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An Evening with Dr. Freud

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The girl next door, fucking hell.

He hadn’t watched her grow up, thank god, hadn’t known her that long. And last year, it was ok, he could ignore her bullshit. That summer, she’d turned eighteen. Determined to both smite college on the first day and show off her body to him, she’d lain on the grass near his driveway, ‘pre-studying,’ as he dug up a flower bed or rebuilt his lawn mower. Informing him, in an important voice, of the things in her books.

“Dr. Freud says…”

He swallowed a laugh.

“…that the Id is the primitive part of your mind. Like it’s the aggressive stuff, and, and your memories you forgot, and … like sexual stuff.”

“Oh yeah?”

“But the superego is your conscience. It makes you feel guilty if you do something and proud if you don’t.”

Twirling a wrench, western style, “Superegos are dicks.”

“Shut up. Ego, and this is weird because I thought ego was being cocky, but anyways Ego is the realistic part. Ego sort of…is practical. Negotiates between Id and Superego to get each of them something they want.”

“The NATO of your brain.”

A dismissive sniff. “I learned about NATO last semester.”

“I remember. You read it to me.”

“Shut up.”

Flash forward. She was done with that first year of college, high on success and looking for trouble. She flirted with him every chance she got, sure that she could get him to teach her a few things. Teasing him outright, she sassed him every time he saw her, and then was all contrite, sweet girl, apologizing and batting her eyes. Coming up with excuses to come over to borrow things she didn’t need. Changing her hair and asking his opinion. (He was ok with most of it; the pile on top of her head was sexy, and who doesn’t like a ponytail, sure, fine, but he had to grit his teeth at the pigtails.) But also sucking up to his friends to get invites to things at his house. (Two of them would’ve been happy to fuck her, but she played on their lust and then looked at him.)

He was precisely twice her age, but she didn’t care. At all. She was determined he was going to fuck her, come hell or high water, which was irritating. It would have been a lot easier if she’d gone away to college, if there wasn’t a Big Ten school around the corner. Because it was truly irritating. She was hotter than hell, ok, fine. But he didn’t, at least on a Better Angels day, want to fuck someone who didn’t know better. Except that, on a Not A Better Angels day, he completely did.

In the war between his Id and his Superego, a treaty had been brokered by his Ego. He couldn’t speak for everyone, but his Id was a right asshole and his Superego a pious jerk. So that left Ego, the only one of them that was worth a fart in space, to step in and get things under control.

Superego: “Fucking an eighteen year old girl is every variety of not ok, you swamp thing.”

Id: “What the fuck are you talking about? It’s legal in every state, you pussy.”

Ego: “Guys, Guys. We can work this out. Something about nineteen is less…evening-news-worthy. Nineteen is ok.”

Superego: “Fine, lie to yourself, pervert.”

Id: “Fuck off, asshole.”

Ego: “Everyone chill the fuck out.”

Id: “So when is she nineteen?”

Superego: “Why, so you can lurk?”

Ego: “I’ll find out. We got this, guys; nineteen it is.”

He wouldn’t fuck an eighteen year old girl, but he would fuck a nineteen year old girl. Like they say, a good compromise sends everyone home pissed off.


She finagled an invitation to a pool party — cock-teased one of his poker buddies into asking her. Which also pissed him off, partly because she was once again trying to draw him out, and partly because he saw some of the teasing, and Aaron’s dick get hard while she did it. Fine. “A couple of the guys have kids your age. You can hang out with them.” He felt a fair amount of satisfaction that this pissed her off, that she literally flounced away, like a child. But also holy hell, that ass. Chef’s kiss.

Ego: “Watch it.”

Id: “Whatever.”

Superego: “You motherfuckers are both degenerates.”

Ego and Id: “Fuck you.”

“Why do you start with me all the time? See, the thing is, I think that mouth of yours is all a front. That you’re a tease and an asshole.” And then he started thinking about her mouth. And then her ass. Goddamn it. She was getting to him, real talk.

Id, Superego and Ego, from their respective vantage points, but in unison: “Keep your eye on the ball, man.”

Working on his car, of course she came over to fuck with him. She always found ways to get him alone. Drove him nuts. He wondered if she knew that he was jacking off every day dreaming of the wonderland up her skirt. Thinking of using that cute little body dusk til dawn. Thinking how she’d look on all fours. Riding him, her tits in his face. On her belly, spreading her ass. On her knees sucking his cock.

On a particularly mouthy day, Id had her on her back, hands tied above her head, squirming under his roving hands ankara escort bayan and flickering tongue. Making her wait for it, edge her. Make her apologize, with talent, for all the mental distress she’d caused, before doing her the favor of letting her suck him off, for the promise of getting her off after. But let’s see how good a little cocksucker you can be first, ok?

Whatever, Superego was sincerely sweet to her. Superego brought her flowers, told her she was brilliant, and meant it. Ego made sure she got hers. Ego gave her 200% of what Id had promised, and made damned sure she had no regrets.

He saw her, ass up on a pillow, ankles around his neck. Saw himself teaching her to use her hands, her lips, her tongue, on him. The thought of pulling her onto his cock, picturing the look on her face when he started to fuck her for real, the taste of pussy on his lips, the smell of his cock on her breath, coming on her tits, her ass — in her ass — he was dizzy with it. “Could you please stop the Hot for Teacher thing?”

Dropping to lie on the grass beside the car, big stretch, “What do you mean?”

Ego: “You had to open your mouth.”

At the party, he overheard her parents talking about what to get her for her birthday. Under the arched eyebrow of Ego, he asked when it was. June 30th. Twenty days.

Id: “This is stupid. It’s just a number.”

Superego: “Everything is just a number, including the one they print on the mugshot.”

Ego: “Jesus, you two are exhausting.”

They all spent some time picturing birthday presents she might enjoy.

He heard her and her girlfriend bitching that the boys “totally can’t even kiss non-grossly, much less do anything else well.” He stood there, stock still, hearing that when some kid named Liam fingered her, she came *thisclose* to getting off, but he gave up the game before she got there, that she’d had to take care of it herself. There was much giggling. The girlfriend had smacked her on the arm, “You are such a slut.”

“Shut up, I had to lay in my poor lonely bed and do it myself. That’s not a slut, that’s tragic.”

This was not an image he was able to shake. His imagination arranged her on her back, knees up, in one her cute little cotton dresses that button up the front. He saw the top buttons undone and her fingers pinching her nipple. He saw her other hand sneaking up her skirt, petting her thighs, stroking her pussy through the fabric of lacy panties. He felt like he could almost smell her as her fingers slipped under the elastic between her legs. He imagined her taking her sweet time with herself, finally getting herself off with both hands between her legs, rubbing her clit with one, and fucking herself with the other, gasping in the silent room.

Then he spent some time thinking of taking care of it for her, and managed to make it about one minute before he came all over his hand.

Id: “I wonder what Jergens stock goes for?”

Ego and Superego: “Fuck off.”


She had been a jerk at the party, following him when he went to get ice, sitting on the kitchen table while he filled the cooler. His annoyed-to-erection ratio was getting dangerous in both directions, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the sliver of panties she was showing him. She wasn’t even trying to keep her legs together. Her panties were pink. Her thighs looked delicious. Looking at her tits now, nipples showing through the too small, too thin shirt, thinking, if this girl didn’t stop this shit, he was completely going to lose his shit and eat her pussy in this kitchen. “I swear to god you are a fucking child.”

“I am not a fucking child, you’re a child.”

“You know that is something a child would say, right?” Now they were both pissed off. At least shit like that helped him resist, focus on the treaty. But the smell of her perfume, her pussy getting wet for him, stayed with him for two days.

Later that day, she got over her pique with a swim. In a bikini that was from last summer. She put her tits in his face reaching into the cooler. “That’s a nice swim suit you’re almost wearing.” Id was already winning the battle of wills, and then he opened his mouth. Not looking at her, “Why is that Mike kid being weird to you?”

Ego: “Goddammit.”

“I wanted to lose my virginity. He got elected. But now he wants to date, and I don’t. I mean, it was fine for him, but at first it hurt, then it, I mean I know this sounds weird, but it was boring. He definitely got the hard part over with. But then he got it all over my shirt. We did it for a few months, and it got better, but still. But I wanted to do it before college, and he didn’t tell anyone; he said he never will, and I believe him. He’s nice that way. And he…we…learned how to make it ok for me. But it’s weird now. I wish one of us had gone away to college instead of just going here.”

For fuck’s sake. Not even a virgin. That would’ve made it easier; deflowering was not his jam.

Id: “Not even a virgin, man, and legal as hell. Booyah!”

Superego: eryaman escort “We. Are. Not. fucking an eighteen year old girl, virgin or not. Hard pass.”

“He said I give good head.”

“How would he know? Kid’s guaranteed had exactly as many blowjobs as you’ve given him.” Man, she had pretty lips. Now his head was taking her chin in one hand and the back of her head in the other.

Ego stepped in fast. “Go the fuck home.”


A week out from her birthday, her ring got stuck on her finger. Maybe it did. Maybe t didn’t, knowing her. In any event, she asked him to help her take it off. Id took the wheel.

“Suck your finger — that’ll get it off.” She just looked at him for a moment — she knew. “Suck it. Get it off.” She did. She didn’t make a cartoon of it, took her time. She took three long sucks getting it off. He stood there looking at her, thinking about her playing with herself in her lace-canopied bed. Looking at her mouth, his mind swam in images of her on sucking his cock, getting herself off while she was at it.

He was thinking about her at inappropriate moments — at work, at his poker games. Fantasizing about eating her pussy, getting her crazy. Fucking her every way it was possible to fuck a chick. Such a pain in the ass, he’d like to be a pain in her ass — well, no, not a pain. Get her asking for it. Getting her to straddle his face, dreaming of her opening the lips of her pussy to him, showing him how she liked to play with herself, licking between her fingers as she did it.

His mind was licking her clit until her back arched. Pushing his cock into her pussy with her legs wrapped around his neck. Teasing her with a butt plug until her ass swiveled on it — getting her right on the edge, ready to come, and then smacking that ass. Jolting the butt plug. “That’s it, baby, show me what I’m getting next.”

He was a pretty big guy, for a little girl. His imagination had her creaming on his cock, not wincing on it. Be fun to get her into it, enough into it to push back at him. See what happens if he resisted her efforts to get him further inside. “Not yet, sweetheart. You’ve been teasing me relentlessly. You wanted me to beg, huh? Well, you better believe you’re going to beg.” Smacking her ass just enough to tap that butt plug in rhythm to the fucking.

Superego: “Turn the fuck nineteen already, for fuck’s sake. We’re doing the best we can, here.”

She caught him looking her over, lingering on her hips, clearly outlined by a soft knit dress. When she realized he looked at her most wolfishly when she wore skirts and t-shirts, or really anything knit, she stocked up. His favorite, though, again based on the look on his face, was a cardigan she’d had since she was fifteen. It didn’t fit so well anymore.

He was a shit poker player, and even worse at not showing that this girl was getting him crazy. His buddies were entertained, if jealous. “Dude. It’s happening. You’re going to bend her over. You’re just waiting to come up with the right justification.”

Id: “You want to tell them?”

Ego and Superego: “Please stop.”

They made a bet how long he’d hold off. “It’s not like I would fucking tell you assholes.”

“First, it’s ‘will,’ not ‘would.'” Second, it’ll be all over your face. Third, Call.”

He lost. Again. Seventy-eight bucks. “At least I got off easy.”

“And so will she, man.” Much laughter. “She’s a piece of work, bro, keep us posted.” More laughter, this time at the look on his face, thinking it.


Ego was barely able to moderate the cage-match. Id was getting out in front, thinking strategically. Logistics. How to arrange a meet’n’greet in his bed. Superego had mostly bought in to the justification and was hanging on by the skin of his teeth, really needing her to turn the fuck nineteen already.

He started to find ways touch her. Once, it was because the clasp on her necklace had turned to the front, “This necklace never stays put.” And turned the clasp, lingering on the back of her neck, straightening the tiny charm between her breasts. Another time, it was because one of her long dark hairs was clinging the back of her sweater dress, on her hip.

Superego tried to joke it away: “I wouldn’t fix this for you if it four inches to the left.”

“Yes you would.”

Id: “She’s got you there, dude.”

Ego: “Don’t start.”

One night, messing around in his garage, he saw her came home from a date, both of them clearly unhappy. The guy — Liam, maybe, Mike? — was trying to kiss her, and she was having none of it. He couldn’t quite hear them, but it did appear things had gone better for him than her. And then he stood there feeling like a creep, he watched her lean against the wall just inside her house. He saw her getting herself off with her pretty skirt pulled up and her pretty fingers in her pretty panties. It was both nothing, and everything, like he’d pictured. She leaned against the wall and put both hands between her legs, and took what looked like very etlik escort good care of herself.

The next day, she saw him get hard, in the goddamned driveway. “You saw me, didn’t you?”

“Saw what?”

And she tilted her head at him.

That did it. Id laughed his ass off as Superego stomped off in disgust. Ego, ever the realist, started looking for a way to get her alone, but in public. Somewhere he couldn’t fuck her. He still had six days to go, but something had to give. He needed to be closer, wanted scope her out, to see if she knew enough of what she was about, to really be offering, or not.

She was big into charity, and nobody he knew, was. So, safe space, as it were. The winner was a build-a-house day, out of town, just before her birthday. He acted like it wasn’t a thing, acted like he did charity all the time. But she saw his eyes work hard at not taking in her junior high vintage, way-too small cardigan, bursting as it was at the buttons, the top two long missing and the bottom one unbuttoned to make room for the hips she didn’t have when it was bought. And they knew exactly nobody. There was something relaxing for both of them, to have some hours of time alone in a crowd, to build up the steam between them in a cocoon of public privacy.

He watched them, as if from a distance. Him, making very sure her ladder was stable. Her, shorts barely covering her ass, inches from his nose as she climbed it. Him, not stepping back.

He showed her how to better hold the power drill. He put his arms around her, forearms pressed against the sides of her breasts, helping her to safely put a screw in the ceiling. The look of his hands holding her hands above her head, got him rock hard. She arched her back and stretched her arms higher, pushed her ass against his zipper. Her breath was a little quick also. “Are you scared of heights? You’re shaky.”

“You’ll hold me, keep me from falling.”

Id and Superego: “Come on. This shit’s not fair.”

“Do you have plans for your birthday?”

“Yeah, of course, my folks are taking me out, and then I’m seeing my girls.”

“How about the next day?”

“I’m free the next day.”

“Well, if you want to, stop by.”

Ego: “We did it, guys. We made it.”

Id and Superego: “Fuck you.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

In unison: “Cue tenterhooks.”


She stopped by.

Ego had used the intervening time organizing everyone into an unstoppable task force, so that by the evening of the day after she turned nineteen, they both knew where they were headed. There was no doubt.

As he put a glass of wine into her hand, she said that Mike had told her she was a bitch. “People do that, when they’re hurt. My last girlfriend told me I give shitty head.”

“Was she right?”

“Maybe. I say I should learn to do it better, on you.”

He’d spent the morning of the day after she turned nineteen making a celebration brunch for her (where he taught her to make biscuits, from behind, hot breath in her ear as he kissed her neck).

He’d spent the afternoon of the day after she turned nineteen nibbling on her lower lip, and pinching her nipples through the lace of her bra.

He’d spent the early part of the evening of the day after she turned nineteen settling her on top of him and putting a jeans-covered thigh between hers and inviting her to grind on it.

Since, in addition to all that, he’d dropped to his knees and whispered the last sentence of that conversation into the hollow of her hip, she agreed.

He freshened her wine, and backed her up against the wall. The look on her face as he knelt before her, was worth the wait. He took his sweet time kissing her legs apart. He kissed her pussy through the satin as he had her neck that morning. With lips soft, tongue softer, he nibbled her clit, as he had her lower lip that afternoon. Swiveling her hips against his palm as she had against his thigh that evening, he finally made her ask for it. “You want it?”

Shy, all the sudden, her voice a whisper, “Yes.”

“Repeat after me: you want me to take your panties down. You want me to get you off.”

In a breathy, nervous little voice, “I want you to take my panties down. I want you to get me off.” By the grace of God, he didn’t come in his pants right then.

Running all four fingers from her belly to her pussy, “You want me to take your panties down with my hands? Running the tip of his nose down the middle until he got to the place they were riding up, “Or with my teeth?” Four fingers and the tip of his nose again, “Both, I think.” He took some time pulling the panties from where they’d ridden up, pulled her panties to just below her ass, and put one of those four fingers inside her, kissing her right on the clit with a fluttering tongue.

“Let’s set your glass down, honey. Be safer.”

So it turned out he didn’t need lessons. It turned out that his method worked great on her, and that climbing up her skirt face first was a short road to a fantastic fuck, but she kidded him that his girlfriend was right. His technique needed work. So he practiced. For two solid weeks he practiced. In his kitchen, on his couch, in his bed, in his car, in his office. “You know I can tell when you come, right?”

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