The couch that I have spent the last few months lying on seems to get more uncomfortable every time I lay on it. The cushioning seems to be diminishing and at the price that I pay, I would expect more. But then again, it could just be that I’m growing tired of this whole charade and I’m looking for any excuse to complain. After all, isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?

My therapist looks at me lustfully as she comes in and shuts the door, pulling her hair from her bun and whishing it around like a second rate playboy model, “I scheduled you for an hour today.”

She sits on my crotch and swings her legs in either side of me sides, rubbing herself against me roughly, “Did you miss me?”

I take it as a rhetorical question as she undoes my shirt and I close my eyes, lying back against the couch. That phrase has only been attractive when coming from another mouth. It’s the only person worth answering. I don’t know if I’m capable of missing anyone since I’ve never had a longing for anyone before, but I do know that if dreaming of one girl constantly constitutes missing, I have a severe case of it. I’m not sure if it’s the chase that makes me want her so badly or the fact that I just have become so absorbed in her that when she’s not with me, I don’t know what to do with myself. The good news for me is that I have a very active imagination and have the ability to imagine a completely different person than the one going down on me.

I was convinced to go to therapy by my mother who thought it would be good for me to talk everything out and get it out in the open. Someone suggested Dr. Philips and mom set up the appointment. I certainly wasn’t happy about the whole thing so during the second session when she hiked up her skirt and unbuttoned her blouse, I didn’t see a reason to complain. After all, it was a lot better than having to explain why I do what I do and have someone translate it to a deeper meaning.

There is no deeper meaning for the thing I do, I’m just fucked up. Though in comparison to Meg, maybe I’m normal. What the hell is normal anyway? Some fucking billboard you see while driving for no other reason than there is nothing else to look at but that, showing a mother, father and their two point five kids? I don’t think so. Maybe that’s why Megan is so fucked up. Because that billboard is her life. A big lie to cover up the shit that her family goes to extremes to hide. Her mother is a debutant who got married way too young, popped out a couple of kids and pawned them off on their nanny. Daddy isn’t so great either. He probably couldn’t tell me what collar her eyes are. Green. Deep see green.

I wonder as Dr. Philips attaches herself to my mouth if she’s sleeping with anyone else of her clientele or if I’m just special. I’m pretty sure though that she’s crossing some sort of moral line but she’s still in business and certainly not the worst lay I’ve ever had.

She groans and goes limp, landing against me as she tries to regain her breathe, “That was great.”

All I know is that if she doesn’t get off me in a minute I’m going to toss her off. It makes my skin crawl to have her on top of me, “So… I’ll see you next week.”

Finally she hops off me and dresses herself, “We have ten minutes left so just to summarize, how are you feeling?”

Oh no, I’m not playing that game, “Just fine.”

“Anything you want to get off your chest?”

I roll my eyes at her stupidity. Yes I just had sex and now I’m going to tell her how my mother never hugged me enough or some shit like that and we can play doctor, “No. Should I?”

She ignores me which I think is against the rules in this business, “Any relationship problems?” she pries.

“Nothing you can help me with,” I say sarcastically.

“Girl problems?” she says a little too sweetly.

I stand up and button up my shirt, “What do you do when the girl you want want’s nothing more than a roll in the sack?”

She tenses up and suddenly I realize she doesn’t like hearing about other women. The thought makes me chuckle lightly. Like were in some kind of fucking relationship or something. I wish Meg would get jealous like that. Every time I mention another woman she just nods. It’s not like she ever really listens to me anyway. Which reminds me that Dr. Philips is dishing out advice and I’ve tuned her out so I snap back to attention, “You forget her and move on to someone who’s willing to fulfill your needs.”

I start to feel nauseous and put my hand on the door, “Thanks for the advice, I’ll see you.”

“If you need me, call baby.”

Suddenly I realize how ridiculous I must have sounded to Meg that morning. I practically run out of the building and prepare myself for a very big night, my release party for Jordan.

________________________________________________________________________

I slither into a skin tight dress and zip up the material until the point I can’t breathe. Alexandra looks me over from head to toe, “You look good.”

“Thanks,” I say, spraying some perfume onto my wrist and rubbing them together. Alex comes up behind me and hooks the diamond securely around my neck.

“So what exactly is this party you’re dragging yourself to for?”

I bite my lip and search through my planner. I look up the date and read it off, “Tonight is the release party for a new artist, Jordan, who Justin Timberlake is premiering on dad’s label.”

She hops onto my bed and lays down, playing with the fringe on one of the decorative pillows, “This bed is clean right?”

I turn around and roll my eyes at her. Alex takes some wine out of the bottle that I keep next to the bed in case of a much needed pick me up and pours herself some, “I was just checking. So do you know who the new artist is?”

“Not at the moment, dad hasn't said anything, but I suspect by the time the party is over I will.”

Alex bites the inside of her cheek, “And you’re going to go home with this guy in front of Justin?”

“He’s cool with it. It’s not like we have ever been closer than a few quick fucks. Besides, he’s sleeping around with other people as well.”

Alex shrugs, “He just seems to care for you that’s all.”

I start to laugh, “Justin Timberlake? He’s gets screwed every day, believe me he’s not looking for anyone long term. I’m sure he’ll have some girl attached to him by the time tonight is over.”

“If you say so.”

“Now I have to go get some more oils to finish my painting and then the party but tomorrow I don’t have anything going on if you want to hang out, go to the beach or something.”

Alex hands me some wine as well, “Why don’t you see where you wake up tomorrow and we’ll play it by year.”

I turn to her, “Be my best friend and drop it Alex.”

“You can’t use sex to block out everything Meg. Sooner or later everyone has to deal with there own shit.”

“I’ll see you later,” I say, walking out of the room.

________________________________________________________________________

I watch her smooze over all the other people in the room. I mean for fucking sake it’s my release party for my new artist. Her smile bounces from person to person and I watch her in a fit of jealousy hang out with every breathing male in the place except for me. Finally on what can only be described as a lifetime she makes her way over to me, kissing me on the cheek, “Hey you.”

I go stiff as she kisses me and cocks her head to the side, “You okay?”

I nod, realizing she just asked me how I was feeling and that it causes my stomach to turn in anticipation of what I could have. She looks around, “So where is Jordan? I’m anxious to meet your new protégée.”

A smile crosses my face as I realize what she was planning on tonight and it isn’t going to happen, making me even more excited. Apparently daddy has informed his daughter in on the new artist yet, “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

I take her hand in mine and lead her over the Jordan. I touch her shoulder and she turns around, “Jordan, this is Megan Currie.”

Meg looks surprised, “Oh, hi.”

Jordan enthusiastically shakes her hand, “It’s such an honor to meet you.”

“Me?” she asks curiously.

“Yes, my father is a co-owner in your art gallery. I love your work.”

She smiles this genuine smile, “Thank you so much.”

“Your use of colors amazes me. Where do you get your inspiration?”

I can see Meg lowering her guard. That one she keeps up with any male that approaches her, “Generally I just walk around the city for a while and when I see something that inspires me, I take a Polaroid and use it as a base. Since most of my pictures are abstract it serves more towards the colors or movement I chose to use.”

“Did you ever consider trying portraits?”

Her eyes light up, “I have thought about it but I have yet to dabble in it. I’m afraid that once I start and can’t get it to look the way I want I’ll hit a rut.”

Jordan puts her hand on Meg’s, “I know exactly what you mean. When I try to lay tracks down and it doesn’t come out the way I want it to it can be the most frustrating thing in the whole world.”

Someone calls Jordan’s name and she turns around quickly to see the person before turning back, “I have to go but it was so nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Meg adds.

I watch Jordan leave and lean over to Meg, “Did you think you were getting laid tonight?”

She turns to me, her game face back on, “I know so.”

“Jordan isn’t a guy Meg.”

“I can see that,” she retorts, clearly annoyed by the fact that her lay is not someone carrying the kind of “endowment” she needs to get off.

“I guess your release depends on me,” I respond, a smirk appearing on my face.

She runs a finger down my shirt, “I depend on no one. Don’t you remember the golden rule? I always have a back up. My partner tonight is standing right over there,” she says. I turn around to see a guy who looks like he belongs in the NFL with the size of his arms.

She closes her eyes and leans up, sucking on my Adam’s apple before releasing me, “I’ll be seeing you Justin.”