. I squeaked out a little moan just as the door opened, and Lance walked in.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“J--Justin?” he asked, curiously.

My eyes snapped open, and I just stared up in shock, mouth agape and adrenaline coursing through my system.

“Uh....uh...” I trailed, not exactly sure what to do with my hands ore my exposed body.

“Dude! What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes staring up at mine. Our eyes connected, my penis in hand, and I took a deep, confused breath.

“Uh...I’m...” I wasn’t sure what to say.

Lance looked down at my penis, and I felt this sense of embarrassment wash over my body. 

“Dude...” Lance trailed off again.

Embarrassed, I tried to shove my now rock hard penis in my pants, but it was extremely painful and difficult to do.

“Sorry, I---I just...” I offered, not sure what to say.

Lance just put his hand up. “Not now. Just...Johnny came over with our new investor and our parents. We have a band meeting...” he trailed.

“Oh,” I nodded. I zipped up my pants and shoved the magazine back under the bed. After I got myself re-situated, we walked down the stairs together, and I nearly stopped in my tracks.

There, standing with our parents and our manager, was the creepy old man neighbor that I had watched the dirty movies with.

“Kids,” Johnny started. “This is my new partner, and the guy who’s going to make sure you get to Europe for your first tour. Meet the owner of Transcontinental Records. This is Lou Perlman.”

I just stared, incredulously. “Hi,” I squeaked out.

“Hi kids...” he smiled an ugly, creepy, toothy grin. “You ready to be stars?”

So much for that hard on.  

--

Day 19 & 1/2: Let There Be Light by ninabina
Author's Notes:
BAM! Four Updates in a week! How awesome am I? :) Anyway, this is another chapter on a very sensitive topic. You've been warned.

“So, wait...” Cadence trailed. “Mr. Perlman was the old guy that you found jerking himself off near the warehouse?” Disbelief was evident in her tone, along with a hint of confusion.

I nod. “Yup, sure was.”

She stared at me, the look of confusion still blatant on her face. “I don’t understand...”

I shrug. “I guess his house was next to the warehouse we were renting. When we ran into his house on accident, we tipped him off to what we were doing, and he wanted to be a part of it.”

She looked up at me, pausing briefly with her words before she let them pass her lips. “Did he...come because of you?” she asked.

I shrugged dismissively. “I’m not sure, exactly.” I wasn’t trying to be vague on purpose, it was just something I hadn’t thought about in a long time.

I felt her reach her hand over to grab mine, and she squeezed it. I couldn’t look at her, partly out of embarrassment and partly out of the inability to want to remember such a dark history of my own life.

“I know this is painful, Justin...” she trailed. I love the way my name sounded off of her lips. Thinking more about my past made me want to escape it, made me want to think of anything and do anything to avoid it. It made me want to think of her, because thinking of her naked and sucking my cock was way better than the alternative memories that were stored in the dark recesses of my brain.

But no. I don’t want to think of her sucking my cock. I don’t want to do dirty things to her. She’s nice to me. She cares about me, and I want to do the same in return. I don’t want to ruin her to preserve having to think about the bullshit I went through as a kid.

I could feel the blood starting to course through my veins at a much higher rate. The contradictions and irony was starting to take over, and I could feel the itch starting at my toes. But I didn’t want to feel it this time. I didn’t want to let it take over my body to prevent me from remembering. So instead, I did something different.

“Do you!?” I yelled, looking up at her. Immediately, I felt sorry for doing so. She was just trying to be nice, but every button I had successfully avoided about my past was being pushed, and it was either bend her over a table or scream at her.

“Do you know how painful THIS is?” I gasp, standing up, pounding on my chest to illustrate my message. The emotion from processing the weight of this situation for 20 something years was beginning to crush my lungs.

“Do you know how painful it is, to have to remember things that I’ve worked my entire fucking life to forget!? Do you know...do you know what it feels like to have secrets buried under the surface for 20 fucking years!? Do...do you know what it feels like to be...to be a fucking failure at dealing with this? For never having the guts to tell the people that mattered what happened? Do...do you know what that feels like?” I muttered, my tone calming towards the end of my rant, the exhaustion already beginning to set in.

She just sat there and watched me, the silence enveloping us. The tension was so thick in the air, you could probably cut it with a knife.

“You’re right, Justin. I don’t know...” she whispered softly. “But I’d like to. I want to help you...and you can’t get better if you keep keeping these secrets.”

I groan, tossing my hands in the air in response.

“You think I don’t know that,” I ask. “You really think I’m not aware of how dire this situation is? I just...I don’t know how to...process it. How to give it words.” I mutter. At this point, I was pacing back and forth like a mad man.

She nodded.

“Stop worrying about how it’s going to come out. There’s no judgement here. I’m not going to judge you, okay?” she gently whispered.

I sighed, stopping my intermittent pacing to look back at her. My silence was her cue.

“Why don’t you tell me about Mr. Perlman. Who was he, and what happened when he joined your team?” she asked.

I stared at her, unwillingly. I could feel the tears starting to stream down my face, my hands balling info a fist, and I wanted to fight her on this. I wanted to say ‘no, I’m not going to talk about it.’ But I couldn’t. I needed to get this out.

“Okay...” I nodded.

--

It had been about a month since Mr. Perlman had joined Johnny Wright as our management team. Our tour had been pushed back, although I didn’t understand why. We had been rehearsing as hard as ever, and it felt like the fun was starting to disappear. None of the grownups seemed to see it, though. They were always laughing and giggling late into the evening off of booze that Transcon had sent over. It was like it was Thanksgiving for everyone except us.

One day, after the older guys started getting into a bit of a fight over something I wasn’t old enough to understand, I decided to head to the warehouse to blow off some steam. It seemed the more this “rehearsal phase” went on, the more I wanted to be by myself. No one understood me. I’m not even sure if I understood me.

Walking into the warehouse with the key I stole off Mom’s keychain was freeing. I had the urge to dance, to get some of this pent up energy out of my system. I would jerk off, which had become a past time of mine over the past month, but it was too much effort. Dancing was the only cure.

As I made my way through the dark, creepy hallway that led to the large rehearsal room, I realized that there was a light on. As I approached the doorway entrance, I peered my head in to see a very bizarre sight.

There, in the middle of the room, was Lou. He had a video camera out with Lance and Britney sitting on the couch. I had no idea what was going on. I happened to look up, feeling a pit deep in my stomach, and caught Lance’s eyes. His were full of worry, and I could tell he was silently telling me to leave.

Feeling protective of my friends, instead of leaving like I should have, I stormed into the room.

“What’s going on here?” I asked, defiantly.

Lou, in his maniacal demeanor, turned back towards me and chuckled a terrible laugh. “Oh, Justin. So glad you could join us. We were just about to get the fun started...” he trailed.

“Leave them alone!” I uttered.

Lance looked up in horror. “Justin, don’t!”

Shocked, he touched his hand to his heart. “What’s the matter? You don’t want to see your friends here? We’re just having a little fun with each other, just like you and I did a few months ago...”

Britney piped up. “Justin, what is he talking about?”

“Nothing!” I yelled. “Besides, they don’t look like they’re having fun,” I started. “This...this is wrong.”

Lance interrupted again. “Justin, just go!”

Lou slowly sauntered over to me and picked me up by the shirt, his sweaty, clammy hands holding onto the fabric in front of me.

“Look here, kid. You and your friends are going to go over there and have some fun, or you’re going to get in a lot of trouble. And you know this big tour you’ve been rehearsing for? The Disney Channel gig? All the things I’ve given you and your parents? It goes away. You see...I’m the reason you even have a career. Johnny is full of shit and was just biting some time until he found someone to invest in you. Now that I’m investing in you? I get what I want.”

I stammered a little bit, the fear coursing through me. “W-what is it that you want?”

Lou smiled, his demeanor changing as he smiled.

“Just a little fun, that’s all...you kids will enjoy it.” he finished. He smiled at us as I joined my friends on the couch.

--

“I still remember the toothy, disgusting grin he gave us as he hid behind his camera,” I uttered, a few tears running down my cheeks.

Cadence was silent.

I sniffled, wiping furiously at my face. My skin was pale, and anyone with a brain could sense my defeated demeanor.

“What...” Cadence started, but had to clear her throat. “What did he make you do?” she asked, innocently. “And did it repeat, or was it...just that time?”

I shook my head, folding my hands into each other and staring down at my shoes.

“We did a lot of things. It started there, with just innocent touching. As the years went on, it became more...involved. Mostly between Lance and I, to be honest.”

She sighed. “What did he make you do?”

I took a deep, shaky breath. “Umm...” I cleared my throat. “You know, blowjobs, mostly. In the later years, sex. That’s when he started making us...do things...um, to him. He only really liked the younger boys, which is I guess why it started with Lance and I.”

She was shocked, and I could tell. 

“What did he make you do to him?”

I could feel the tears streaming down my face, my jaw shaking as I did. “He would...” I started, starting to hyperventilate as I talked. “Make us give him blow jobs, or he would take our contract away.”

“Did your parents know?" she asked, pulling me close and holding me tight to her. It felt so nice to be held.

“No,” I whimpered, defeated. “No one knows, except Lance, Britney, and Lou. No one. I just...couldn't come to grips with telling anyone else. I thought...I thought they would look at me different, or that I would get in trouble.”

I felt her fingers running through my hair, and it made me feel a little more calm.

“When did it end?”

I shrugged. “It finally stopped a few years later. It was when I started dating Britney, and we sued Lou for breach of contract.”

I was shaking as I was talking, and I think we could both tell that I didn’t have much left to say. It was like I suddenly reverted back to being the 14 year old who didn't know how to handle this situation.

“Okay, sweetie. Come on, let’s take you back to your room and let you get some rest. You’ve had enough for the day,” she whispered. “For what it’s worth, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I wish I could take it back.”

All I could do was nod. My darkest secret was now out in the open. There was no turning back now.

Day 20: Tides, They Turn by ninabina

“You want an apple with that?” 

My head snapped to, looking up at the server behind the cafeteria island glass I was staring blankly through. Once I realized she was asking a question, I nodded meekly. I hadn’t really been in a talkative mood ever since my session yesterday with Cadence. Luckily, she gave me the day off from therapy after my dark admission about Lou.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, letting my fingers wrap firmly around the apple and plop it noisily onto my tray. 

As I meandered to the cafeteria exit, I stared out into the large, open dining room, taking in the mostly now abandoned area. It was almost eerie how empty it was, considering the last time I was here it was so busy that it was almost maddening.  The line of children passing by the oddly familiar glass wall on the way to their toy room wasn’t helping either.

Letting out a deep breath, I shook away my thoughts made my way to the furthest table possible. I pushed the chair out and slowly sat down, listening to my bones creak as I did so. I don’t ever remember feeling so utterly exhausted. Or old, for that matter.

“Ahem...” a throat cleared.

I looked up, noticing a familiar face. I was kind of surprised to see her.

“Cadence...” I trailed, smiling slightly before looking back down to my food. “I thought I was free from you today?” 

I heard her chuckle as she moved to sit next to me.

“You are...I just wanted to check on you,” she offered. “What you said yesterday took a lot. I just...wanted to see how you were holding up.”

I nodded and shrugged, using my fork to push food around.

“I’m doing okay,” I offered quietly, still not really looking at her.

Silence surrounded us for a moment, and I could feel her eyes boring into my soul before I felt her hand on my shoulder. The feeling sent shivers down my spine, and I didn’t know why.

“Seriously, I’m okay,” I nodded, swallowing the mush of mashed potatoes dryly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

I shook my head no, not even needing to think about it. “I think I did enough talking for a life time yesterday. I’m okay with not talking about me for a while,” I smiled, weakly.

A few more moments of awkward silence passed between us, and my brain searched for some kind of small talk to make the silence less painful, since I actually did like her presence.

“Really quiet in here today. Last time I was here, it was full of long lines and tons of dudes,” I offered, eliciting a small laugh from her.

“Yeah, I know. It’s normal procedure to keep folks in isolated treatment away from other patients, but I thought it would do you some good to feel a bit of normalcy, even if it is during a non-peak meal time. I didn’t want to bombard you with a bunch of people all at once. Seems like you sometimes like to run away when things get really tough or overwhelming, or at least that’s what it seems from when I first ran into you at Starbucks.”

I laughed a little for the first time in a long time.

“I almost forgot about that,” I offered, pushing food around a little more with my fork. “I never would have thought that you would be a psychiatrist here at sex rehab when I met you at Starbucks...”

She smiled, shrugging. “I’m actually not. I mean, I’m a licensed psychiatrist and psychologist, but my main work was at the Children’s Hospital. My father was in charge of all the medical facilities within a 50 mile radius here...but he’s not really running things anymore...”

I looked up at her, my ears perking when she said that. I could sense a hint of sadness in her voice.

“So you don’t usually deal with patients like me?” I asked.

She shook her head no. “Nope, not at all, actually. I usually deal with 2-10 year old burn victims,” she laughs. “But I felt like we had a bit of a connection and that I might be able to help you. I didn’t want you to walk away angry and completely abandon the possibility of rehab forever. I can tell you have a lot of potential in life...you know, to be happy. Really happy, not just...fake happy.”

I smiled a little. “Fake happy. Thanks,” I offered, feeling for the first time that someone might actually kind of understand me, or at least want to try to do so. Maybe that’s why she was so intriguing to me. 

“So...why are there children here? A fellow patient, Jake -- he said that the old hospital burnt down and that’s why the kids are here. What happened?” 

She shrugged. “Bad wiring. It was a really old building, just a few miles down the road. Not far from Starbucks, actually,” she offered, sipping her coffee easily.

I took a bite of my brownie and watched her mouth enclose over her coffee cup, and for the first time, ever, I didn’t have the urge to throw her down and take advantage of her.

“So now the kids are here while you build a new hospital?” I asked. She nodded in response.  

“It certainly wasn’t an ideal place to put them, but it was one of our only choices. We put security measures in place, and this is our temporary home.”

“How much longer will it take?” I asked, shoving another huge gulp of potatoes in my mouth.

She looked up at me with her large, deep green eyes and sighed with a partial look of defeat. “When we finish fundraising, which feels like it could be forever. Sadly, this is a very small community with limited funds in an economic recession. It may be years before we can build a new building.”

I clear my throat a little, trying not to let my voice get buried under mashed potatoes and brownies. “That’s terrible,” I finally squeak out over my partially chewed food.

A few more moments of silence pass over us, and my thoughts wander back to the time we met in Starbucks, smiling at how feisty she was back then.

“Is that why you were so bitter at Starbucks?” I asked, a hint of playfulness in my tone. “You seemed like you absolutely hated it here. Is this the only thing keeping you here? This hospital?” I asked, curiosity evident in my tone. I wanted to know about her. She was such a mystery to me.

I could tell by the way her eyes moved to her coffee and one of her arms crossed over her chest that she was hesitating. I wasn’t sure if it was me, or if it was the subject matter.

“I really shouldn’t talk about this with you...” she trailed, flicking the edge of her ceramic coffee cup before looking back up at me. “You’re my patient, after all. It’s not very professional of me.”

I shrugged. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to, but it doesn’t really seem like you have anyone else to share with. You obviously don’t seem that happy. And I don’t even really need to be your patient. I could walk out of here whenever I wanted, and you know it.”

She was silent. I took that as a cue to continue.

“I stayed here because of you. I stayed here because for once in my life, I wanted to commit to fixing this, fixing me; and I told you things about myself that I have never told anyone else. You can say it’s because I’m ‘your patient,’ or you can admit that it’s because you and I have a connection. I can open up with you because you’re an individual who intrigues me and makes me feel safe. You may feel strong about not sharing with me because I’m you’re patient, but know that I’m sharing with you because of who you are as an individual, not because you’re a therapist or because you somehow forced me to do so,” I offered.

I took the final bite of my brownie. “If you want someone to talk to, you know where I’m staying.”

I sighed as I stood up. “Don’t be a stranger,” I offered, gently touching her shoulder like she had touched mine. “Sometimes we just need people to believe in us and give us a shoulder to lay our head on. I’m not saying I’m very good at doing that, because to be brutally honest, I never have; but I am saying that I’d do my best to try do it for you because I owe you one.”

She laughed, looking up at me.

“I’ll think about it...” she offered sincerely.

I smiled victoriously. “Good.”

“Good,” she smiled. “See you tomorrow morning in therapy.”

I chuckled and nodded, taking my tray to the return area and disappearing back down my bleak hallway. Maybe I'd figure her out yet.

Day 21: Human Contact by ninabina

Beep, Beep, Beep!

My eyelids flashed open as the alarm reverberated throughout the hallowed walls of my room. Normally, I’d reach over, hit snooze for the thirtieth time until I could pry my tired, unwilling limbs from this lumpy mattress. Today was different, though. I just wasn’t exactly sure why yet.

As I forced my body into a sitting position, I felt my feet hit the cold floor. My elbows rested against my thighs, and I held my head as my fingers slid into my now curly hair. My muscles felt malleable, and I realized that I desperately needed to work out. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been on a treadmill, let alone picked up a weight, and now that I wasn’t having sex on a daily basis, my body was beginning to miss the physical perks.

As I pushed myself off the bed, I stretched my arms long above my head, catching my reflection in the full-length mirror that was hanging by my bed. By the looks of things, my abs were missing the workout, too. I pinched my stomach, an inch of skin and flab between my fingers, and grimaced.

“I need to fix this...” I mumbled to myself. 

I slowly walked closer to the mirror, my hands firmly resting on my stomach like a pregnant woman does when her baby bump begins to show. With a grunt, I patted the now barren area where my muscle definition used to be. There was a faint remnant of the stellar abs that used to be there, but it certainly would need an airbrush job for a GQ cover. My agent would kill me if he saw me  now.

“How you gonna get laid now, Timberlake?” I whispered to myself. “We need to fix this, stat.”

Groaning, I decide to slip on the house shoes that Daniel, my favorite orderly, had brought me to replace the whimpy booties I always complained about. Feeling situated in my tank top and scrub bottoms, I took off down the hallway, making my way towards Cadence’s office. 

What harm would it do in asking her if I could go take a jog somewhere? Or to ask if there was a gym hidden somewhere in this gem of a place. Surely, she wouldn’t mind the interruption.

As I approached her door, I don’t know why I didn’t bother knocking. Thinking back on it now, I don’t know why I didn’t wait until our session that was scheduled within the hour, or for Daniel to take me. Come to think of it, I don’t really know why I do a lot of the things I do when it comes to Cadence.

But I did it. My hand turned the knob without a single thought otherwise, and my body mindlessly entered the room.

“Oh god...” she whimpered.

At first, I was confused. My ears twitched, and my body began to tense up. “Cadence?” I asked, so quiet that even I could barely hear it.

And then I heard a large slam, and my mind and blood began racing with inappropriate thoughts. Was Cadence having sex? Was she...was she getting slammed by another patient? What the fuck? How could she just do that when we were making all of this progress? How could...how could...

And as I angrily entered the room far enough to see her desk, I realized that she wasn’t having sex at all. In fact, she was sobbing, her fist pounding against the desk in utter dismay; and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt my heart sink to my stomach.

“Cadence? What’s wrong...” I asked, pausing to try and take in the situation.

She looked up at me, her eyes in shock and completely filled with tears. I could tell that as soon as she registered that it was me, she panicked. It was blatantly obvious that I wasn’t supposed to see her like this.

“Oh, fuck...” she mumbled.

Her hands immediately went to her eyes, wiping furiously at her tears, completely smearing her black eyeliner across the flesh of her cheekbones as she tried desperately to put herself together. 

“You...you, uh...” she mumbled, in between sniffles. “Our session isn’t for another hour and a half. You’re...you’re early...”

I nodded, slowly starting to walk closer to her, my concern continuing to build. 

“I’m sorry, I just came to ask you a question. I thought your door was always open...” My body half turned as I referenced the door, as if my gesture would somehow make it okay that I was intruding on her. At this point, I wasn’t sure if I should leave, or press on. 

She was in pain, though -- I couldn’t leave her like this.

She groaned. “Yeah, yeah it is. I’m...I just...” Her arms flailed as she tried to express herself without words. I had no idea what she was trying to say.

I battled rapid fire responses in my head on how I should approach this situation. I could either leave and come back in an hour and a half and pretend like nothing every happened, or I could stay and try to get her to talk to me about whatever situation was going on. It seemed really unlikely that she was into that, though.

Fuck, what should I do?

In a moment of panic, as I watched the tears continue to slide down her face and her arms flail around in a failed attempt at expression, I did the one thing that I think surprised both of us. I hugged her.

Without thought, my body closed the distance between us in one fell swoop, and I pulled her into my arms, wrapping them tightly around her and just held her. I didn’t say a thing, I just coddled her tighter and tighter as she cried harder into my arms.

“Shhhh...” I whispered, my hand slowly caressing her hair. “It’s going to be okay...”

As I held her, I realized this is the first time I’ve had human contact in a meaningful way in years, if not longer -- let alone the urge to actually care or comfort someone. I didn’t even know I still had the capacity to do this, let alone the physical gall to execute it.

Her breathing soon calmed, the tears disappeared, and subconsciously, I began to sing a soft lullaby, a very familiar one.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

*FLASHBACK*

Rocka-bye baby, in the tree top. 
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock...

I couldn’t stop whistling nursery rhymes. Ever since I found out Britney was pregnant, I was the happiest dad on the planet.  Not only had we finally gotten Lou out of our lives after the lawsuit, but I felt so free and so happy. Not only was I in love, but I was starting the family I never had growing up. 

But today, today was doubly special. She thought I was at the store picking up a few more items for the surprise “birthday” dinner we were having for my Mom, but it was really to announce the bundle of joy on the way.  

But that wasn’t the real surprise for my beautiful mom-to-be. I had planned on surprising her with the brand new nursery I was about to finish painting, an added bonus to our announcement dinner tonight. I wanted everyone to see how great of a Dad I was going to be.

As I put my paint brush down to fill the bucket with more paint, I realized I had used the last of the paint can.

“Dammit, I don’t want Brit to see me...” I mumbled. 

The last paint can was in the garage, and if she happened to see me, it would surely give away the surprise. She was, after all, laboring away on the spectacular dinner we are about to have.

“I’ll just sneak to the garage...” I shrugged. “She’ll never even notice.”

I was pretty proud of myself at that moment. Over the past month, I had been spectacular at everything. Not only had I convinced the guys to hold off on our third album (even though I didn’t tell them why), but I had moved Brit into my place, was making up this fantastic surprise nursery wing of the house, and I even bought a ring to propose in the coming weeks. My plan was working out splendidly.

Yup, I was about to get the Dad of the Year Award.

I put the paint brush down and walked to the door of thr nursery. I stuck my head out, listened quietly to ensure the coast was clear, and began my James Bond-esque trek down to the garage. When I touched the handle to the garage door, I heard a faint noise on the other side. 

Concerned, I grabbed the baseball bat and entered swiftly.

“Oh, God! Yes...fuck me, harder!!  Ughhhhhhh, get it, Daddy!! Faster!! Yeah, fuck that pregnant pussy!”

I felt my heart starting to pound.

 

 

 

 

“Fuck, you can’t make me feel as good as Justin. That’s it...that’s it baby. God, I’m so fucking close!!”

I walked in, my jaw nearly on the floor, as I watched my best friend Wade railing my pregnant soon-to-be-wife on the hood of the car I bought her.

“Yeah? Tell me who’s better, baby,” Wade grunted.

It took me several moments to process what was really happening right now. My veins were pounding, my blood was racing, and I wanted to do any one of 80 of the thoughts running through my brain right now. But I was stuck there. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even say anything.

Finally, the bat dropped, the tinging of the aluminum hitting the concrete echoing throughout the hollow space.

“Oh God!” Britney squealed. “Justin!!”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

I blinked back the horrible memory and relished in feeling Cadence in my arms. I’m sure it’s how my mom felt that same night when she held a crying, devastated me that realized my life, despite trying my best to do the contrary, turned out exactly how I didn’t want it to.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered, my nose slightly buried in her hair. “Come on, talk to me...”

It took her a few minutes to calm down, but she eventually did.

“They’re...they’re denying the funds for next year. I need to find a donor or the kids hospital will not only not ever be built, but we may have to shut down completely,” she mumbled, still in tears.

I nodded.

“Why are they denying the funds?” I asked, calmly.

She took a deep sigh. “My father has been in a coma for 18 months. The donors have been pulling their cash slowly because without my father, the children’s hospital burnt down, and with no expectance of recovery, they no longer think this is a good investment. If they pull the funds now, we’ll not only have to shut down the children’s portion and lose any hope of getting a new facility -- but I might have to pull my Dad off of life support,” she uttered, sobbing again by the end of it.

I felt that familiar crush of the chest.

“Oh, God. That’s...oh, Cadence...” I whispered.

A long silence passed between us as she held onto me.

“How much do you need?” I asked.

“$500,000 to keep the children’s unit alive for the next three months. $5 million to open the new hospital,” she mumbled. “Not that it matters, the economy is shit here. No one has that kind of money, and with my dad incapacitated, the confidence isn’t there for investors. There’s no winning the battle,” she nodded, slowly pulling away.

I gently placed my thumb on her chin, slightly grasping it in my hand to force her to look up at me.

“Hey -- now that’s not the same Cadence I met at Starbucks that gave me some crap about trying to hit on a beautiful woman...” I whispered.

She sniffled and tried to look to the side, but I kept my hand firmly there so she couldn’t lose my gaze.

“I’m serious. Cadence, there’s nothing that can’t be done. You can’t give up on those kids, you can’t give up on your Dad, and you can’t give up on yourself. You didn’t give up on me, and I’m not going to let you give up on you. You understand?” I asked.

She nodded with a sniffle. “But...but, how, Justin?”

I smiled. “Well, you’re in luck. You’ve got some friends in high places. I’ll front the $500k and pitch the facility to some of my VC friends when you’ve healed me...” I finished, but she interrupted.

“No, Justin. I can’t...I can’t let you do that. Not only is it wrong, but I won’t let you. It’s sweet, but...but I can’t...” she trailed.

I laughed. “I’m not taking no for an answer”

“But...but, why? Why not? I mean, you can’t -- I, I don’t know how to repay you. I would never...I just...Justin!?” she sighed, exasperated.

I slowly moved my thumb from her chin to her cheek, gently cupping her beautiful face.

“You can repay me,” I smiled. I stared deeply into her eyes, seeing her vulnerability, and I couldn’t help it.

I leaned in, and I kissed her.

As I pulled away, my lips still tingling in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever felt, I took a deep breath.

“Let me take you to dinner tonight. That’s all I ask,” I smiled.

With a blush and a touch of her lips, she nodded with a slightly worried smile. I knew she was conflicted, but I was just going to have to help her get over that. 

“Good,” I finished, taking her lack of a protest as a win. “I’ll pick you up tonight, here. We’ll go to the courtyard for a late night dinner. Is that agreeable to you?”

She nodded.

“Great, it’s a date.”

 And with that, I walked out of her office with a purpose -- something I hadnt had in a long time.

 

 

 

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