Balls Read Online Free Page B
Book: Balls Read Online Free
Author: Julian Tepper, Julian
sorry. It must have been so hard to be by yourself that day.
Henry said nothing. He had no answer in mind.
The doctor was talking again. She was saying, The man I described for you, Henry, you should know, I fixed him. I made him better.
Thatâs what I want, doctor. I canât tell you how bad this dizziness has been for me. Iâve never gone this long without playing piano. I canât remember the last time Iâve had anything but a one-night stand. Iâve fallen out of contact with my friends. Iâm lost.
The doctor frowned, in earnest. She said, Well, I want to help you, Henry.
Thank you, doctor.
Iâm going to help you.
Good. Good.
You said you were on your roof, all aloneâ¦what happened next?
Henry left Dr. Andrewsâ office that day in a state of extreme ambivalence. On the one hand, he didnât see how meeting once a week for forty-five minutes to discuss the events of 9/11 would improve his equilibrium or restore the confidence heâd lost in his songwriting. On the other, the doctor smelled so good, some perfume she wore, a faint orange aroma that turned him on in a way no woman had for years, and when deciding whether or not to see her again he couldnât help but imagine her heavy bosom and smooth kneesâhe became erect. They were scheduled to meet the following Thursday afternoon. Henry showed ten minutes early. Dr. Andrews began the session by explaining how her methods of treating 9/11 victims were somewhat untraditional. But Henry, mesmerized by the sultry tone of her voice, didnât hear her description. Nor did he ask her to repeat herself. They spent the time watching cable news, the doctor studying Henryâs reactions to any mention of Iraq and Afghanistan. The next week they went to visit the World Trade Center site. Henry followed the doctorâs instructions, staring long and hard at the buildingâs footprint and like the Surrealists speaking aloud those words, any words, which came to mind:
Landscape. Cabbage. Breast. Future. Muffled. Face. Disturb. Exist. Eyeballs. Blisters. Partner. Gray. Despair. Entombed. Influx. Clasp. You. Lidless. Lizards.
Thatâs good, Henry. Thatâs very good.
Really?
Oh sure, Henry. Youâre doing splendidly.
He valued her encourgament. But then these days, whether staring at CNN or the WTC, Dr. Andrews didnât mind when he touched her arm or placed his hand on the small of her back. She didnât protest when he hugged her goodbye, pulling her tight against his body. She said nothing when he complimented her beauty. At times he thought heâd pay even more for her services.
That opportunity did soon arise.
The doctor said she was dissatisfied with their progress. Henry was still dizzy, depressed and closed-off musically. She proposed he start coming twice-a-week. Knowing her rates were high for him, she offered him a special price: two sessions, $300.
Take a minute, Henry. Think it over.
But Henry, breathing in that profoundly erotic mandarin aroma, told her he didnât need time. Yes, was his answer.
Yes.
He started seeing the doctor Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Though finding no improvement in his symptoms, his fantasies about Andrews were becoming more regular. At night he closed his eyes, imagining her naked breasts, her ass. In the morning, they occupied his mind again. Enveloped by thoughts of her legs, he missed his stop on the subway. On the street he saw women with similar hair and build and followed them for blocks, thinking they might be her. He couldnât recall the last time a woman had taken possession of him like this. Perhaps he should stop seeing the doctor. Could this be healthy? He knew it wasnât. But he couldnât bring himself to tell Andrews it was over. He looked forward to their time together more than anything else during the week. He wouldnât give it up. He considered discussing these feelings with her. Why not? Sheâd told him
Henry said nothing. He had no answer in mind.
The doctor was talking again. She was saying, The man I described for you, Henry, you should know, I fixed him. I made him better.
Thatâs what I want, doctor. I canât tell you how bad this dizziness has been for me. Iâve never gone this long without playing piano. I canât remember the last time Iâve had anything but a one-night stand. Iâve fallen out of contact with my friends. Iâm lost.
The doctor frowned, in earnest. She said, Well, I want to help you, Henry.
Thank you, doctor.
Iâm going to help you.
Good. Good.
You said you were on your roof, all aloneâ¦what happened next?
Henry left Dr. Andrewsâ office that day in a state of extreme ambivalence. On the one hand, he didnât see how meeting once a week for forty-five minutes to discuss the events of 9/11 would improve his equilibrium or restore the confidence heâd lost in his songwriting. On the other, the doctor smelled so good, some perfume she wore, a faint orange aroma that turned him on in a way no woman had for years, and when deciding whether or not to see her again he couldnât help but imagine her heavy bosom and smooth kneesâhe became erect. They were scheduled to meet the following Thursday afternoon. Henry showed ten minutes early. Dr. Andrews began the session by explaining how her methods of treating 9/11 victims were somewhat untraditional. But Henry, mesmerized by the sultry tone of her voice, didnât hear her description. Nor did he ask her to repeat herself. They spent the time watching cable news, the doctor studying Henryâs reactions to any mention of Iraq and Afghanistan. The next week they went to visit the World Trade Center site. Henry followed the doctorâs instructions, staring long and hard at the buildingâs footprint and like the Surrealists speaking aloud those words, any words, which came to mind:
Landscape. Cabbage. Breast. Future. Muffled. Face. Disturb. Exist. Eyeballs. Blisters. Partner. Gray. Despair. Entombed. Influx. Clasp. You. Lidless. Lizards.
Thatâs good, Henry. Thatâs very good.
Really?
Oh sure, Henry. Youâre doing splendidly.
He valued her encourgament. But then these days, whether staring at CNN or the WTC, Dr. Andrews didnât mind when he touched her arm or placed his hand on the small of her back. She didnât protest when he hugged her goodbye, pulling her tight against his body. She said nothing when he complimented her beauty. At times he thought heâd pay even more for her services.
That opportunity did soon arise.
The doctor said she was dissatisfied with their progress. Henry was still dizzy, depressed and closed-off musically. She proposed he start coming twice-a-week. Knowing her rates were high for him, she offered him a special price: two sessions, $300.
Take a minute, Henry. Think it over.
But Henry, breathing in that profoundly erotic mandarin aroma, told her he didnât need time. Yes, was his answer.
Yes.
He started seeing the doctor Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Though finding no improvement in his symptoms, his fantasies about Andrews were becoming more regular. At night he closed his eyes, imagining her naked breasts, her ass. In the morning, they occupied his mind again. Enveloped by thoughts of her legs, he missed his stop on the subway. On the street he saw women with similar hair and build and followed them for blocks, thinking they might be her. He couldnât recall the last time a woman had taken possession of him like this. Perhaps he should stop seeing the doctor. Could this be healthy? He knew it wasnât. But he couldnât bring himself to tell Andrews it was over. He looked forward to their time together more than anything else during the week. He wouldnât give it up. He considered discussing these feelings with her. Why not? Sheâd told him
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