Helga

"I have to talk to you," she said. I was sitting on my office chair looking at my pregnant wife who just barged in. Helga walks passed me, making way for the couch. She lets out a huge sigh of relief as she takes off her shoes. "Criminy, if I have to spend another fucking second in those torture chambers called pumps then I swear, somebodies going down!" She bends over, gently rubbing her feet before reclining back on my couch, growling in relief again.

"I've been meaning to talk to you too, " I say, moving to the armchair opposite Helga. Out of habit I grab my note pad and pen, tapping the butt of it on the yellow paper. Helga cringes her eyes some, turning herself to me.

"Will you cut that out! Man!"

"Sorry," I say, stopping the pen, "So tell me, what did you want to talk about? Phil's grades I assume."

"Oh, so you were listing to me this morning!"

"This morning? What about this morning?"

"A DOI! When I told you I was going into to see his teacher today! She's been wanting to see one of us for a while now."

"Really?" I say, jotting that down.

"What do you mean really? Football head, his grades are slipping, and according to Miss Know-it-all it started right around the time we told him about this!" She points to her rounded belly and then rubs it, moaning in discontent.

"Well, I guess we'd better talk to him again. If does he not start taking his studies seriously then we're going to have to make some changes. Maybe take away his video games." My wife turns to me, eyes softening from their take-charge look.

"I'm not so sure that's the right way to go here. In fact, I know it's not. I think he's intentionally not doing his homework."

"What? Why would he do that?" I say, getting peeved. "He knows the rules. He does his homework or he can't play his games. That's it! I'm taking them away tonight!" I note that on my bad, and make another to have a session with him. This has got to remedied!

"The thing is," Helga starts, "I can see why he would. I did stuff like this all the time when I was his age. Of course, it all failed and my parents STILL don't notice me, but..."

"Oh, so you still hate your parents I see..."

"Oh NO you DON'T! You are not going to play Dr. Shortman with me! That's how we got INTO this mess remember?" I stiffen up, trying to get what she means. The night comes back to me in a flash. I was working late one evening, looking over the days session logs when Helga came in. Only, she was not dressed like Helga, she was dressed like someone else, like...Cecile. I remember how striking she looked, how her blond hair fell carelessly over left eye. How her hot pink striped shirt hugged her body in just the right places. How her skirt barley covered her tight ass...the way he her shoes...oh those shoes. My body quivered as she walked to me, not sure how long my pants could stand to stay on.

"Oh Doctor Shortman," she breathed, her glistening beat rep lips coming at me, "I think I have an addiction."

"T-to w-what?" I tried to say, the words hardly able to leave my airless body

"Your Dick. Your long...hard...dick. And I think I know just the cure." Before I can try to figure out what she's doing Helga..Cecile...is on me, kissing me, touching me, and making me so hot that I can't even stand it! I tried break away but couldn't my hands magnetically drawn to her sweet hot ass. Within moments we were on my couch.

"I think I can help you with that," I say, eyes half lidded as I tare off my wife's clothes. The ripping sound gets to me, and before I can control myself I am inside her, thrusting in every inch of love I can feel. She keeps breathing out my name, each syllable making me propel deeper inside her until we finally scream with pleasurable completion. The last I remember is dosing next to her on the couch, clinging close. That was five months ago.
"Helga," I start, " Don't you see that every time I try help, you use sex to defuse me."

"Don't you realize that not everyone needs to be seen on this couch?"

"Don't YOU realize that you still use anger with any therapist you have?"

"DON'T YOU realize that your son needs a FATHER and NOT a therapist?"

"What?" Her words feel like a punch in the face, plastering me to the back of chair. I take moment to wrap my head around what Helga said, shocked that she would even think something like that.

"When was the last you played with him? I mean really played with him? Not that stupid sock puppet crap, I'm taking about a game of cards, some catch, a round or two of Mortal Combat?"

"Well-I...there was that time when...I..."

"I thought so." Helga rises from the couch, her face grimacing as she puts her shoes back on. "The saddest thing is," she says as she stands in the open doorway, hand on the knob, "I'm not even surprised. Not one...bit." Helga slams the door behind her, the sound of it still not loud enough to cover up her more then obvious tears.