it anymore. She had gone to Google and typed in all of her symptoms. What came up was everything from early menopause to cancer to a not-so-vague suggestion from Reddit that she was a hypochondriac… and then the name of Doctor Edmund Flyone, holistic/natural healer, who was more than happy to set up an appointment to meet to discuss her concerns. His rules: she had to come to him, and she could tell no one. Cash only, no receipts.
It was sheer desperation that led Shauna to Dr. Flyone’s door and why she now found herself strapped to her GPS and nearly in tears as she felt her body heat up for the fifth time that day. She took several deep breaths and gripped her steering wheel through her sweaty hands. She knew that the feeling would eventually pass, though it was always a question of how long it would take. The bigger question was, of course, how long would she have until another attack, how she had come to think of them, would be upon her.
“Please, God,” she prayed out loud. “Please let this doctor be able to help me.” The fact that she was praying to God in a non-ironic way was, for Shauna, one of the scariest parts of this entire illness. But, as she had told Dr. Flyone on the phone, she was desperate and willing to do anything.
***
He looked out his office window and sniffed the air. She was on her way. Women of her kind always had a specific scent, and he had picked up on her energy when they had spoken on the phone. She was afraid, though she was not a woman that would ever admit to fear. She was also burning with desire, though he knew that she had not connected that yet to her condition. That was part of what he would help her with.
He had prepared his office specifically for her arrival, normalizing as much as possible. Though he knew the truth about her, her truth was her own and he would not tell her what she was. He would, however, help her put the clues together so that she could figure it out on her own, and then he would be there for her.
Edmund settled into the chair at his desk and shuffled a deck of cards with one hand, a trick he had used to focus his mind since he’d learned to do it in childhood. He thought about Shauna. He remembered her from her visit at Rusty’s earlier in the year, though he hadn’t spoken to her. Shauna was not exactly the type of woman who blended in. She was curvy and gorgeous, thick copper hair that flowed just past her shoulders. That night, she had been wearing jeans that had hugged her ass absolutely perfectly, and a v-neck men’s t-shirt from one of the big box stores. Her bra had been black beneath it and the front of the shirt strained against her breasts, which were a double D at minimum, probably larger, the cleavage created by the lace bra like a work of art. He had noticed her the moment she walked into Rusty’s and had grown hard at the thought of his hands on those breasts and that ass, of wrapping his arms around her and slapping her naked ass, feeling the firm give under his hand, hearing her cry out in pleasure as he sucked on her nipples.
He had these premonitions often, and he figured out years ago that the difference between a fantasy and a premonition was his own action. If he did nothing to move the fantasy along, that’s where it stayed. If, however, he were to take advantage of Shauna calling him out of the blue seeking his advice, well, then he could make that fantasy a reality.
She was getting closer. He could feel it and he could smell her fear in the air. He felt bad for her; the fear was strong in this one. He would help her first, and, assuming she was a fast learner, they would have time for other things afterward.
***
Shauna’s GPS stayed mercifully active all the way to the small house on Apple Street in
It was sheer desperation that led Shauna to Dr. Flyone’s door and why she now found herself strapped to her GPS and nearly in tears as she felt her body heat up for the fifth time that day. She took several deep breaths and gripped her steering wheel through her sweaty hands. She knew that the feeling would eventually pass, though it was always a question of how long it would take. The bigger question was, of course, how long would she have until another attack, how she had come to think of them, would be upon her.
“Please, God,” she prayed out loud. “Please let this doctor be able to help me.” The fact that she was praying to God in a non-ironic way was, for Shauna, one of the scariest parts of this entire illness. But, as she had told Dr. Flyone on the phone, she was desperate and willing to do anything.
***
He looked out his office window and sniffed the air. She was on her way. Women of her kind always had a specific scent, and he had picked up on her energy when they had spoken on the phone. She was afraid, though she was not a woman that would ever admit to fear. She was also burning with desire, though he knew that she had not connected that yet to her condition. That was part of what he would help her with.
He had prepared his office specifically for her arrival, normalizing as much as possible. Though he knew the truth about her, her truth was her own and he would not tell her what she was. He would, however, help her put the clues together so that she could figure it out on her own, and then he would be there for her.
Edmund settled into the chair at his desk and shuffled a deck of cards with one hand, a trick he had used to focus his mind since he’d learned to do it in childhood. He thought about Shauna. He remembered her from her visit at Rusty’s earlier in the year, though he hadn’t spoken to her. Shauna was not exactly the type of woman who blended in. She was curvy and gorgeous, thick copper hair that flowed just past her shoulders. That night, she had been wearing jeans that had hugged her ass absolutely perfectly, and a v-neck men’s t-shirt from one of the big box stores. Her bra had been black beneath it and the front of the shirt strained against her breasts, which were a double D at minimum, probably larger, the cleavage created by the lace bra like a work of art. He had noticed her the moment she walked into Rusty’s and had grown hard at the thought of his hands on those breasts and that ass, of wrapping his arms around her and slapping her naked ass, feeling the firm give under his hand, hearing her cry out in pleasure as he sucked on her nipples.
He had these premonitions often, and he figured out years ago that the difference between a fantasy and a premonition was his own action. If he did nothing to move the fantasy along, that’s where it stayed. If, however, he were to take advantage of Shauna calling him out of the blue seeking his advice, well, then he could make that fantasy a reality.
She was getting closer. He could feel it and he could smell her fear in the air. He felt bad for her; the fear was strong in this one. He would help her first, and, assuming she was a fast learner, they would have time for other things afterward.
***
Shauna’s GPS stayed mercifully active all the way to the small house on Apple Street in
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