“Obsessive Compulsion: Murder by Desire” – the 1st Scene
“Obsessive Compulsion: Murder by Desire” – Scene 1
Bennington Tanskanen fidgeted in the regal phlebotomy chair, ruminating on an article about polyamory he’d discovered in Men’s Health Magazine while waiting to be stabbed and bled.
An over active imagination bounced thoughts of unrestricted love—the kind fringed with oodles of sexual expression—up against the foundational wall of marital frustration. His passionate union with Gloria Mason-Tanskanen had surrendered to a timetable. The mental calculation arrived uninvited—two weeks since their last intimate moment. Scheduling complications.
Bennington stopped the thought train. He’d schooled countless obsessives in the tactic over fifteen years. Avoidance always failed. It was foolish and threatening to the intrusive work of the phlebotomist. Active cognitive aversion only increased muscle tension.
Eyes closed, he breathed deeply into his diaphragm, counting, two, three, four. Hold it, two, three, four. Exhale, be-bop-a-lula she's my baby and we’re out.
The mindfulness exercise was interrupted by a blood-sucking fairy constructing wind chimes out of those fat stainless steel needles Bennington had tried so hard to obfuscate.
His second exhale burst into a pyrotechnic peony before the optimum eight count. Hypodermic jet fighters aligned in battle formation, taunting his imagination. His eyelids squeezed tighter.
The softest, warmest hand in the universe touched his forearm.
He snapped into the here and now.
A red-headed angel peered into his face with compassion.
“Hi. I’m Erin,” she said.
The emerald color of her eyes tugged him free from panic.
“Left or right?” she asked.
“Which arm do you prefer?”
“Oh. Right.” The word sounded wrong. “I mean, my right arm.”
Erin offered a coy twinkle. “Roll up your sleeve, sir.”
Her musky floral scent peaked his arousal. He turned the cuff over twice before shoving the remaining material past his elbow.
“Nice shirt,” she said, wrapping a lifeless beige tube around his bicep. “Are you British or just royally handsome?” she added with a wink.
An unexpected brashness charged forward from his thumping chest. “Both. What’s your excuse?”
She stepped to a nearby counter.
His eyes followed the movement of her hips beneath a moderately cut pant suit.
“Thomas Pink, isn’t it?” she asked, turning briskly enough to catch his lustful survey.
Her soft chuckle tempered the faux pas. “Is that your final answer?”
“Pale blue?” he tried. Banter came easy. She knew the perfect next word.
“Powder sounds more prestigious.”
“Yes, then. Powder blue with a hint of class.”
She traced his vein with a finger. “Are you ready for this?”
“Some part of me has apparently been preparing for this moment.” Warm embarrassment coated his neck.
Her charitable palm smoothed the tenseness out of his exposed forearm. “You sound like a man of adventure.”
“The adventurous man would simply leap into a thing unawares.”
She tightened the tourniquet. Electric green eyes jolted his libido. The scent of her electrified his skin.
“Squeeze this,” she said, placing a rubber ball in his fist. “Tightly.”
He held her gaze for the time it took his heart to accelerate by fifteen beats per minute.
Erin glided to the counter once more.
Bennington zeroed in on the hypnotic movement with uninhibited compulsion. Desire swelled in his forehead.
She returned with the needle and tapped the vein in his arm.
He felt it in every organ of his body.
“A nice big one,” she said in a low and husky tone. “It might sting a little.”
“Every day a little death,” Bennington said. He gripped the left chair arm to keep from touching her thinly covered ass.
The prick of the phlebotomy needle prompted a feeling like love, knowing she was inside of him, taking life from him.
“Release,” she ordered.
He relaxed his grip on the rubber ball. His eyelids fell shut.
A picture of Erin, sans clothing or modesty, erupted onto the screen of his mind. His heart pulsed against the tips of her fingers. Passion drove him to the edge of bliss. Her image morphed with swirls of delight, coalescing with the memory of Gloria’s open-eyed thrill during their first mutual orgasm.
Bennington gasped for air. The tornado caught a pool of saliva and sprayed it down his windpipe. The resulting fit of spastic choking erased all lordliness and dignity.
Erin held his blood-pumping arm with unexpected strength. “Easy, Master Bennington.” Her body was close, her racy tone oddly soothing. “Give it reign. Ride it out.”
The irritation in his larynx resided. He pulled a couple of deep nasal breaths into his lungs. A shiver of satisfaction rattled his lips on exhale.
“You are a stallion, aren’t you,” Erin said in low tones. A gentle laugh followed.
Bennington snorted through his nose. “Maybe you should be the therapist and I’ll stab people for their vital fluids,” he said.
“We do get all kinds of anxieties in this chair.”
“Wisdom from the mouth of….” He wished the words back into his mouth. The phrase widened the gap, turning him into a middle-aged pervert stalking sophomoric schoolgirls.
“Some chicks dig a mature male,” Erin said, correcting his thinking with magical mind-reading. “Especially the hardy kind.” She slid the hypodermic from his vein without breaking eye contact. “All finished, Sir Bennington. We’ll get these to the lab for your doctor.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Our tryst has reached its end?”
“Make sure you can stand erect.” She simpered. “Then you are free to leave.” She took the tray of test tubes and sashayed out of the room.
Bennington boldly held onto every swish and sway, memorizing her movements, until she disappeared. He snapped to his feet, flooded with the awkwardness of men who know better, and scuttled out of the hospital.