monique_minx
Passionate Disgrace
- Joined
- Sep 27, 2009
- Posts
- 8,460
((Closed for Minx and desperado1089))
Flashes of gunfire, a man lying on the ground, clutching his chest and covered in blood.
“Jesus Christ Cross!” He wheezed out as she emerged from the bushes laughing; on closer inspection it appeared to be red paint not blood.
“Those fuckers hurt at close range ya know!” He gasped and grabbed her hand as she offered it; she hauled up the 6 foot, 5 inches worth of man with little hassle though she continued to laugh.
“Oh come on Jake, you’re a big boy. You can take it!” She pressed her gun to his chest and tapped the red band on her arm with her fingertips, “you’re mine sergeant!”
He groaned and handed her his gun just as two shots rang out, she stumbled forward, gasping with wide eyes as Jake moved quickly and took his gun from her. He started laughing as he saw the blue paint on the back of her shirt and she spun around as the other soldier emerged from the scrub with a grin on his face.
“You shot me in the back?!” She asked exasperated.
“Yeah, looks like I did, doesn’t it?” He chuckled at the incredulous look on her face, “oh come on Lieutenant! I saw you shoot Jake, if you’d had the chance I’d be on my back covered in red paint right now! Take it like a man!”
She scowled at first then licked her lips as she threw her gun to his feet and laced her fingers behind her head in surrender.
“I’d prefer to take it like a woman actually.” With that she turned on her heel and wiggled her ass as he grinned and led her off.
“I think I’d prefer it too…”
"Who is he?" The voice broke into her thoughts and Joan blinked away from the ceiling to look over at him.
"What?" Joan asked dumbly.
"Who is he?" The psychiatrist repeated himself for her, ignoring the fact that she'd spaced out while describing the dream.
"I don't know." She admitted, "I felt like that was the first time I met him, he is...familiar from other dreams but in that moment...I don't know. It was like I hadn't met him until then."
"I see." He said and scrawled something down on his notepad.
"And is he the only one who recurs in these dreams?" He continued.
"Well, no. I've seen a few others vaguely before but he's like...the focus. I mean it's always in the same area too, the same buildings and wilderness. It's always there." She explained.
"And where is this place?" He asked.
"I don't know. I've never been there but it feels like I have...at the same time. It's very confusing and frustrating." She huffed and folded her arms.
"Alright Joan, I think that's enough for today. You've done great but I think we should track these dreams better and the recurring...characters in them. I'd like you to keep a dream journal, do you think you can do that?"
She sighed and rolled her eyes like an irritated teenager who'd been given too much homework, "I suppose."
"Excellent, I'll see you next time."
Joan got up and left without so much as a goodbye. Why should she feel grateful? She'd been returning for five years now, switched between plenty of medications and therapies and she was still blacking out with ridiculous frequency. Joan's blackouts were unique too, they weren't a few hours long or even a few days - they could last months. Joan had lost chunks of her life to these debilitating blackouts and she still had no reason for it. The psychiatrist had once had her totally convinced that it was due to the trauma of the horrific car accident that claimed the lives of her parents but as time went on and the grief subsided, Joan was less certain.
Joan was left unable to work after she suddenly didn't show up for 4 months and couldn't remember why. She was fortunate to have been born to a rather wealthy family and retained their estate after her parents passed. Without their money, she'd have landed on the streets by now. She was only 25 for heaven's sakes! She should have been in the prime of her life, she was fit as hell and physically healthy - the doctors couldn't find a single medical explanation as to why she was blacking out and Joan was sick of seeing so many. She'd sought a hundred second opinions and only ever came up empty.
Joan slid into a waiting vehicle and the female driver closed the door soundly behind her before rounding the car to take up position behind the steering wheel, "Good session?"
Joan sighed, "About the same as always Melissa. We just talked about my dreams more this time."
"Oh the one you had last night? The paint and the cutie soldier?" Melissa sounded so bubbly.
"That's the one." Joan, in contrast, sounded miserable.
"Does he have any ideas about it?" Melissa asked as she peeled into the heavy London traffic.
"None that he shared. Just wants me to keep a dream journal now." Joan told her assistant.
Melissa was about the closest thing she had to a friend these days. She'd become a recluse and her friends had peeled off one by one, finding her 'condition' too difficult to handle or manage in their picture perfect little lives. So Joan was largely isolated in her parents rather large mansion these days and spent a good chunk of time surfing the internet and working out. Melissa managed her life and her accountant managed her finances, Joan took a few online classes here and there so she didn't go absolutely insane. She was extremely intelligent and would've made valuable contributions to society were it not for the blackouts.
Flashes of gunfire, a man lying on the ground, clutching his chest and covered in blood.
“Jesus Christ Cross!” He wheezed out as she emerged from the bushes laughing; on closer inspection it appeared to be red paint not blood.
“Those fuckers hurt at close range ya know!” He gasped and grabbed her hand as she offered it; she hauled up the 6 foot, 5 inches worth of man with little hassle though she continued to laugh.
“Oh come on Jake, you’re a big boy. You can take it!” She pressed her gun to his chest and tapped the red band on her arm with her fingertips, “you’re mine sergeant!”
He groaned and handed her his gun just as two shots rang out, she stumbled forward, gasping with wide eyes as Jake moved quickly and took his gun from her. He started laughing as he saw the blue paint on the back of her shirt and she spun around as the other soldier emerged from the scrub with a grin on his face.
“You shot me in the back?!” She asked exasperated.
“Yeah, looks like I did, doesn’t it?” He chuckled at the incredulous look on her face, “oh come on Lieutenant! I saw you shoot Jake, if you’d had the chance I’d be on my back covered in red paint right now! Take it like a man!”
She scowled at first then licked her lips as she threw her gun to his feet and laced her fingers behind her head in surrender.
“I’d prefer to take it like a woman actually.” With that she turned on her heel and wiggled her ass as he grinned and led her off.
“I think I’d prefer it too…”
"Who is he?" The voice broke into her thoughts and Joan blinked away from the ceiling to look over at him.
"What?" Joan asked dumbly.
"Who is he?" The psychiatrist repeated himself for her, ignoring the fact that she'd spaced out while describing the dream.
"I don't know." She admitted, "I felt like that was the first time I met him, he is...familiar from other dreams but in that moment...I don't know. It was like I hadn't met him until then."
"I see." He said and scrawled something down on his notepad.
"And is he the only one who recurs in these dreams?" He continued.
"Well, no. I've seen a few others vaguely before but he's like...the focus. I mean it's always in the same area too, the same buildings and wilderness. It's always there." She explained.
"And where is this place?" He asked.
"I don't know. I've never been there but it feels like I have...at the same time. It's very confusing and frustrating." She huffed and folded her arms.
"Alright Joan, I think that's enough for today. You've done great but I think we should track these dreams better and the recurring...characters in them. I'd like you to keep a dream journal, do you think you can do that?"
She sighed and rolled her eyes like an irritated teenager who'd been given too much homework, "I suppose."
"Excellent, I'll see you next time."
Joan got up and left without so much as a goodbye. Why should she feel grateful? She'd been returning for five years now, switched between plenty of medications and therapies and she was still blacking out with ridiculous frequency. Joan's blackouts were unique too, they weren't a few hours long or even a few days - they could last months. Joan had lost chunks of her life to these debilitating blackouts and she still had no reason for it. The psychiatrist had once had her totally convinced that it was due to the trauma of the horrific car accident that claimed the lives of her parents but as time went on and the grief subsided, Joan was less certain.
Joan was left unable to work after she suddenly didn't show up for 4 months and couldn't remember why. She was fortunate to have been born to a rather wealthy family and retained their estate after her parents passed. Without their money, she'd have landed on the streets by now. She was only 25 for heaven's sakes! She should have been in the prime of her life, she was fit as hell and physically healthy - the doctors couldn't find a single medical explanation as to why she was blacking out and Joan was sick of seeing so many. She'd sought a hundred second opinions and only ever came up empty.
Joan slid into a waiting vehicle and the female driver closed the door soundly behind her before rounding the car to take up position behind the steering wheel, "Good session?"
Joan sighed, "About the same as always Melissa. We just talked about my dreams more this time."
"Oh the one you had last night? The paint and the cutie soldier?" Melissa sounded so bubbly.
"That's the one." Joan, in contrast, sounded miserable.
"Does he have any ideas about it?" Melissa asked as she peeled into the heavy London traffic.
"None that he shared. Just wants me to keep a dream journal now." Joan told her assistant.
Melissa was about the closest thing she had to a friend these days. She'd become a recluse and her friends had peeled off one by one, finding her 'condition' too difficult to handle or manage in their picture perfect little lives. So Joan was largely isolated in her parents rather large mansion these days and spent a good chunk of time surfing the internet and working out. Melissa managed her life and her accountant managed her finances, Joan took a few online classes here and there so she didn't go absolutely insane. She was extremely intelligent and would've made valuable contributions to society were it not for the blackouts.
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