By Hunter Thomson
I see that this wonderful story hasn't received a thread yet. Let the discussion begin.
We keep talking about the fact that Declan is eventually going to figure out what Bailey's been doing, but its interesting to note that he's had a few opportunities to ask about it now, and he's chosen not to. I think that Declan already knows what's going on, and he doesn't want to make it more real by talking about it. It's not in his normal character, but I think we've seen that when Bailey's involved that Declan doesn't act in ways he normally acts.
Are there any stories about someone being falsely accused by their loved ones and being casted away from his family? Or someone got brutally punished for his crime and being casted away from his family n friends and then later find hope somewhere and learn to stand strong on his own feet. Or betrayed at first and then found strength and love later?
I’ve always been undergoing psychotherapy since I was 11 or 12, now I’m 26, due to depression, anxiety, among other things. I’ve had lots of psychotherapists, most were women, two therapists were man, one of them is my current therapist. He’s my therapist for about 5 months give or take. I don’t know why but I feel more comfortable having a male therapist. My first and last male therapist was really good and handsome, he was way older than me and married, also I was in a steady relationship at that time, so I didn’t feel anything special other for him on the personal side, though I had to stop my sessions due to some financial problems back then. However, my current therapist… I don’t know how to convey what I feel for him, so I’m just going to say that I’m really, really into him. My current therapist is very nice, thoughtful, kind, helpful and has always been there for me during my worst moments, a really good professional. Since the beginning of our sessions I started to feel something for him and this feeling has been growing bigger and bigger, I don’t think it’s love, maybe it is, but I really feel like I’d want to be with him all day long. Sometimes I believe I don’t want to date him or have a relationship, but I’d just like to make out with him. I know that it’s not possible because he’s my therapist and I don’t even know whether he’s gay and I think he’s not. One day, during a session, I was feeling that I wanted to hold him and kiss him so badly that I had to tell him and I did it right away, that day, like three months ago, I told him that I was into him and I kept thinking about it all the time. He was very kind and said it was natural due to our bond that was built during the sessions, but things couldn’t go beyond the professional relationship, like therapist and patient. Well, I didn’t get over it. Today I had another session and I can’t stop thinking of him. I’ve already hung out with other men, but my therapist is still inside my mind and it’s consuming me to the point of hindering my attention during the sessions. I don’t know what to do. I’m thinking about talking to him about it again, but I believe it won’t be a solution. I’ve already told some friends about this situation, but I got the same advice. But, again, I just can’t stop this feeling. I also think about giving up on him and look for another therapist, but he’s a good professional and I really like his work, also it’s really difficult to find good therapists, I know, I’ve had many. I’m really confused, kind of distraught right now. I don’t want to give up on a great professional, but I can’t get over these feelings.
Have you ever gone through this kind of situation or something similar? What did you do? If you haven’t, what would you do?
Thank you, guys.
PS: I’m not a native English speaker, so please go easy on my mistakes, but feel free to kindly correct me if you like, I’d be happy to improve.
I'm presently working on two different projects. This is a one shot, approximately 2,000+ words.
Wanted - Are you good at seeing the problems? Not afraid to be honest with someone? Got a good red pen and not afraid to use it? Then I have a project for you!
The story - Blue, Brownie, and Wedding White
This came about because of Cia's little project for the site - Two Nouns. Well after a really short scene people wanted more. I caved
and wrote more. I'm sure even with this expansion, it wont be enough, but it all depends on what you as a beta need more of, or less of.
Buzzz! Buzzz! Buzzz!
The buzzer for Bradley’s alarm clock pierced the silence, forcing him to push the hair out of his face, then blindly feel for the button to kill the alarm.
“Too damn early,” he mumbled as he grabbed his glasses and slid them on. He hurried to the bathroom to pee, wash his face, and brush his teeth. He was on automatic pilot, just going about his normal routine.
Bradley stumbled to the kitchen and started brewing a cup of coffee in his Kuerig before pouring himself a bowl of corn flakes. He yawned and scratched his face, waiting for the machine to finally finish brewing his cup. He poured some milk into his coffee and was about to sit down when his doorbell rang. He set the mug on his kitchen table and squinted at the front of the house.
“Who could want me at this hour?” Bradley rubbed his eyes and wandered to the front door. He opened it and took a moment for him to realize no one was there. He began to close the door when his sleep addled mind realized something was wrong.
Pulling the door wide open, Bradley discovered the roads in front of his house were gone. Instead of the flow of traffic, he presently found a park, or maybe a forest starting at the edge of his yard. He could clearly see the elms, oaks, cherry trees, and more where the three streets should merge in front of his house. The trees were barely lit as the sun rose into the sky.
“This has to be a dream.” Bradley shook his head and was about to close the door when he heard a high pitched whistle. Pausing to look around he spotted a small pink and violet ball, barely larger than a golf ball, shot out of the park, hurtled at incredible speed across his yard, and flew right past his ear.
“What the hell was that?” Bradley turned quickly and looked into his hallway. He found the ball sliding around on his hardwood floor, going from the hall into his open living room, finally coming to a halt under his glass coffee table.
As he watched in amazement, the ball slowly seemed to split open like an egg and a fully formed man stood up. The man stood all of a six inches high, was a deep indigo color, and totally nude.
“I really need to wake up,” Bradley muttered as he rubbed his eyes and then slapped his own cheek.
“Funny way to greet a guest,” came a deep rich voice from the figure on the floor. He stood with his arms crossed watching every move Bradley made.
“Guest?” Bradley squeaked as he took a sudden step back, hit his front door, knocking it closed.
Click. There was a flash of light and then silence as Bradley heard the door close behind him.
“Finally,” came the same rich voice as the figure walked toward Bradley, growing rapidly to over six feet. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to close that door. Did you grow up in a barn or something?”
So if this appeals to you feel free to contact me.
Wayne aka comicfan
Hi! This a short excerpt from the first chapter of my next story called Changes. It's about Don and Louis, together 10 years, married for part of that time, very devoted to each other. Don is a writer and a lover of his husband but also of danger. Life is good until one day ...
The racetrack that day was noisy and oily. The fumes gave me a headache. I felt irritated and wanted to be anywhere but there, but Don had asked me to go, and I didn’t feel like I could say no. In the pit area, I sat watching him and his crew doing last minute adjustments to the bike. I was such a fish out of water.
But Don didn’t care. I was his husband, and he was not afraid to show this in front of others as he often ran up to talk or kiss me. Finally, Don went to change into his leathers, leaving me with a black feeling of doom.
If I’d gotten up and gone with him, and told him how I felt—that maybe today was not a good day to get on that killing machine—that maybe he’d have listened. In my heart-of-hearts though, I know he wouldn’t have.
No, instead, he would do what he did. Hold me in his strong arms, kiss me until I was breathless, and tell me he’d love me forevermore. I’d smile and act bravely, cheering him on, but scared until the damn race was over.
It happened in the fifth lap. They don’t really know what caused the accident; can’t tell me the whys, only that it was an act of God.
Do we blame God for everything bad that happens?
I see it every day in my head; it was just after a right turn. The bike leaning, and Don’s right knee so close to the track. It was too close, wasn’t it? The physics were instantly wrong, so that massive machine slid out from under him, and Don becoming a ragdoll as he flipped repeatedly, bouncing off the guardrail and hay bales. The ambulance screamed its way over the park-like grass in the centre of the track.
I wanted to go. I needed to go. But I was held in place, as Jed’s hands were on both my biceps while I tried to climb the barrier; his grip was like Don’s.
Jed, the crew chief, had grabbed my face and turned it toward his. It was loud, so we all wore ear protectors, and I remember the shape of his mouth as he yelled at me; NO, NO, NO! He pulled me inside the small crew’s lounge. I fought him because this room was not where I was supposed to be. He pulled off our protectors and said, “No, Louis. We can’t help him. Let the paramedics sort him out.”
“He’s my fucking husband!” I didn’t try to stop my tears.
Jed pulled me close and held me in arms that felt so like Don’s, and he whispered, “I know. I know.”
All I could do then was grab fistfuls of his overalls and sob.
Jed drove me to the hospital. Terror was in my fingers during that ride and I dug them into my thighs and the padded door handle.
Don was in surgery by the time Jed led me to the Emergency Room, where he remained for several hours. I called Don’s mother Rena, who lived in Calgary. I felt I needed a plunger to push down my feelings as I told her what had happened to her son. I knew she was crying as she said she would be here as soon as she could.
That was nearly three weeks ago. Don has not woken up; he has not moved, he has not smiled or cried, or said: Baby I love you.
Not for three weeks.
I think I have no more tears, but today, with time passing me by, I sob.
My ‘you’ve got a text’ ringtone roused me from my self-pity and daydreams. I picked up my phone, rolled onto my back and opened it: