Message-ID: <35481asstr$1014952209@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Writerzblocked@aol.com
ReSent-Date: Thu, 28 Feb 2002 08:21:28 -0500 (EST)
ReSent-From: ASSTR Administration <ckought69@hotmail.com>
ReSent-To: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
ReSent-Subject: {ASSM} (WZB Repost by Request) IFTL,A 6 "Dr Goodlove"
 (mc)(parody)
ReSent-Message-ID: <Pine.LNX.4.30.0202280821280.5538@sara.asstr-mirror.org>
Subject: {ASSM} (WZB Repost by Request) IFTL,A 6 "Dr Goodlove" (mc)(parody)
Date: Thu, 28 Feb 2002 22:10:10 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


<1st attachment, "DrGoodlove.txt" begin>


I FOUGHT THE LAW, AND...  6  "Dr. Goodlove (Or How I Stopped
Worrying and Learned to Drop The Bomb (mc) (parody)


Copyright by Writerzblocked, 2002.  All rights, well, you know.
Repost and archive to your heart's content, just don't charge
anyone for it or I'll have to send Harry Long after you. You all
know the rest of the drill by now.  I'm not big on headers and/or
labels, so anyone reposting may feel free to add whatever MF, MM,
FF stuff they think is necessary. 

********************************************

CHAPTER 6


"Hey, silly, you, like, HAVE to eat something!" 

And she pouted.  I think it was genuine, but it was getting
harder and harder to tell.

Even for me.

"I WILL eat something eventually, just not THAT." 

"OK, then, like, Deevy got you a hamburger..."

"Too dry.  I HATE McDonald's."

"C'mon, silly, it's been, like, almost a WEEK."  She gave up on
the pout now, sighed, and started putting away what she said was
a shrimp cocktail.  With a fork.  I don't know where she got a
shrimp cocktail at 10am in the morning and I wasn't going to ask.
 But bad as it looked and smelled, it was better than gum.

"And I feel GREAT." 

Wasn't lying, either.  I DID feel great. Better than I have in my
entire life.  Amazing what a good rest and the world's greatest
fuck will do for you.

About that time, the door flew open and Deevers came in with yet
another bunch of flowers.  Immediately, Bubbles jumped up, almost
spilling that tomato-and-seafood-and-whatever-else abomination in
a glass all over my bed. Good thing she didn't, 'cause I sure
didn't want to find out what was in it. Looked ugly enough from
the outside.

"DEEVY!!" she squeaked, as she shuffled across the hospital room
floor in her brand new Backstreet Boys Light-up Pumps.  Again, I
wasn't going to ask.  It was scary enough just to know that
somewhere in the world, there's an outfit that specializes in boy
band stripper gear.  With any luck, it was a dot.com and whoever
came up with the idea is out on the streets with the rest of 'em.
 

"Hey, hunny bunch," he belched as he bent over and gave her a
peck when she presented her cheek, "these just came and Gladys
wanted me to rush 'em right over." 

"More FLOWERS!!!!"  She had her mouth open impossibly wide and
was rocking her head and little pigtails back and forth and
making a little "eeeeeeeeeee" noise as she stomped her feet up
and down and up and down.  It was almost enough to make me want
to slip back into another coma. 

Almost.

"So, let's see who THESE are from!" she smiled over at me as she
tore the attached card open.  Then her little face stretched
north and south and east and west all at the same time and her
eyebrows shook hands with her bangs.  "It's from MANDY!!!!"

Deevers was jumping up and down right along with the prom
princess up until the last.  Then he stood real still and his
eyes shot sideways at me.

I tell, ya, I love cops.  Always alert for any signs of trouble.
I thought about glaring back at him just to see what he'd do, but
decided not to. I didn't know how strong his bladder was.

"Soooooo," I said slowly, solemnly, one eye on her and one eye on
Deevers just because I like the look on their faces when they
don't know what the hell I'm gonna do, "what's  - up  -  with  -
herrrrrr?"

"It says 'Thanks for everything, the director wants to start
shooting tomorrow morning and hopes to have things wrapped up by
Thursday.  Say Hello to everyone for me.  Love, Mandy.'"  She
half-smiled and mumbled as she turned the card over to read some
writing on the back.  "I wish I could be in a commercial."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Women. Just can't please 'em all, no
matter how fucking much time you spend on 'em.

"Wait," she continued, "there's, like, something on the back
here. 'PS, the director says I just OOZE sexuality.'"

I usually have better self-control, but even I had to chuckle at
that one. 

"Well," she sighed as she tucked away the note and brought the
flowers to her nose, "at least she sounds happy."

"That's good," I added.  "She deserves it."

That brought her smile back and she took a long, loud snort. 
"hehehe, she sure does."  Then she looked towards the bathroom. 
"You want me to..."

"Yeah." I resigned.  "See if they'll fit."

She walked past Deevers, who was now playing with his badge and
pretending (badly) not to notice her, to the bathroom and slowly
opened the door.  "Geez, it's like a conservatory in here," I
could hear her say as she entered, then came back out without the
flowers.

"You know, you really ought to, like, open your presents at
least."  She was staring at the piles of colorful boxes and
assorted ribbons and bows.  I guess she got bored last night
while I was sleeping.  They were all neatly arranged in the
corner from biggest to smallest in a huge rainbowed pyramid that
reached halfway to the ceiling.  I felt like the fucking Pharaoh
of St. Mary's Hospital.

The Pharaoh of St. Mary's.  Hmm, I remember I kinda liked that. 
Except I wasn't dead yet.  Not officially, anyway.  You have to
be officially born before you can officially die, I think.  You
used to be a lawyer, what do you think? 

Oh, never mind, keep doing what you're doing.  Weren't much of a
lawyer anyway, were you? 

"Hey, silly, I SAID you really ought to, like, open your
presents."  She was squinting at me really hard like she was
trying to figure out what I was thinking as I stared at the pile.
 Pharaohs and pyramids. 

"I bet it looks like Christmas, right?"

Oh, well, I sighed to myself. Maybe someday, Bubbles. Maybe
someday.  "Nah, not now, maybe later."

"But, but..." she started on her fingers. "Sally, like, gave you
two sweaters, Bailey gave you a bunch of clothes 'cause she said
you have NO taste in 'em, the Sarge and Butch got you, like, two
new pairs of treads, Gilbert and Denise got you a new suit and a
couple ties, Judge Meredith, like, got you a bunch of cool of
boxers with hearts all over 'em, and Deevy got you..."

"Shhh!" the officer hurried over to her and put his hand over her
mouth.  "It's supposed to be a surprise."

"OK, OK, enough already," I interrupted. I was getting another
headache from all the attention.  "I think I'd rather eat the
damned shrimp cocktail," I muttered under my breath. 
Unfortunately, not far enough under...

"REALLY!" she squealed as she ripped Deever's hand from her mouth
and snatched the glass of obscene seafood from the table where
she'd placed it.  Might not be able to read minds, but there
wasn't anything wrong with those cute little ears.

"NO!" I grabbed the sheets and retreated further back in the bed
for fear of my life.  Well, for my stomach, anyway. "Put that
away before I have to hurt someone." 

Yeah, OK, there are still things even I have to work on.

Deevers cringed and took two steps towards the door, but I guess
his bladder was all right.  Maybe a cop thing.

"snif."

Never knew something so soft could be so damned loud.

Now, for the record, I've seen lots of women cry. Hell, I've MADE
lots of women cry.  On purpose, even.  For kicks.  Or because
they wanted to, but couldn't on their own.  Had lots of men that
way in my time.  But this was...different.

This was Bubbles.  And it was real.

I drew a deep breath and sighed.  "OK, OK, I give.  Onepresent."

She lowered the glass from hell, but the tears didn't stop. 

"OK, how about one of YOUR presents."

The glass hit the floor and shattered, spilling the vile red
liquid anywhere and everywhere.  The Backstreet Boys were all now
bleeding shrimp and tomato sauce from their pretty little faces.
It would have been really, really funny if she weren't crying so
damned hard.

"What the hell did I say NOW?" I threw the sheets back and put
one leg out and onto the floor.

She managed to lift one arm to glance through her tears at her
GlamGirl Barbie wristwatch.  "BUT IT ISN'T HERE YET!!!" She
practically screamed the words out like she was yelling into an
industrial strength fan, her high, nasally pitched voice breaking
this way and that. I imagine everyone on the floor heard it. 
Luckily, by now, they all knew to stay away.

This kind of thing is one of the reasons I've lived most of my
life alone.  The kind of thing that nice, normal people have to
put up with.  Luckily for me, I'm neither.

"OK, girlfriend, that's ENOUGH!"  I stared at her as the tears
slowly dried up.  "I can see there are some things here we
clearly have to work on."

I glanced sideways at Deevers.  He was already next to the door,
but I think it took him all of a half second to phase through it.
 I don't even remember seeing it move.  

"But I just, like, want you to be happy, you know?"  She
continued to sniffle.  "Like you make everyone else happy."

"Look, if I'm not happy, you'll know it." I started to explain as
I got back in the bed and pulled the sheets back around me,
"Unless that happens, just assume I'm happy."

"snif. But, like, how will I know you're not happy if you don't,
you know, SAY you're not happy?" 

Sigh. You can put the kid back in the lawyer, but you can't take
the lawyer out of the kid.  "Believe me, you'll know."

"snif.  Are you happy now?"

"Yes."

"snif.  You don't LOOK happy."

"I'm HAPPY, OK?!!!" 

"snif.  You don't SOUND happy."

I threw the sheets over my head.  I bet Tut never went through
this. I bet none of the damned Ramses went through this.  I bet
it was 'Off to the flesh-eating beetles with you!"  Or whatever.
Maybe Dracula had it right.  Nothing but drinking blood and
sleeping.  I bet none of HIS girls gave him grief over opening
some silly presents.  Or would have if he were real.

As I was pondering over these and other finer points of the
downside of total world domination, I felt the sheets slowly but
surely being lifted at the foot of the bed.

"I bet I know what would make you happier."  The whisper was low
- well, as low as she could get with that helium voice.  I felt a
wetness on one of my toes, then moving past my ankle and up to my
knee...

Immediately, both of my hands snaked down under the sheets and
each grabbed a pigtail just as she reached Mr. Chuckles.  Kinda
felt like steering a fucking motorcycle. Or grabbing a bull by
the horns.  A horny bull.  Or whatever.

The sniffling started again.

"Sorry, kiddo, but Mr. Chuckles is still a little tender right
now." I said softly, as I gently raised her head from underneath
the sheets. "He doesn't recover nearly so quickly as I do from
these kinds of things."

"snif." She bit her trembling lower lip as a lone tear escaped
her right eye. "But it's been almost a whole WEEK."

Damn, what a doll.  That line, along with the look on her face,
was worth more than every present in the room put together. 
Suddenly, being a Pharaoh didn't seem so bad after all.

I leaned closer and smiled.  "Hey, just because Mr. Chuckles
can't be happy at the moment, doesn't mean Bubbles can't be
happy."

She hesitated for a mere second as her hand went up to wipe the
tear away, then she leaned forward with all her little, tiny,
fiery body and planted the firmest, wettest, longest kiss I've
ever had the pleasure to have received.

Well, OK, from HER, anyway.  But it was the best one I could
remember at that moment. 

Because it was Bubbles.  And it was real.

The kid was persistent, I'll give her that. It was a looooong
fucking kiss. She's also VERY good at breathing through her nose.
 Better than me, anyway.  The only way I could get her to give me
a break was to move my hand down and under her skirt and slip a
couple of fingers under her t-back.  Turns out it was one of
those cool t-backs with a bow on the rear. 

One present I had no trouble at all deciding whether or not to
open.

By the time I got it all the way down, she'd already moved her
lips down my neck and around to my ear. And kicked off her shoes.
 No bleeding Backstreet Boys in bed with me, damn it. 

And just to prove she WAS getting better at reading my mind when
it mattered, she slowly moved her legs up the sides of the bed
and pulled her little tummy up past my nose as I slid further
down to get a better view of what she was hiding underneath that
red and green plaid miniskirt.

You want to know what happy is?  I'll give you a hint.  It's got
nothing to fucking do with warm guns or puppies.

Happiness is a warm Bubbles sliding her shaved pussy up and down
on your tongue while mewing and purring like a nursing kitten.
Happiness is a warm Bubbles bucking and squealing on your tongue
like a freshly branded pig.  Happiness is a warm Bubbles pressing
herself hard and firm against your mouth and finally screaming to
the heavens in words and tones that would have St. Peter himself
covering his fucking ears.

In short, happiness is just plain tongue fucking a warm Bubbles.

And that's pretty much what I whispered in her ear as she laid
down exhausted next to me.  She just half-smiled, pulled a few
stray hairs from between our faces and whispered back.

"You know, I think Bandan the First sounds like a GREAT name for
a Pharaoh."

Oooooh, let me tell you, she had to pry MY mouth off HERS after
that one.  And it wasn't easy considering the state she was in. 

But through it all, she kept looking at that damned Barbie watch
like she was a whore on a time limit and it was starting to tick
me off.  Finally, she drew a deep breath, pulled away and slid
off the bed.

"Where the hell are you going?" 

"Nowhere, silly," she smiled as she started straightening out her
blouse and skirt. "It's just that..."

Suddenly we were interrupted by a knock on the door and Deevers'
voice booming, "Hey, you two."

"Go away!"  I yelled.  I could almost hear him turning white.

"No!" Bubbles squeaked as she hurried to the door.  And it was a
really FIRM squeak.  Kinda like a cartoon mouse with Stallone's
voice.  Well, OK, you know what I mean.

I looked at her, surprised.

It wasn't the GOOD kind of surprised, either.  So I was surprised
again when her reaction to my surprised reaction was to smile
back at me.

"Surprise!" she mouthed silently to me as she opened the door.

"Is this a bad time?"

The voice was low, but harsh.  And French.  Not VERY French, but
French enough to get my attention.  Didn't think it was possible
for French to be low and harsh at the same time.  But this one
was.  Maybe it was because it was English French, and not French
French, if you know what I mean.  Don't speak or understand
French French, but I think you could probably swear like a sailor
in French French and have it sound like a fucking romance novel.
Or something.

But this was English French and it was low and harsh.  But she
wasn't.  Low, that is. No, she was fucking tall.  About six feet
tall by my guess.  And skinny. Incredibly skinny. Impossibly
skinny. Olive Oyl skinny. But that didn't matter.

"Ah, Barbara, it is so good to see you again," she said in that
divine accent.

That's what mattered.

"Call me Bubbles, Michelle," my little school yard lawyer replied
as the large woman put a hand on her shoulder.  "Everyone does."

"My, but what has happened to you, girl?" the French woman said
as she looked her up and down. "You are not dancing again, are
you?"

And THAT'S what mattered.

"Uh, no." Bubbles looked a bit awkward, like a little girl
standing underneath a maple tree. "Just, like, really figured out
who I am."

"Oh, Barbara, I think maybe you have some issues you need to work
out," the maple thundered and waved her limbs about.  "I know
several good therapists I could recommend."

And THAT'S what mattered. 

But as much as I liked to hear this loud, obnoxious woman talk in
her loud, obnoxious French accent, I HATE being ignored. 

"Ahem!" I said, rather loudly.  "Bubbles, aren't you going to
introduce me to your friend?"

Before Bubbles could answer, the French maple shuffled between us
and extended a branch. "Meechelle Deestario, Mr. Bandan."

I smiled broadly as I took her hand. It was bigger than mine,
with longer fingers. And a ring.  A gold ring.

"The Assistant District Attorney tells me that your lawyer is
thinking about a possible insanity defense."

I looked crossways at Bubbles, who had moved out from underneath
the maple.  She gave me one of the toothiest smiles I've EVER
seen. 

Before I could say or do anything, Meechelle Deestario had
already grabbed a chair and was pulling it over to the side of
the bed.  "So they have decided to have ME do an evaluation."

"Michelle is, like, THE best psychiatrist in the whole state!" 
Bubbles grinned over at me.  "If anyone can solve your problems,
SHE can."

"Well, I..." I started.

"I do not know if I would say THAT."  Meechelle smiled at
Bubbles, though it was obvious she was talking to the whole
world.

"I don't know..."

"Though I DID graduate at the top of my class," she cocked her
head slightly with each word, as if addressing an invisible
audience.

"That's all very nice, but..."

"And I HAVE received several awards from the District Attorney's
office," and her voice got suddenly all sickly and syrupy sweet.

"That's cool, but..."

"And I DO specialize in sexual deviations."

Sigh.  I looked over at Bubbles.  I didn't think she could keep a
silly grin on her rubber face for THAT long. 

"Oh, Darling, you shouldn't have!"  I mocked, finally, and held
out my arms to her.  "It's, like, the absolute BESTEST present
any Pharaoh could ask for!"

**************************

CHAPTER 6.1


You know what annoying is?  I'm not talking the kind of annoying
like being stuck in traffic behind an old lady who won't go the
speed limit or get out of the left-hand lane.  No, I'm talking
the kind of annoying like when you're standing in line at the
bank behind someone counting pennies.  AND you have to go to the
bathroom REALLY bad. AND you've got a splinter in your finger you
can't get out. AND a pebble in your shoe. AND something in your
eye.  AND two women behind you who won't stop talking about their
periods. AND a guy in the line next to you talking to his
stockbroker about how much money he made in the past ten minutes.
 All at the same time.

Well, that's about how annoying I figure Mrs. Michelle Distario
(police psychiatrist from hell) was after just about ten minutes.
 Even the French accent was getting annoying.  And the constant
hand waving was getting annoying. And the condescending attitude
was getting annoying.  And that long damned floral print skirt
that kept making awful swishing noises as she kept crossing her
legs was getting annoying. And the way she kept staring past me
at the wall behind me was getting annoying. And the way she kept
going 'hmm' and writing little notes in her little green note
book was getting annoying. 

Annoyed yet?

Good.  Now you know how I felt.

I looked over at Bubbles to see if she was as annoyed as I was. 
She was falling asleep.  Lucky kid.

"So, Mr. Bandan..."

"Call me Warren."

"Sorry, Mr. Bandan, but that would be unprofessional."

"No, I guess we can't have THAT, can we?"

"No, sir, we cannot." She started with the hand waving again. "If
I am to get a balanced evaluation, I cannot let myself get
involved in informalities."

"What are you writing in the book?"

"Just some thoughts as we progress."  She smiled a very
condescending smile as she tipped it back towards her.  "Nothing
to be concerned with."

"Are we making progress?"

"Why don't you tell me?"  She was staring at the wall again. Like
I wasn't there.  So I finally turned around.

"Hmm, I guess that crack IS pretty strange."

"What do you mean?"

"Must be more interesting than me, as much as you keep staring at
it."

She adjusted the collar on one of her long blouse sleeves and
went to make a notation in her book.  "Well," she said without
bothering to look up at me, "it is not the wall so much, it is
that you seem to be not taking this too seriously."

"I don't take much very seriously."

She looked up at that.  "Well, this is your freedom we are
discussing, is it not?"

I shrugged.  "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to
lose."

"I have not heard that one before."  She went back to her book. 
"Would you care to explain?"

I guess they don't play Kris K. in France.  But you'd have at
least figured she'd heard Joplin.  "An old Americana proverb."

"I had guessed that much, Mr. Bandan."  She twirled the pen
between her fingers like a magician with a coin.  Lots of
practice, I guess.  "But how does it apply in your case?"

"Without risk, there is neither failure nor success."

Back to the book.  "And that means...?"

"To get an omelet, you have to break a few eggs."

She stopped writing and I detected a faint sigh before she began
again.  I sensed we were FINALLY making progress.

"Sooo," she crossed her legs again, put her book in her lap and
looked up at me, "let us move on to your attorney's assertion
that you are not quite well in the head."

At that, Bubbles suddenly came back to life.  "Michelle?!!" 

The maple planted herself more firmly in her seat and turned to
my schoolyard lawyer.  "Ah, but Barbara, that is, as they say,
the 'bottom line' to the insanity defense."

Bubbles frowned.  "Well, yeah, but you don't have to be, like,
rude about it."

I smiled at Bubbles.  She smiled back.  She winked.  I winked
back.

Michelle frowned and wrote some more in her book.  Things were
looking up.

"Sooo" she began again as she looked back up at me, "have you
always had this delusion that you could, how you say, 'control
minds?'"  She was REALLY good at beginning sentences with that
particular word.  Stretched it out to almost three syllables that
time.

"It's not a delusion," I chuckled.

She jotted very quickly in her book, but didn't miss a beat and
didn't look up.  "That is for myself and the courts to decide,
Mr. Bandan."

"To decide whether or not I can control minds or whether or not
it's a delusion?"

She hesitated for a moment, then looked up at me.  "Since it is
impossible to control minds, I certainly must have been referring
to whether or not you have a delusion."

She must be having a bad day, I thought to myself. I can't
imagine Olivet or even Skoda being that blunt about it. Kinda
defeats the purpose.  Oh, yeah, I forgot. Not everyone watches
cop shows as much as I do. 

"But isn't it your JOB to decide whether or not I can really
control minds?" 

"No, it is my job to decide whether or not the insanity defense
is adequate in this case."

"But if I CAN control minds, I'm not delusional."

"That is, as they say, beside the point, Mr. Bandan."  She put
the pen in the hand with her book and used the other to brush
back some stray hairs that had fallen down around her forehead. 
"If you could control minds, then you would have no defense."

"Soooo," I countered.  "You ARE conceding that it's possible I
can control minds."  Heh, mine was four syllables.

It looked like she was going to actually roll her eyes for a
second, then she regained control and started scribbling in her
book again.  I think she was on the second or third page by now.
"No, I am not conceding anything, Mr. Bandan.

"We are talking about two different subjects. It has never been
proven by science that it is possible to do what you claim
without either drugs or hypnosis.  Are you actually claiming that
you can control minds without either of these?"

She had this really defeated look on her face, like this was an
area she really didn't think was worth discussing.  Normally, I'd
agree, but just the fact that it seemed to bother her egged me
on.  I'm funny that way.

"Yeah," I answered. 

She drew a heavy sigh, and turned another page in the book.  I
smiled.

"OK, Mr. Bandan," she said, finally.  I do not normally do such
things in interviews, but I will make an exception in this case.
I want you to try and prove to me that you can indeed control
minds without the use of conventional means."

I drew up in the bed, crossed my arms and shook my head.  "Nah,
not in the mood," I smiled. "Maybe later."

She sighed once again, muttered something in French under her
breath and jotted something down quickly.  I glanced over at
Bubbles.  She looked kinda disappointed.  Again, I winked and
blew her a kiss before the psych from hell looked up again.

"Sooooo then, Mr. Bandan..."

"Call me Warren."

Didn't miss a beat, though that harsh voice was beginning to
strain just a little.  "So, then, Mr. Bandan, maybe we should
move on."  I could almost feel annoyance factor slowly moving
across the room from my side to hers.

"Hokay," I smiled.

"When did you first discover you could 'control minds?'"

"Well, I was in the attic of this house and found this really
thin book lying underneath some floorboards.  It was full of
these really funky symbols and after a while I figured out how to
use them to make people do what I want them to do."

"Soooo, I seee....." she started scribbling furiously.  "And you
are the only one who read this book?"

"Well, yeah, I think, but there are a bunch of other people who
can do kinda the same thing, but there's this place called 'The
Institute' where they kinda, sorta collect them all and
experiment on them to try and figure out..."

She had stopped writing and was twirling her pen and looking up
at me with one eye open and one eye shut.  "That might make an
interesting movie, Mr. Bandan, but I hardly think..."

"No good, eh?" 

"Maybe another approach."

"Actually, I'm one of a number of near-immortals who have been
living with humans for centuries...

She bent her head down a bit and started jotting lazily...

"We all have abilities that humans don't and there's this Great
River, see, and...

She looked up and began tapping the pen on the book.

"No, actually, I got this computer disc from an old lady down the
street, and when I ran the program on the disc, it turned out to
be a program that could change the minds and bodies of everyone
in the general vicinity..."

That time the pen never even reached the book. Strangely enough,
she actually looked kinda attractive when she was annoyed.  In a
doctoral, schoolmarmish, condescending, pain-in-the-ass sorta
way.

"I am from France, Mr. Bandan, not Remulac. If you are trying to
convince me you are not delusional, you are not doing a very good
job of it." 

"Cool." I smiled.  "Does that mean I get off?"

"Hardly." That time I could swear she DID roll her eyes as she
put pen to notebook once again. Being an ugly American does not
necessarily mean you are insane."

"I am NOT ugly."  I crossed my arms and looked at Bubbles.  She
smiled, silently shook her head, and blew me a kiss. 

Michelle the maple muttered something else in French beneath her
breath as she continued to write.  Yep, she really DID look kinda
cute when irritated.  I bet it didn't happen all that often,
though. Maybe something her husband ought to work on.

"Soooo," she continued, "are you going to tell me when you first
learned how to control minds, or should we find some other
avenue?"

"Eh, just put down that I'm a demon from the nethermost pits of
hell.  That's pretty much a catchall."

Her eyes widened and she adjusted herself in her chair.  "Are you
certain you REALLY want to go on record as claiming to be a devil
of some sort?"

"Not really, but it's as likely as anything YOU'RE going to
believe."  Plus, it's a cool image. 

"So you control minds with some kind of magic?" she asked,
turning a page and writing furiously now.

"Well, I guess you could call it that.  There might be some kind
of scientific explanation, but I ain't no Einstein.  All I know
is it works. I always figured it had something to do with the
parts of the brain most people don't use."

She stopped writing and looked up at that.  "That is an
interesting theory."

"Well," I said, smiling over at Bubbles, "at least it makes me
human."

"I suppose..." the maple mused, jotting down a few more notes. 
"But it would also make you a very UNIQUE human, subject to much
poking and prodding if discovered, correct?"

"Heh, maybe." I chuckled.  "You never know, I might LIKE being
poked and prodded.  I'm sure you come across a lot of that in
your line of work."

She halted momentarily, then continued writing and talking,
without looking up.  "Yes, I do, but, usually, my patients are
not so forthcoming with their peculiarities, Mr. Bandan.  In any
case, that is not the subject at hand."

Then she looked up and stared right into my eyes.  It was kinda
funny, really. I wonder what she saw? 

"The subject at hand is, the reasons BEHIND those peculiarities.
If you can do the things you say you can do, WHY do you use them
to achieve such...unpleasant ends?"

 From across the room, Bubbles snorted.  But, just about like
everything else she does, it was a CUTE snort.

"Unpleasant?"  I shrugged.

"Yes, I believe rape is considered unpleasant, even in the United
States."  She was tapping that pen again.

"Well, last I heard, Sally...err, Miss Hooper isn'tcomplaining."

That got her.  Her legs kinda tensed up and her pen stopped
tapping.  She frowned and held her breath and then, finally,
sighed a little sigh.  Then she muttered something in French
(again) and went back to writing.

I decided to press.  "I bet you don't get THAT a lot from rape
victims, do you?"

Unfortunately, she wasn't biting.  "Now, what exactly about the
rape did you think she enjoyed?"  She didn't even bother looking
up.

"Well, it sounded to me and everyone else in the general vicinity
like she was enjoying herself."

"But if you can indeed 'control minds,' how are we to judge if
she was really enjoying herself or if you were simply forcing her
to?"

Again, I shrugged.  "People make deals all the time.  One party
always wants it more than the other, at least to a degree.  Sex
is no different. In the end, it's what you GET from the
relationship that's important. How you grow and learn and adapt
so you become stronger."

She hesitated and looked at me, a bit puzzled, I suppose, then
went back to writing.  "That is an interesting view, Mr. Bandan.
I do not think I have ever heard rape expressed in those terms
before."

I breathed deeply.  Never really cared much about explaining
myself.  Never felt I had to before. Especially to an overgrown
kid with a superiority complex.  

"Well, in order to control minds, I pretty much have to be able
to reach out and touch 'em. Can't help but pick up a few feelers
for what the other person needs and wants."

That one surprised her a bit.  She stopped writing for a moment
and crossed her legs the other way, causing her skirt to crawl a
bit further up her leg.  No hose.  And here I thought the French
invented those.  Oh, well.

"Sooo, you are basically saying that Sally Hooper WANTED to get
raped?"  She squinted. 

"Nah.  But she didn't object really, really strongly, like you
would have figured."  I shrugged again.  "Some do, some don't. 
Look, I'm no angel, Miss Michelle, but I'm no demon either. 
Sometimes I feel like a good fuck. Sometimes I feel like getting
a blow job.  Sometimes I feel like GIVING a blow job."

I was carefully watching her while I got crude.  Gotta give her
credit, she didn't blink.  Much.  Must have heard a LOT of this
kind of talk in her line of work.  Just kept writing.  I glanced
over at Bubbles and smiled.

"Sometimes I feel like licking pussy."  Bubbles got all red and
started playing with her pigtails.  I guess that beat the
alternative.

"I just don't have to work at it like everyone else."  I
continued as I smiled back at her.  "But I remember those needs
and wants and I make sure that I leave a piece of myself with
everyone I touch as kind of a present for being so nice to me."

She stopped writing again for a moment and scratched her nose. 
"And that somehow makes it right?"

My turn to roll my eyes.  "Maybe.  Maybe not.  Not for me to
decide.  No one gets anything worthwhile for free.  Life is
nothing but a string of deals you make with the rest of the
world.  Difference is, my deals might cost a bit more at first,
but no one else can give what I can, so I think most people find
it worthwhile."

She started writing again.  "Sounds like you ARE describing the
devil, Mr. Bandan."

I laughed out loud, long and hard at her.  "We're not talking
souls here, we're talking pussy!  You sure you come fromFrance?"

Bubbles started giggling.  The maple bent down and scratched her
foot, seemingly unfazed by the insult.  Well, OK, it was a pretty
weak insult, as insults go.  But even a clueless shrink should be
able to tell the difference between a good deal and a bad one.

"Soooo, Mr. Bandan," she continued again, stretching this one out
to five syllables in the ongoing war of annoyance.  Just when I
thought I was winning, too.  "You say you 'leave a pice of you
with all you touch.'  This must lead me to ask how many victims
you have raped with your mind?"

She was good, this one. Really good.  I can certainly see how she
got all those awards and shit.  Don't understand how she's
managed to get and stay married, though.  That guy must be a REAL
wimp.

"I dunno," I half-smiled and shrugged nonchalantly.  "Maybe a
couple hundred."

She almost dropped her pen as she looked up at me, trying to
gauge how serious I was. 

"Hey, what can I say, I'm a horny devil," I chuckled. 

"We are not making much progress here, Mr. Bandan."  She sighed
deeply and turned the page.  "You really expect me to believe
that you have raped over a hundred women and never been caught?"

"Uh, women AND men," I corrected, solemnly.  "And both kinds of
transsexuals, too.  I'm an equal-opportunity mind-rapist."

I especially liked the M/F transies.  When I was through with
them, they were more woman upstairs than most women, if you know
what I mean.  Heh, let some gender doctors try and do THAT. 
"Victims," indeed.

"I stand...corrected," she said with obvious disdain as she
continued scribbling.  I figure she must've crossed over short
story and into novella by now.

"As for not getting caught, well, that's probably because I've
never had any complaints."  And it was true, for the most part. 
Well, that and the fact that most of 'em either still want
something from me or know damned well not to get me too upset. 
Heh, or can't remember me.  Again, nobody out there can do what I
do.  "Everyone I touch is much HAPPIER afterwards."

She looked up at me again.  "I find that hard to believe."  At
least she stopped looking at the wall. Brought the annoyance
factor down to bearable.  I HATE being ignored.

"It's true."  I sat up higher in the bed so I could look down on
her, despite her height.  "Everyone can be happier.  Take
yourself, for instance.  I can't imagine how tough it must be day
in and day out to be so much smarter than everyone else. To have
all the answers, to know what's best for everyone, to have to put
up with their pettiness and little annoyances because they're not
nearly as well-adjusted as you."

She half-smiled and continued jotting.  "Very good, Mr. Bandan,
please continue."

"I bet even your husband is beneath you.  I bet you married him
just so you can have someone to look down upon on your daysoff."

She stopped scribbling for a second and shuffled her feet. 

"Think of how much happier you would be if you didn't have to be
so damned perfect, if you could look around you and see the rocks
as just rocks without wondering if they're igneous or metamorphic
or how the hell they got there."

"I think that maybe I have heard enough, Mr. Bandan," she said as
she turned another page.  "I do not doubt that you BELIEVE you
have this power over other people, but I do not know if that is
enough to..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you don't know if that's enough to make a
recommendation one way or the other as to my competency to stand
trial."

She snapped her head up suddenly and just stared blankly at me
for a second or two before replying.  "That is a VERY good guess,
Mr. Bandan.   You are clearly a very intelligent person, despite
your ill-manners."

"Well, THANK you, Doctor."  I clasped my hands together and
pasted on a huge smile. "I believe that's the NICEST thing you've
said to me this entire time."

"And I think this delusion should be studied more closely. I
believe it is the first that I am personally aware of..."

"OK, OK, you've convinced me, Doc.  I'm ready to give you that
demonstration now."

"Oh, I do not think that is necessary, Mr. Bandan..."  She
started to get up.

"But you mean you actually would pass up the chance to document a
genuine case of mind control?"

She sighed deeply and sat back down, turning another page.  "Very
well, Mr. Bandan."

"OK, but first you have to tell me what you've been writing about
me."

She crossed her arms and folded her book beneath her right
armpit.  "I certainly will not, it is unprofessional."

"Then let me see the book."

She turned it slightly in my direction so I could see some of the
print.  "It would not do you much good if you cannot read
French," she smiled.

I frowned and drew a heavy sigh.  "Oh, well, it was worth a try.
No, I can't read French - yet."

At that, Michelle Distario stood up and stretched her roots and
flipped the book back to the first page.  "Then..."

"But you can."

She straightened out her skirt and tugged at her blouse.  "I
certainly will not."

"Oh, C'mon, Doc, at least the first paragraph."

She looked at me and smiled that condescending smile that I'd
come to hate so much in so little time.  "Sorry, Mr. Bandan, I am
a Doctor, and..."

Then she glanced down at the book in her hand and her face went
pale.  These are the kind of moments I live for.  You know, those
Kodak moments, those "priceless" American Express moments that
money can't buy.  Call this one a "Warren Bandan Presents:  A You
Are SOOOOOO Fucked" moment.  I ought to apply for a trademark.

Suddenly, she started flipping madly through the pages, talking
rapidly to herself in her native tongue.

"Oh, C'mon, Doc, show some of that high-society upbringing. 
English, please."

"Zis is not...zis is not what I wrote!"  Well, OK it was an
improvement.  Still English French, but English enough that
Bubbles and I got the general gist.  Plus, it sounded ultrasexy.

"I do not...I do not understand!  Zis is not what I wrote!"  She
had now stopped flipping through the book and was back at the
first page. 

"Uh, Doc, we heard that part already."

"I did not write zis!" She repeated, staring at the book and
running her hand through her jet black hair.

I looked over at Bubbles.  "Bubbles, did you write that?"

She shrugged.  "I, like, don't do French.  Well, not THAT kind of
French, anyway."  And smiled.  Cutely, I might add.

I leaned out over the bed to get a better look at the book. 
"That's not MY handwriting."

"Yes, well, it IS my handwriting, but I did not WRITE zis!"  She
genuinely looked shocked.  And I'd be willing to bet all the
flowers in my bathroom that it was probably the first time in
quite a while.  She had a lot of catching up to do.

Luckily, I'm REALLY good at that.

I looked around the room.  "No one else here, Doc.  I'm pretty
sure Deevers out there doesn't write French either."

"But..."  She had slowly sunk back into her chair now, but the
color still hadn't come back to her face.  More like a birch than
a maple.  She was still staring at the book, moving it back and
forth in front of her eyes, like she was missing her glasses or
something.

"Look, Doc, surely it can't be THAT bad."

"But it IS zat bad."  She was starting to shake a bit.  "I do not
know how zis happened!"

Bubbles came over and put an arm around her. Never figured her
for the motherly type, but who knew?  "Oh, C'mon now, Michelle,
like, maybe we can help."

"Yeah," I chimed in.  "I'm REALLY good at helping."

"But zis is...so 'orrible."  She was staring at that first page
again.  "Zis person..."

I leaned over closer.  "You mean zat person who wrote in French
in your book?"

"She is 'orrible." Michelle's face started trembling a bit as she
started scanning again.  "Today I took ze money for my make-up
from Muzer's purse.  She will never suspect her little angel,
no."

"Oh, No!" Bubbles put both hands to her cheeks. "A MAKE-UP
thief!" 

Michelle ran her fingers across the page. "But, you do not
understand!  She gets WORSE, zis one!"

"Worse than a MAKE-UP thief?" I chimed in, incredulous. 

"Yes, yes!" she continued, getting more and more unnerved with
every line.  "Right here.  'Today, I took ze camera and sold it
to Phillipe.  I finally have enough for zat new dress!  Muzer
does not suspect. She thinks ze valet at ze chalet took it.  I
feel so naughty.'"

"What an AWFUL little girl!" Bubbles tried her best to look
judgmental. She really did.  Unfortunately, she looked pretty
much like an awful little girl herself, so it didn't work so
well.  Luckily there was no one around in any shape to notice.

"Oh, YES," Michelle agreed as she continued.  "A TERRIBLE little
girl!" 

"Today, I was walking next to ze pool wiz my new bathing suit and
Yves was zere while Muzer was shopping.  I could tell he was
looking at me in ZAT way and I felt so sexy.  I bent down in
front of him to scratch my feet and I could tell he was looking
at my breasts.  Muzer would die!"

Bubbles just stood there with her mouth open.  "WOW!"

Michelle put the book down.  "I...I cannot continue.  It is just
too 'orrible."

"Hey, now, Doc, you can't give up on her so soon." I opined,
cheerfully.  "Everyone can change."

"But..." she started, glancing down at the book, then up again in
obvious disgust.  "You do not understand.  Zis one is obviously
suffering from growing up wizout an authority fauzer figure."

"A LOT of us grow up without fauzer figures and we do OK," I
countered.  Heh, OK, maybe I'm not the best example.

"Maybe she DID change," Bubbles mused, looking down at the
notebook which had plenty of handwriting yet to be de-Frenched.

"No, no," Michelle picked up the book like she was handling a
cobra or something. "Zis one got WORSE."

"NO?" Bubbles said, sounding kinda like a housewife discussing a
soap opera over the phone.  Reminded me of Stanley when I told
him Bailey was a lesbian.  "Don't tell me that she, like,
actually..."

"YES!" The maple was getting goose bumps now.  Dunno if it was
guilt or rage or excitement, but I was betting on a little of all
three, and I'm pretty good at handicapping this kinda thing. 

"Today, Yves and I finally did it.  It was AMAZING!  My poossee
was SO wet, I thought he was never going to be able to stay
inside me.  He says I have ze MOST sensuous poossee.  He says I
smell like apricots.  He stayed down zere for almost an hour.  It
was the most amazing zing I have ever done.  I saw heaven six
times.  He says he will marry me. I will truly be an angel."

Bubbles looked like she was going to swoon.  I dunno how much of
it was an act, but it certainly added to the atmosphere.  This
wasn't one of my best performances, but it was pretty fun
nonetheless. Michelle Distario was a piece of work, all right. 
But, then, I've found hypocrites to be pretty fun in general.

"So," Bubbles now had her arm tightly around Michelle and was
breathing hard, "did they get married?!"

"Certainly not!!!"  The reply was terse in that lovingly annoying
way.  "She does not DESERVE to be happy, zis one does not.  She
is a 'orrible, evil child woman, zis one is!"

"So, what DID happen next, silly?" Bubbles was almost in her lap,
trying her damnedest to learn French on the fly now.  Michelle
wrinkled her nose and fought to continue.

"Yves was drunk and told Muzer about us. She has said she will
send me to school in ze United States.  Zat will make me happy. 
Yves is a bastard skunk and zey deserve to be togezer.  I will
become ze best and smartest doctor and zen zey will see how wrong
zey were."

Michelle dropped the book back in her lap.  She was visibly
shaking with rage now.  "What an evil, manipulating bitch!  She
will always blame ozers!"

I shook my head and sighed.  "So, Doc, what kind of therapy would
you recommend?"

That seemed to calm her for a moment as she stared at the wall in
thought.  "Well," she said, finally, "as I said before, I feel
zis girl suffered from ze lack of a strong figure of authority."

Bubbles rolled her eyes.  "Sounds like she needs, like, a good
spanking to me."

I sat up.  "You, know, Bubbles, this IS the USA, after all..."

Michelle stood up, book still in hand and slowly walked to the
bed.  "Zat is true, of course.  I am a strong believer in
discipline, after all."

Without missing a beat, she laid herself across the bed, the
notebook still in her hands.  "And it does sound like zis girl's
muzer was not one to readily apply discipline when needed."

"That certainly could have helped contribute to her problems, " I
started as I lifted her skirt about her waist and pulled her
plain white (ugh) panties down to her knees, "in my unschooled
opinion, of course."

"Of course," she said as my hand came down on her butt with a
fairly soft smack.  This was only the third or fourth time I'd
ever administered a spanking - well, a physical one, that is - so
I wanted to make sure I did it right.  Being an authority figure
is a huge responsibility, after all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Bubbles sitting on the
edge of the bed. One of her hands had snuck beneath her skirt. 
Seemed she got off on this kind of thing.  Again, who knew?

But somehow, she still managed to lean over and gaze at the book
as Michelle was flipping pages.  "Hey, there's still more," she
said as she leaned ominously close to Michelle's ear.

"Yes, zere is," the tall woman continued, even as I laid another
one down on her behind. "Zis naughty girl is not finished wiz her
manipulative ways."

"When I got to college in Boston, ze first zing I noticed was zat
American girls do too much studying and do not spend enough time
wiz zeir boyfriends.  It was very easy for me to steal zem away.
Zey all LOVED my accent."

You betcha, I snickered to myself as I laid another down, just a
bit harder this time.  This WAS one naughty girl.

"Zey do not let zeir boyfriends...lick zeir poossees, for
example.  uhhh...  Zey zink it is somezing evil. uhh... I LOVE
having zem lick my poossee and zey LOVE licking my poossee. 
uhhhh...."

The hell with licking, I thought as I smacked her again, Mr.
Chuckles - incapacitated as he was - was just loving hearing her
SAY the word.  It was getting harder and harder for her to
continue, though, since the little gasps were coming more quickly
now.  And the sheets were getting wet.

"Zen...uhhh.... one day I got caught...uhhh...wiz...ze boyfriend
of Angie...uhh....  but I could tell she was turned on by my
poossee...uhh...  He made her get down...uhh and lick my
poosseee...."

Bubbles had her skirt up around her waist and her five fingers
were now playing along with mine, keeping time with the rhythm of
my hands on the evil child's love drums.  I bet Ringo never had
this much fun.

"I...uhh...never had a woman eat...uhhh, my poossee
before...uhh...it was AMAZING!  She did not want to do
it...uhh...and zat made it BETTER!"

Uh, oh.  As she was bouncing up and down between my waist and my
hand, I felt Mr. Chuckles stir.  I guess this performance was
better than I thought.

"Then ze word got around about...uhhh... my apricot
poossee...uhh...even the professors...uhh...  Amazing grades....
uhh...."

Suddenly, Bubbles leaned over and whispered, "Michelle, you have
been one, VERY bad girl."

Michelle gave a little gasp and looked up wide-eyed from her
book.  "But, no...uhh, Barbara....uhh. but zis is not ME."

Smack!  That one came down REALLY hard. 

"I could not...uhh...be..." One hand still held the book, the
other reached back around and under her waist.

SMACK!!! 

Bubbles gave me one last smile before she started shaking all
over.  Did I mention she even does THAT cutely?

SMACK! 

"No.  I mean...uhh...zat person...."  Her fingers started working
now, in and out of her poosee to that same bum beat...

SMACK!  
"It cannot!  Not ME!"  Her butt was really red now, but her face
was even MORE red.  Cherry red.

SMACK! 

"NO!!!!"  Fire engine red.

SMACK! 

I felt for, just a second, that the annoying shrink might
overcome that evil little girl of thirty or so years ago. But,
hey, why should she be any different than the rest of us.

SMACK! 

"I been a uhh...very, very...uhh...bad girl...uhh...Daddy."

SMACK!

"Physician, HEAL thyself!!!"  Damned if it DIDN'T smell like
apricots in here. Very RIPE apricots. The housekeepers are going
to have a great time with THESE sheets tonight.

"PLEASE, DADDY!!!!   I WILL BE A GOOD GIRL!!!"  And I bet she
never saw heaven like THAT from some guy eating her "poossee," I
thought as she came so hard I had to look around to see if
someone hadn't hit the hospital bed controls by accident.

"Yes, Michelle, I believe you will."

And that goes for the rest of you too. 

Because Dr. Bandan is ALWAYS on call.

<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has
been modified from its original format.  The post was sent as an
email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation
software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ 

------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+