by W. Arthur
Connor Royce awoke with a start. Slowly, he opened his eyes and strained to study his surroundings in the low light. He was vaguely aware that his head felt heavy and the rest of his body was slightly sore. The bed and the sheets in which he was wrapped were unfamiliar. He rubbed his forehead in an attempt to remember how he got here. The gesture didn't help.
Then he felt a smooth hand on his leg. He sprang up, his eyes now wide open. "Good morning." The greeting came from a soft voice behind him.
He managed to sit up and lean against a firm wooden backboard. When he could get his eyes to focus completely, he saw a very attractive naked woman standing next to the bed. She was smiling in his direction.
And suddenly, he started to remember. Yesterday, he had helped the woman - he couldn't remember her name - move from her apartment into a new house. He'd moved furniture and done some minor landscaping. Once he was finished, she offered him dinner and drinks. He couldn't remember much after that. But the fact that she was naked and so was he did more than hint that they had spent the night together.
He returned her smile. "Uh... good morning."
"May I join you?" she asked.
He nodded, awake enough now to fully admire her body and the way it glistened in the low light. He still couldn't remember her name and wondered if he ever actually knew it.
She slipped into the bed and settled herself beside him. She leaned over and kissed him softly on his cheek. "How do you feel this morning?" she asked.
He considered the question. "Uh... I'm not sure."
She smiled again and stroked his cheek. "I'm not surprised," she said. "You had a lot to drink last night. But..." She blushed slightly. "It didn't stop you from... I have to say I was impressed."
He didn't have to ask what she meant. He understood. She wasn't the first woman he didn't remember having sex with. He didn't think she would be the last either. "Thanks," he said. "You weren't so bad yourself."
She chuckled. "Well, thanks for saying that. But I doubt you really mean it."
For some reason, he suddenly felt offended by her remark even though he barely had any memory of the sex or anything else about last night. He reached over and put his hand between her legs. "Come over here and I'll show you."
She lifted his hand off her leg. "Not right now," she said. "Maybe later." She glanced over at him. "No offense meant. Would you like some coffee?"
"Sure," he said. "What time is it anyway?"
She flashed a small scowl. "Early Sunday morning," she replied. "Why? Don't tell me you have to be somewhere this morning. I didn't take you for the church-going type."
He looked at her, then shifted his eyes to his own body covered with a pink satin sheet. He vaguely remembered helping her put the bed together after the furniture arrived. It seemed much longer ago than yesterday. Now, he wasn't sure whether or not she was insulting him or urging him to stay. "No, I don't have to be anywhere. I was just curious."
She got out of bed and made a half-turn toward the open door. "I'll get us some coffee. You stay in bed. When I come back, we'll talk. Okay?"
As he gazed at her naked body on full display, he noted that she was mature but perfectly proportioned. His penis sprang to attention beneath the sheet. A part of him didn't want coffee and definitely didn't want to talk. "Okay, uh..."
She laughed at his discomfort. "Rayshonda," she said. "Dr. Rayshonda Harris. But you can call me Ray. I guess we're on intimate terms now." She moved gracefully through the doorway, leaving him to wonder exactly who Dr. Rayshonda Harris was. Up to now, he had only known her in passing as a tenant at the small Spring Hill Apartment Complex.
But the more he tried to think, the more his head hurt. He also realized he had to go to the bathroom. He rolled out of bed and staggered to another open doorway that led to the ensuite.
When he returned, Ray was back in the room holding two steaming mugs. "I see you found the bathroom," she said. Her eyes ran up and down his well-toned body. She smiled and handed him a mug.
He took a sip. The coffee was hot and freshly brewed, some kind of special blend, probably expensive. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Good coffee. Thanks."
"You're welcome," she said. She sat down in the small chair that accompanied her makeup table. For at least a minute, the room was deathly quiet.
Connor felt oddly anxious, as though she was appraising him. He took another sip of the coffee but barely tasted it.
Finally, she took a deep breath and set her mug down on the table. "Well, Connor... that is your name isn't it?"
He nodded, almost afraid to speak.
"Well, Connor, I have to say that you surprised me a little."
"How?"
"I've watched you at Spring Hill. You're sort of the maintenance guy, aren't you?"
"Resident manager," he said quickly. This was true, although he didn't work that hard at it. He didn't have to, as the complex was owned by his stepfather.
"Sorry," she said. "Anyway, you surprised me yesterday. I didn't take you for being a hard worker."
This was also true. He worked only when he had to... or when an attractive woman like Rayshonda Harris offered to pay him. Still, he was now curious as to why Ray asked him to help her move. "Well, Ray, if that's what you thought, why did you ask me to help you?"
She flashed him a wide smile full of perfect teeth. "I could say that I needed help and you were the first man available," she said. "But, I could also say that I'm a bit of a sucker for a good-looking kid who looks like he's got some muscle."
"So... which is closer to the truth?"
"Probably the latter. But don't let that go to your head."
He blushed slightly, enjoying her attention. "Is that the only way I surprised you?"
"Not exactly," she said. "I have to say that you were a better lover than I thought you would be. You certainly seem to know your way around a woman's body."
"I try," he said. He felt his penis stir again. "Besides, you're a very attractive woman... easy to make love to."
"Ah, the man knows the right things to say," she said.
He stood up. "I'll be happy to give you another demonstration."
She held up her hands and signaled for him to sit. "Not just yet," she said. "I want to know more about you."
Reluctantly, he sat back down. "Why?"
"I'm a psychologist. I'm curious about people, what makes them do what they do. And I'll bet you have an interesting story to tell."
He slumped. His erection wilted. "Wow, you want to do what? Analyze me?"
"Hey, don't be so offended. I have clients who pay more than two hundred dollars an hour for me to sit in an armchair and listen to their stories. You're getting it for free."
With the side benefit of seeing the analyst undressed, he thought. "I don't have much of a story to tell."
"Sure you do," she said. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-five."
"Okay... you're twenty-five, obviously unmarried. Have you ever been married?"
"No."
She nodded. "Let's see what we've got. You're twenty-five, never been married, a marginal worker. Do you have another job besides being resident manager of a ten-unit complex?"
"No."
She nodded again, apparently now in full analyst mode. "I feel like I'm playing twenty questions. But I guess that's how analysis works sometimes. I want to explore your past. I already know that you certainly don't mind jumping into bed with a woman whose name you don't know." She paused.
Connor didn't respond to that last statement. He had practically built his adult life around jumping into bed with any willing woman. He never bothered to question the practice. Live in the moment for how ever long that moment lasts.
"How long have you been the resident manager of Spring Hill?"
He had to think about that. How long had it been? "Uh... a little over two years."
"Did you finish high school?"
"Yes."
"College"
"No."
"Okay. That leaves about five years unaccounted for," she said. "What did you do between high school and two years ago?"
Connor considered the question. What had he done for the past seven years? Not much, he realized. At least, nothing that he could boast about. Most of it was a blur anyway, as though he was waiting in some kind of fog for his real life to begin. He glanced over at Ray. She was gazing at him expectantly, a bemused smile on her smooth face unadorned by makeup. He sighed. "Well... a little of this and a little of that," he said finally.
She laughed. "I guess we'll save that for later," she said. "For now, let's focus on the present. How did you get the job as resident manager?"
This was a question he wasn't sure he really wanted to answer, at least not truthfully. He sighed again. "Let's just say I know the owner." He quickly looked at Ray, hoping she would be satisfied with that answer and not ask the obvious follow up.
But her expression indicated that she was anything but satisfied. "Conner, analysis doesn't work if the client holds back," she said. "Now, I know there's more to that than you're telling me. Who's the person?"
Connor leaned back on the bed. He wasn't quite sure why he didn't want to talk about this. Maybe he was embarrassed because he had never accomplished anything on his own in his life. Maybe, as he gazed at Ray's naked body, he was just tired of talking and was more than ready to sample that body, especially now that he was sober.
But, there was something about the way she looked at him that made him want to open up to her. She was definitely no lightweight submissive woman, he realized. In fact, he could see how she could be very dominant, and it scared him a little to think he was beginning to like it.
He took a deep breath. "Uh... the owner is my mother's husband."
"Your mother's husband?" Ray echoed. "Not your stepfather, but your mother's husband. We can't leave that stone unturned."
"Do you really want to hear all this?" he asked.
"Yes, I do."
He straightened his upper body on the bed. Okay, he told himself, if she wants my life story, I'll give it to her, such as it is. "Where do you want me to start?"
Ray laughed again. "Well, you don't have to tell me about your birth or when you first learned to walk," she said. "But I want to know about your father and why your mother remarried. Just who is this man you call her husband and not your stepfather."
"My father was what my mother called a rolling stone," Connor said, now totally resolved. "Which is probably not the best description considering he spent most of his life at sea."
"Spent?" she said. "So your father is dead?"
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.