Sex Therapy...Part 1 (Adrian)

The middle aged white woman sitting at the desk looked me up and down before attempting to even ask what I was doing in the office. Part of me wanted to check her and tell her something very ugly; but then again, no telling what type of people she encountered on a daily basis, so I figured it was just force of habit.

"I'm here to see Dr. Praylo. She should be expecting me."

As the woman fumbled around her desk to find the appointment book and inform the good doctor that I was here to see her, I quickly studied her mannerisms...the things around her...things that would likely attempt to lighten her mood.

PAULA ERNST

45..maybe 50. Ring in the middle finger so she was married. The wrinkles on her face meant only that she may just be one of those badly aging white people, she smokes, or stress from family life.

"And you name is what again, sir," Paula rechecked.

"Davis...Braylon Davis."

A slip of her face might have been a concern as the doctor's reaction may have tipped her off that I had come in without an appointment.

"She'll be right with you."

Sweetly, I winked at Paula. "Thank you, ma'am."

I hadn't even sit down yet to wait when she peeked her head out the door to see me.

The look of shock on her face was subtle enough as to not alarm Paula that I was unannounced, nor was I hear to really have an appointment with the doctor...at least the kind she normally conducted.

"Mr. Davis..."

From what I could remember at the club, she had calming, dark brown eyes, but the closer I got to her, I got the sense of one of those "what the hell are you doing here" moments.

"Good afternoon, Doctor," I said as she closed the door behind us.

Now the real stuff...

"Um...Braylon, Mr. Davis, or whatever your name is..." she said. "I'm not sure how you found me, but I'm not sure how appropriate this is with you coming by my place of business and interrupting. "

I was barging in. And I truthfully knew exactly what I was doing when I walked in the door of her practice and told the receptionist to call her and announce that I was here. Now I understood her concern, but I was here on a pleasure call. Might take a second since she's one of those intellectuals and she'd probably be trying to dissect me in her head as we spoke, but little did she know.

"First off, Adrian..."

She must have not liked to be referred to by her first name when supposedly on business. Maybe she didn't notice the slight frown when I called her first name, but I was well aware of it.

First mistake...a complex that is ushered in by a fear of not having enough authority in her role as a professional.

"Dr. Praylo, it is..." she replied.

"Yes, ma'am..."

For a few minutes I engaged her about her work, slyly playing off the fact that she really didn't want me to be in her office or that she may have just been uncomfortable at the fact that I may have been assessing her as well.

It was more so small talk. About her life...her practice...her book she mentioned to me a few nights before at the club. It must've been aggravating as she gave some pretty short answers. Maybe the reason she came to the club was to experience the culture, the "life" I live. The sins that get me paid...

"Mr. Davis, I'm sorry could you excuse me for a second?"

"Sure."

Her leaving was just my cue. If I guessed right, she was probably going to tell her receptionist to get the building's security to come and escort me out. Yet, and again, if I guessed right...and my plan works...Adrian A. Praylo would be most compelled to take me on as a patient.