Chapter 6

By the time I got back to the office from a leisurely lunch seasoned with a brace of vodka martinis, my highly efficient receptionist had changed from practicing nymphomaniac back into her usual prim, crisp self. Her back to me, she was rattling away at the typewriter as if that particular morning had been like any other -her dark hair neatly reassembled and the pieces of her public personality joined again firmly together. It would have been impossible for an observer to even suspect-looking at her busily intent career-girl performance-that less than two hours earlier she had been thrashing and writhing in orgasm on this very desk at which she was presently working. Appearances could indeed be deceiving. She stopped me as I started toward the inner offices.

"Doctor Masters?" In her professional and competent tone.

I turned. "Yes, Dawn?" Equally professional. But it was impossible for me not think about the juices of our recent encounter swirling warmly in the orifices of her body. I was, in fact, seriously wondering if I would ever again be able to look into her deep china-blue eyes without feeling my sex stirring gently at the memory.

"There was a phone call ... from Miss Holliston. She wanted to know whether you could see her this afternoon. I told her your schedule was packed solid for the rest of the day and that unless it was some sort of an emergency-"

"Who am I supposed to be seeing this afternoon?" I interrupted a bit more sharply than I'd intended.

Dawn gave me a penetrating look and hesitated briefly before turning her attention to the appointment calendar. She didn't appear especially happy-just professional.

"There's Mrs. Epstein at one-Mr. Harrellson at two ... and-this one has already been moved up from yesterday-Mr. Sheff at three." She kept her eyes fixed on the calendar, her pencil tapping slowly, waiting for my decision. It was becoming quite clear that Dawn did not like competition in affairs of the heart or body.

"Move Mr. Sheff again ... to Monday." I watched carefully for her reaction, and saw only a slight tightness at the corners of the mouth.

She looked up. "Do you think it's good public relations, Doctor?" she asked quietly, with what sounded like genuine concern.

Miss McIntyre, I wanted too desperately to say but didn't, the only kind of relations you are at all expert at are sexual-not public!

Out loud, I said calmly. "Damn, if you'll forgive me a little instant analysis, Mr. Sheff is a pain in the ass. The only problem in the world he really has is in actuality a fairly common affliction of the human race ... for which no one has as yet developed successful therapy-he's a bore. He has absolutely uncontrollable obsessions to describe in intricate detail every amorous conquest in his life to date. He simply needs an audience ... and I provide that audience ... only because he pays me very well to do so. Believe me, he will understand. He happens to know he's a bore." Moving back to her desk, I picked up the folder on Holly. "Call him and give him an hour on Monday. And tell Miss Holliston it's okay for three."

"Yes, Doctor." She reached for the phone and I started again for my office, turning back on a sudden impulse. I waited while she placed the calls.

"Dawn-"

"Yes, Doctor?"

As briefly as possible, I told her about my intention to use Holly's case in the book I was presently working on. "I'm sure you can appreciate the fact that it's essential for the therapist to spend as much time as possible with the patients he hopes to analyze in sufficient depth to warrant inclusion of their case in such a technical work."

She nodded. "Of course. I understand, Doctor."

I plunged blindly ahead. "Well, it's practically imperative that the patient-doctor relationship include observation outside the psychiatrist's office. Consequently, I intend to invite Miss Holliston to go along with my wife and myself and our neighbors to spend the weekend at the lake." I allowed a properly dramatic pause and then dealt her the last card-an ace: "I'd appreciate it very much if you would come along, too, to take notes of Miss Holliston's reactions in more social situations."

Dawn, who had tensed noticeably at my mention of taking Holly along with me to the lake, seemed much more relaxed suddenly. The idea of pitting her physical presence against that of Holly and my wife appealed to her a great deal. She was smiling as she said, "Wow. That sounds like fun, Doctor."

"You'll be paid for your time, of course," I put in hastily, but I knew, unnecessarily. Wild stallions couldn't have kept her away.

I felt certain Holly would also leap at the idea because-well, frankly-because Holly was Holly. Ella might be a bitchy but temporary problem when she was confronted with the youth and beauty of the patient, but I knew how desperately Ella wanted to spend the weekend on that cruiser, as close as possible to Dave Foster's gigantic and very available prick. Ella would be agreeable.

"Why don't you take the afternoon off," I suggested to Dawn, "and take care of anything you might already have been planning to get out of the way this weekend? And we'll pick you up at your place ... say ... about seven this evening. Okay?"

"If you're sure you won't need me-" Dawn stood and began fussing without any particular objective at things on her desk.

"No problem at all here. Go ahead and get yourself ready for the trip." As she moved toward the coat rack to get her jacket, I added, "and for God's sake, don't forget your swim-suit."

She left, grinning from ear to ear, and I went to my desk with the folder on Holly, hoping to get through it before my one o'clock appointment arrived.

From the biographical material Dawn had neatly typed out and assembled, I learned that Holly's hometown was indeed small-population 687 and falling-that both her parents, and her step-father, had been candidates for Alcoholics Anonymous-and that her father, a "boomer," whatever that was-had vanished from the home for parts unknown when Holly was about ten. It was there, as Holly had said it would be, about her working at the moment as a spangled-G-string-only girl on stage. Nothing whatever in the typescript offered any clues to the origin of her obsession for fellatio.

Putting the folder aside, I waited with something less than enthusiasm for the appearance of Mrs. Epstein, a wealthy ex-cocktail waitress who was paying me fifty dollars per fifty-minute hour to eventually deliver her from the ravages of cigarette smoking. My success with her might best be measured by the fact that she had escalated her consumption from three to four packs a day in the two short months she'd been in therapy.

She finally arrived and smoked an entire pack through her fifty-minute hour. She was followed by Duane Harrellson, who claimed he had recently visited a distant planet via a flying saucer. Finally he was through with his therapy session and was gone.

Three o'clock came, but Holly didn't. Silence ticked in the small office as the minutes crawled along the face of the clock. I had the phone in my hand, preparing to dial her number, when I heard the outer door to the office open and close. I bounded from behind the desk.

"You're late," I burst out almost reproachfully.

"I'm sorry, Cord ... okay if I still call you that?" Her small voice was exactly as warm and soft as I'd remembered and she looked absolutely ravishing-the honey-blonde hair piled high, her large brown eyes long-lashed and lovely, locked tightly on mine in that open, childlike gaze of hers that nearly drove me up the wall.

I was nodding rather idiotically as I advanced to help her out of the poncho-like top of her outfit, hanging it up for her. "Of course, it's okay. Don't be silly." I noticed that she was looking interested at the vacant receptionist's chair. "Miss McIntyre's-uh-gone for the day."

"Oh." That tiny knowing little smile was on her lips, but she saved me the embarrassment of commenting further.

I managed to finally get her poncho onto a hanger, and crossed back to her. "I hope there's nothing wrong. I hadn't expected to see you again until next week." I added quickly, "But I'm really glad you came. There's something I want to ask you."

"Nothing's wrong... I just..." She shrugged in an apparent loss for words. "I guess I just wanted ... to see you again. You know?"

I knew. Did I ever know! We simply stood there for several breaths. "Holly-"

She broke off her gaze and stepped past me, moving toward my inner office. "What did you want to talk to me about, Cord?" she said in the doorway.

I followed her into my office and told her about the weekend plans. Her reaction was typically Holly-as I'd expected it to be.

"Shit, yes! Christ, yes!" She sat down in the green leather chair and lanced me with those remarkable brown eyes. "Even knowing I'll be under observation-as you put it-there's no question that two days on the lake will beat two days of my usual big weekend. Know what I do a lot of weekends, Doc? You really want to know?" She tilted her head in that captivating mannerism of hers and smiled up at me, pressing just the tip of her tongue between her teeth. "Maybe you should put another cartridge in that recorder before I tell you."

I returned her smile, feeling the emotion she always started in me stirring somewhere in my loins. "That won't be necessary. Go on and tell me."

She hesitated.

"Holly," I began, sitting down and leaning toward her across the desk. "I want to hypnotize you."

"Hypnotize me?" For some reason the idea struck her as being hilarious, and she began giggling, quickly controlling herself when she saw that I was quite serious. "What for? I-uh -I mean, I-uh-I thought that sort of thing was just show business stuff."

"It's not exactly. It's really quite an exact science. You might think of it as ... well ... a key, I suppose. You see, Holly, nothing that ever happens to anyone is ever really lost to the mind's memory ... it's just that many of the things that happen are what we headshrinkers call 'repressed' by the conscious mind ... locked away way back in the subconscious mind somewhere. Hypnotism often is a method which functions as a key to unlock the door to the subconscious ... and let the doctor take a look inside."

I found a cigarette in the desk and lit it. "Unfortunately, it doesn't always work. There are people who can not be hypnotized ... at least not without so much effort on the doctor's part that would make it totally worthless. Now, you may be one of these 'refractory' patients who cannot or will not go under all the way. But I think it would be well worth a try ... since you seem to have no conscious memory whatsoever of any sexual experiences prior to age fourteen. Your subconscious mind may remember something that will help us find the key to the causes of your present problem. But, obviously, I need your permission and complete cooperation in order to do it. Are you willing?"

I waited almost tensely for her answer, feeling my knees beginning to tremble slightly, still wondering what my real motives were with this lovely girl.

Holly, as usual, was reading my mind. She blew a blue plume of smoke at me and said, smiling, "How do I know you won't try to fuck me while I'm under your influence?"

I swallowed a very dry lump of air. "I asked you if you trusted me. You said you did."

She went on smiling. "Yeah. I did say that, didn't I." She ground out her cigarette, big brown eyes locked on mine as though searching for an ulterior motive. And the hell of it was-I wasn't sure at all that there might not be one there lurking for her to discover. She seemed convinced, finally, of my pure intentions-even if I wasn't-and stood up, saying, "Okay, Cord. You want me to lie on the couch over there?"

"If you like ... it really isn't necessary, though." I followed her to the couch and she stretched out carefully on the green leather cushions, pressing her miniskirt primly down, keeping her eyes on mine, perhaps to see if I was trying to sneak a peek. I was. But she was still smiling-more, I suppose, with understanding than with humor.

"Okay, Doc," she chirped cheerily, "zap me with the big eye."

I began the lengthy process, and she went under so very swiftly that I thought she might be trying to put me on-which wouldn't exactly have been out of character for her. But, no. One sharp, ordinarily painful, pinch on her suggestion-numbed forearm made it clear that she was thoroughly under. The knowledge of her quick response to my suggestions of sleep was both pleasing and not-so-pleasing to me. Pleasing, because it meant there was no question whatsoever that she trusted me implicitly.

Putting a fresh cartridge in the recorder, I carried the microphone back with me to the chair I'd dragged up beside the quietly breathing girl on the couch-doing my very best not to look too closely at her exposed thighs-for, as she had relaxed into a hypnotic sleep, her body had slipped down slightly on the cushions and the miniskirt had retreated upward. Although I permitted myself only the tiniest of glances in that direction, it was enough to identify a thin shard of the pale blue silk material of her panties.

I pressed the button that started the tape. "You're very deeply asleep, Holly ... very deeply asleep ..." I went into the comforting phrases which would pull her deeper and deeper into her subconscious, trying to bring back the past... "you are drifting back in time, Holly ... drifting back to a time before you were fourteen ... to a time when something happened to you that you don't want to remember. You are going to remember ... can you see a man with you? Is there some man with you?"

"No, I can't see him. It's awful dark in here ... not nice ... I know who it is ... I know ..."

"Who is that man, Holly? Tell me who the man is."

"It's-it's Daddy." Her voice, as she regressed backwards in her subconscious mind to an earlier age, had risen in key to that of a little girl of perhaps six or seven.

"What is he doing, Holly?"

"Nothing. Daddy's just standing there ... I can hear him breathing and he smells all kind of funny. I'm scared! He gets so mean when he smells funny like this." She began to whimper softly, like a frightened child.

"It's all right, Holly. You don't have to be afraid now. Everything is fine. He won't be mean to you."

The whimpering subsided as she lay there quietly for a moment. "He's petting my hair now. It feels nice ... he isn't nice to me very often..."

I leaned closer and spoke very softly. "Holly, tell me everything that is happening- everything."

"Daddy's just standing there in the dark, petting my hair... and whispering real low. I can't tell what you're saying Daddy ... you're talking too low ... not like you usually do. It feels so good to have you touching me without hitting me ... you always hit me, Daddy ... but now you're being nice to me. You love me, Daddy, don't you? I know you love me.

"The bed is sinking down real far ... you're so heavy on the bed, Daddy ... it's so dark in here... oh, Daddy, it feels so good when your hand moves across my face and neck. I like it when you pet me ... it feels so nice and warm ... but why is your body trembling? And why don't you have your clothes on? I just touched you and you're shaking all over and you don't have any clothes on ... oh, that's why you're here in my room ... you're cold and you want to get into my bed with me so we can snuggle. I'll move over and make a little room for you, Daddy...

"Your hand feels so nice when you rub me all over like that, Daddy ... running your hand ever so gently all over my body ... all the way to the bottom of my fleecy new nightie ... down my legs and all the way back up ... oh, Daddy, that feels funny when your hand touches that slit between my legs ... okay, I'll lie still ... but you're fingers are so tickly there ... and it feels sort of funny and sort of nice ... and my tummy feels all fluttery ... I can't help scooting all around on the bed when you do that, Daddy ... it feels so funny ...

"Oh, what's that big thing down between your legs? ... I don't have one of those ... what is it? It's so big and long ... and it's fun to curl my fingers around ... and it's so hot and shaking ... what is it, Daddy? It feels so hard, like a giant finger ... only much, much bigger ... and it's all sticky at the end ... why are you moving your hand over it, Daddy?" She stopped suddenly.

"Holly, what's happening ... tell me what's happening."

"Daddy's moving back and forth now and I can feel his big thing sliding inside my fist ... it sort of jerks ... he's moving again ... now he's kneeling over me ... right above my head and I'm under him ... and I can feel the tip of his tongue between my legs, OOOOHHHH! It feels even funnier than his finger down there between my legs ... all wet and hot ... and he's pulling my legs apart ... opening my little slit and his tongue is licking me ... I can feel his whiskers against my legs but his tongue feels so good that I don't want to say anything that will make him mad at me. I can feel his tongue tickling me down there where I pee ... I like having Daddy nice to me.

"Now he's moving on the bed again ... he's trying to put something rubbery and sticky into my mouth ... it's that thing I had my hand on ... that big hard thing ... and I think he wants me to lick the sticky end of it like he's licking me ... oh, it tastes all kind of salty on my tongue ... and it feels real soft and smooth ... oh ... he's pushing down on me and I can feel this round rubbery thing trying to get between my lips and into my mouth ... but it's too big to fit ... I'm trying ... honest ... I'm trying to open my mouth so far ... it tastes so warm and nice and he's moving it up and down so gently that I know he doesn't want to hurt me ... but he keeps moving it faster and faster ... and I can feel it sliding so smoothly in and out of my lips ... Daddy loves me after all. It feels nice to have my daddy love me ... maybe if I move my tongue around he'll love me even more ... he's really tickling me between my legs.

"What's happening? His thing is jerking all over the place ... I'm trying to hold it with my hand ... but it's jerking and jumping ... and there's something all sticky and salty coming out of the end of it,.. aaggghhh ... it's pouring down my throat... I don't understand ... did I hurt my daddy? What is happening to his thing? ... I'm moving my head away now ... but the sticky stuff is dripping on my face and running down my neck and into my hair ... it feels nice and warm ... I hope it never stops ... I feel so warm ... I bet Daddy's warm, too.

"But where is Daddy going? He's taking his hard thing away from me and he's going ... I'm reaching for it but I can't find it... I can hear Daddy by the door ...

"Daddy ... it's so nice ... come back ... please ... please ... come back ... Daddy? Daddy?"

Holly had begun whimpering again, still a small girl in her mind. Just then her finger dipped into her fur-lined pussy and began tickling back and forth.

I snapped off the tape and put the mike on the floor. My hand was trembling violently and the trembling gradually moved to the rest, of my body as I fought to control the emotion that I felt at that moment-at that nameless man who had done this thing to the pitiful little girl who lay whimpering before me on the couch. And that was what she was-my lovely little Holly-still a little girl today, a little girl desperately searching for the only kind of love she had ever known from her father. The realization was like a hammer blow to my head. It was obvious that Holly had loved her father very much and had wanted his love in return-and this was the only way she had ever gotten it. How could I tell her the truth?

"Everything's fine now, Holly. You're going to sleep now, and you feel very comfortable and relaxed." As I took her into a natural sleep, I sat there frozen-watching her-nearly hypnotized myself by the incredible beauty of this girl. And fully realizing that she was no longer just another patient to me.

Moving to the stereo recorder, I removed the cartridge and slipped it into my jacket pocket. Returning to the couch, I began to bring Holly out of her trance, taking special care to remove all conscious memory of the session just conducted. There mustn't be the slightest possibility that she could recall anything of this experience. Her subconscious mind had spent years developing the barriers to protect her from this knowledge-it could be disastrous if the curtain were suddenly and prematurely ripped away.

I completed the revival technique and then stepped back as she began to rouse herself, yawning broadly and stretching her arms and legs like a cat. Her eyes finally opened wide and she sat there smiling at me almost shyly.

"Hey, wow!" she said. "I think I feel asleep on you, Doc."

She stood up and I caught her by the arm, gently but firmly, and turned her towards me. Her eyes were wide again, with some surprise, but with a sense of delight. Her lips parted slightly and she moistened them with the tip of her tongue and went on looking at me, searching me with her eyes.

"Holly-" I began.

"Yes, Cord?"

"I-uh-it-uh-it just occurred to ... about your job, I mean. Won't you get into trouble not being there on a Friday night?" It was a transparent second effort to keep myself from saying what I had nearly said to her, but Holly played my game.

"No, I won't get into trouble," she said shaking her head slowly. "I lost my job." She dropped her eyes briefly, then glanced back at me again. "I suppose that's the real reason I came to your office this afternoon. To tell you that... but I chickened out."

I stared at her, puzzled. "What do you mean? You were afraid to tell me you had lost your job? I don't understand."

"Well, you know ... we sort of had a deal ... about your book and all, I mean."

Nodding briskly, still not quite seeing her point. "Yes, of course we did. But, I still don't see-"

She began removing lint that wasn't there from my jacket. "Well, it's-it's just that-just that-"

"What is it, Holly-for God's sake?" I was growing genuinely concerned now, so much so that I imagined I could feel the hair moving gently on the back of my neck, feeling some strange fear that I could not have put into words. I took her firmly by both arms and forced her to look at me.

"You're trying to tell me you're going to leave here? You're going away?"

"I have to, Cord. Don't you see? Girlie dancers don't make the kind of money it takes for a place like that unless-unless they fuck. And I just didn't want nice things that badly. Not badly enough that every time I did it I would feel I was being raped. I can't stay here anymore. Don't you understand? I haven't got a job, I haven't got any money ... there just isn't any choice. I'll have to go back home."

I found my faltering voice. "Please, Holly, don't think about going away from here. Stay. I can help you-I will help you." I pulled her close.

"Please, Cord. Don't, please don't." And she pushed away from me. "I don't know what's wrong. It has something to do with a dream I had. I don't know. I just feel as though I'd like the world to open up and swallow me. Help me, Cord. Please, help me. You promised."

Under the steady gaze of those beautiful brown eyes swimming with tears, my stiffened prong wilted like butter in the sun.

"Yes," I said wearily. "I remember, Holly. I will help you."