Chapter 1: Edging

Good morning, Detroit!

It is 6:35 am and you are listening to 92.5 FM, The EDGE. I’m your host Jimmy G and today we have a very special guest on the show with us…

Smack…

… ome back, my fellow EDGErs. It is now 7:15am, and if you are just tuning in we are speaking with our special guest today, Dr. Bonner. Dr. Bonner is medical doctor and research scientist who specializes in…

Smack….

… coming up to 8:32am, and I’m your host Jimmy G. You are listening to 92.5FM the EDGE. We are talking with Dr. Bonner MD PhD and CEO and Founder of the Rise Again Institute, located in Atlanta, Georgia. We have a few minutes until the show comes to an end and Dr. Bonner has been gracious enough to take a few questions from you, the listeners. So, if you are listening and have a question for Dr. Bonner, please pick up the phone and dial 1-800-THE-EDGE. We would love to hear from you.

OK, wow that was fast… we have our first caller…

“Hello… Hello… am I on air?  Is this Jimmy G?”

“Yes you are on air, and yes this is Jimmy G. What is your name, young man?”

“UUHH… Fred.”

“OK…UUHH… Fred…what is your question for Dr. Bonner?”

“Well, I’m only twenty-two years old and I was just wondering if it was normal to…”

Smack…

Mel rolled onto his left side, extended his right arm and slammed his hand on top of the alarm clock, silencing Jimmy G, the annoying disc jockey from the radio show The EDGE, for the third and final time. Moving his hand a few more inches to the right of the now silenced alarm clock, Mel extended his fingers and thumb, latched onto the white tops of the four prescription pill bottles on the night stand, pulled the bottles back to his chest, and forced himself to sit up and lean his back against the wall adjacent to the head of his bed.

Four purple, three yellow, three green and two blue…

Or was it…

Four yellow, two green, one blue and three purple…

Last week, Mel’s psychiatrist increased his dosage of medication and instructed him on how and when to take his new medication.

Two blue pills for depression…

Three yellow pills for anxiety…

Four purple pills for attention deficiency disorder

And two green pills for….

What the hell were the green ones for? Mel thought to himself.

Mel could not remember the instructions that his psychiatrist had given him last week, but if he was being honest with himself - which most days he was not - he couldn’t remember much of what his psychiatrist had said to him since he started therapy a couple of years ago. Mel untwisted all the white tops of all the prescription pill bottles and poured a couple of each color into his left hand.

Fuck it…, Mel thought to himself.

He leaned back over to the nightstand that supported both the alarm and his prescription pill medley and grabbed a half-drunk twenty ounce bottle of lemon-lime soda. Mel noticed the absence of carbonation hissing out the top of the soda bottle as he untwisted the cap, but rationalized that he was drinking this flat soda for medical purposes and not for pleasure. He tossed the pills to the back of his throat with his left hand, and with the half drank bottle of lukewarm soda in his right hand, washed down what his psychiatrist explained to him as “just a little something to help Mel kept balanced.”

Mel did not like how the medication made him feel, nor how his psychiatrist made him feel, but his mother insisted on both. As a psychiatrist herself, Mel’s mother put him in therapy with a trusted colleague of hers after the untimely passing of Mel’s father fourteen years earlier.

“It doesn’t mean you’re crazy, Mel.”

This was the only thing that Mel remembered his mother telling him when she first informed him that he would be making a visit to see a shrink. Now, as a 27-year-old, college-educated, fast-food employee who needs a handful of pills just to sit straight up in his bed, Mel wondered whether his mother was wrong. Mel twisted the child-safe white tops back onto the prescription pill bottles and placed them back onto his nightstand. He then twisted the cap back onto the now-empty bottle of lemon-lime soda and flung the bottle across the room which landed perfectly onto a growing pile of other empty twenty ounce bottles of lemon-lime soda. With his back still supported by the wall, Mel glanced over at this alarm clock and noticed it was now 8:40am, so he closed his eyes and waited for his cue so he could begin his morning routine.

Slam…

Mel did not understand why, but every morning at 8:40am when his mother left for work and slammed the front door to the house, he would start to feel horny. Mel was not sexually attracted to his mother’s absence, nor did he even think it was possible to be sexually attracted to the absence of something, but whenever he heard his mother slam that front door to signify he was alone, blood would start to rush to his cock, awakening both his senses and his member. He rolled over to the edge of his bed, reached down to the floor, grabbed his laptop and, almost as if on autopilot, flipped it open, went to his favorite porno site and began his search for the perfect video to masturbate to.

As Mel searched through all his favorite genres (black lesbians, mother/daughter, gangbang and barely legal teens), he started to reminisce about the days were he could just hop out of bed at 6:00am, take his morning wood straight into the shower, close his eyes and masturbate to whatever his imagination could conjure. Mel’s imagination could no longer create images vivid enough to give him an erection. Not wanting to limit himself to just one video, Mel pulled up four videos that piqued his interest this morning and spread them across his computer screen so he could somehow watch all the videos at the same time. To ensure no splashes of DNA would be left at the crime scene, Mel reached down to his left foot and, with his right hand, pulled off the dirty sock before sliding it over his now half-erect cock.

Mel hit play on the first video.

“Oh fuck me… fuck me in the butt with that dildo…”

Black lesbians was first.

The dialogue alone was enough to get Mel erect and, as he watched the two black lesbians fuck each other with a large white dildo, a warm fuzzy feeling washed over him, the same feeling he gets every morning when he masturbates to porn.

“You like that….Do you like that, you slut?”

As Mel stroked his cock, his attention started to drift toward thoughts of his grandfather. Not through any conscious act of his own, but every morning as Mel masturbated to porn, his brain would start to make associations between the porn he was watching and the people closest to him. This time his brain started to make an association between the black lesbians on his screen who were sharing a large dildo, and his grandfather’s distaste of what he calls “The coloreds”.

Mel did not like the fact that his brain did this, but he didn’t know how to stop it. The thought of Mel’s grandfather ever finding out that he masturbated to black lesbians, whether it was an irrational thought or not, produced enough anxiety in Mel to cause him to switch videos and move onto his second choice.

Mother/Daughter…

“You’ve been a very bad girl.”

“Oh no, mother. How are you going to punish me?”

“Get on your knees and I’ll show you...”

With the video of the black lesbians now on pause, Mel’s brain stopped drawing connections between the naked black flesh he had been watching and his grandfather’s racist tendencies, and could now clear his mind to refocus his attentions to the task at hand … or in this case, the task in his hand.

The video was a poorly produced movie clip about an incestuous relationship between a disappointed mother and her unruly daughter.

“For not finishing your homework, I’m going to make you eat my pussy…”

Mel’s freedom from uncomfortable, mental associations was short lived. As if his brain enjoyed making him feel shame and anxiety while he masturbated, his thoughts now moved to his mother or, more specifically, a conversation they had had soon after his father died.

“Mel, I want you to go and talk to Dr. Malley. He is a friend of mine and a great psychotherapist.”

“I don’t need to see a psychiatrist… I’m not crazy, mom.”

“Mel, talking with a professional does not mean you are crazy, but since your father passed away... Well, I thought it would be nice for you just to talk to someone, anyway. You know, just share what’s on your mind with them.”

“Well, why do you think I need to share what’s on my mind? You lost dad, too. Why don’t you also see a shrink?”

Mel could no longer stand the idea of replaying a past conversation that he’d had with his mother about his dead father, while using a dirty sock to masturbate. Therefore, he put the mother/daughter video on pause and moved onto the gangbang video.

“Oh… Oh…. give me all your dicks… I want them all…”

The sheer number of members that were present in the gangbang video was enough to distract Mel and help him forget his mother for a second.

“Cum on my face. I want you all to cum on my face…”

While Mel enjoyed watching gangbang videos as much as the next 27-year-old who still lived with his widowed mother, it wasn’t the video that he wanted to finish with, so he moved onto his fourth and final video.

Barley legal teens

“You like my little pussy…”

“Do you want to fuck my little pussy?”

This was the video Mel wanted to finish on.

Mel wasn’t sure why but he always finished on barley legal teens.

Mel readjusted the grip on his cock in anticipation of a glorious climax, but his thoughts had already started to drift again. His thoughts landed on Beth. She was a physically-mature fifteen-year-old, with large breasts, who also had the uncanny ability to make older men believe that she was eighteen. Mel felt ashamed for having such thoughts about a fifteen-year-old, but it was as though the shame he felt actually fueled his sexual arousal.

“Do you want to cum on my face?”

Mel started to fantasize about cuming on Beth’s face.

 “Come on, cum right on my face…”

Mel tired to slow down the frequency at which he stroked his cock in order to extend the pleasure he got from jerking off as he thought about Beth, but it was too late. Mel had gone too close to the edge and there was now no turning back. So he gave his dick a few more good beats and ejaculated into his dirty sock. For a brief moment after Mel cum into his sock, he temporarily dissociated himself with the soul-crushing apathy and remorse that he was accustomed to, but knew would come soon after he had. Mel knew that the high dopamine levels in his brain would eventually plummet and he would have to get out of bed and face the real world. He slowly pulled the cum-filled sock off his dick, and shoved it under his bed, hoping his mother wouldn’t find his growing collection of cum-filled socks when she scoured his room for dirty laundry. And his sock collection was the dirtiest of all.

Mel closed his laptop and looked over at alarm clock, which told him it was almost 9:00am. He knew that if he didn’t get to his girlfriend’s apartment soon, she would give him hell.