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Cybertherapy Ch. 01

By: Tory_del_Ricoh



With heartfelt thanks to my friend and editor, EvansLily, for spending her valuable time showing me how to turn my scribble into a readable story, and for her patience in trying to teach me to be a better writer.

CHAPTER 1

"I mean it, Dave!" Ben was unusually irritated. "Winning the bloody lottery wasn't so great." 

"Come on." Dave looked incredulous. "No more work, gorgeous women throwing themselves at you, holidays wherever and whenever you like, fancy new cars, no mortgage. Oh yes, I can see how that would be terrible."

"But suddenly everyone wants to know me; they never did before."

"So you have a whole new load of friends."

"Why? Why do they want to be friends now? Just because I have money? Would they want to be friends if I was broke? I don't think so. Maybe some of them, but how can I tell?" Ben was frustrated -- Dave just didn't understand. "And as for women..."

"You must be getting all the sex you can handle," said Dave with a leer.

"I don't want just sex. I was hoping to have a proper relationship. You remember what it was like at school?"

Dave's sympathetic look showed he did remember. Ben's lack of success with girls had been legendary, the source of much taunting. Girls he'd asked out had delighted in humiliating him; telling their classmates about his timid approaches.

"Yes," his friend conceded.

They sat, silent, looking at the pints of beer in front of them. The other customers began drifting away at the end of their lunch breaks. 

Dave started to fidget, he also had to return to work. "I'm going to have to make a move, Ben."

"I know," he said sadly. "It's stupid, but now I don't have to work, I miss it." 

"Why not find another job?" Dave suggested.

"Doing what?"

"Whatever you like. You wouldn't be doing it for the money."

Ben's face brightened as he considered the idea. "I could do something to help other people maybe."

"That's the spirit." Dave was looking at his watch. "I have to go -- now. I'll see you later."

"Yeah, Bye Dave," Ben responded, his thoughts already elsewhere as he considered a new direction for his life.

He spent the afternoon looking in the windows of employment agencies -- a change from the usual shop windows where he sought ways to spend his money. As the afternoon drew on, a card caught his eye: 

Home Care Assistant's 37.5 hour week, £6.50/hr.  

Amused by the incorrect apostrophe, he read the card again. It was a job he could do: washing, cleaning and cooking for sick and elderly people in their own homes. 

Sitting at the desk, facing the young woman in the agency, he paused to wonder for the first time if it was such a good idea. He had nothing to lose though, it wasn't as if he needed the job.

*

Being a home care assistant could be a very demanding job as Sheila was discovering in a house several miles away. 

"However much they pay you stupid women, it's too much!" Cathy's reputation for intolerance was well-deserved. "What's the point in turning up this late? What the hell do you think that you can do now? The damn nurses have been and done it all for you."

"I'm sorry Cathy, Mrs Dunbar took bad during her lunch and I had to get the doctor and ambulance to her."

"I'm not interested in your excuses."

"I'll just clean up in the kitchen and put some washing on," 

"If you're sure you have time," was her sarcastic reply. This one was like the rest, a fawning, servile woman, she thought. Still, they never lasted very long.

Lying in bed, Cathy continued muttering to herself. She could hear the clink of crockery being washed and returned to the cupboards. Picking up the laptop from the bed beside her, she resumed typing, silently cursing the woman in her kitchen. 

Sheila was the fifth different care assistant they'd sent in six weeks; God knew why they couldn't find someone permanent. The nurses couldn't explain it either. Apparently most other patients had the same assistant all the time, whoever organised the service seemed totally incompetent.

Cathy knew they were repulsed by her appearance, she could see it in their faces when they looked at her. Even the ones clever enough to hide it at first, eventually looked at her with disgust. If her damaged legs hadn't trapped her in bed, she could have looked after herself.

She read through the story she was writing. Who actually enjoyed this stuff anyway? What sort of sad characters went on to the Internet to read bitter, angry tales of lust, perversion and death? Perverts, all of them, she hated them. Her greatest pleasure was in receiving the messages they sent, especially when they didn't like what she'd written. She took good note of what made them angry and ensured she included it in the next story.

Feedback from the last story had been just what she hoped. 'You evil bitch, I hope you rot and fester in hell' was one of her favourites. None of them could hate her any more than she hated herself.

She'd been typing for a while when she heard the gentle tap on the bedroom door.

"What?" she shouted.

"I'm just off now," said Sheila, timidly peering round the half-open door.

"Don't let me keep you." Cathy enjoyed the hurt expression on the woman's face.

"Bye now."

Cathy said nothing and returned to her typing the laptop eventually sliding on to the bed as she fell asleep.

The nightmare woke her, it usually did. She was driving home with Sean and little Jack on a warm summer evening. Everything was serene. She was driving the new Audi, so proud to be able to show off the symbol of Sean's success. It was just before Jack's fourth birthday. She always woke up as the lorry hit them.

*

Five weeks later, the background and police criminal records completed, Ben was told to report to the home care company. His first week was spent with Betty, an ample lady full of mirth and good humour. Together they visited clients, doing cooking, washing and in some cases bathing -- Ben would only bathe male clients, they said -- and generally dispensing goodwill.

His cooking and cleaning skills honed over ten years of caring for his late parents, he soon had his own set of regular clients. Then came the fateful morning. It had been two months; he was enjoying the work and was feeling more at ease. A telephone call from the office asking him to drop by was not unusual.

Gerald, the owner and administrator of the business, looked uneasy. Sitting at his desk, fiddling with a pen, he seemed unwilling to look Ben in the face. "Ben, I'm afraid your client Mr. Perkins has passed away."

"I'm sorry," said Ben. And he was, he'd miss the old boy but it didn't explain why Gerald looked so nervous.

"I have a new client for you."

"OK. Can I have the file?"

"Sit down a minute." Gerald indicated the chair by his desk. "This client is a bit more unusual."

"In what way?" Ben was intrigued. What could possibly account for the way Gerald was acting?

"She's -- er -- well I suppose you could say -- difficult." 

Ben had never heard Gerald speak so hesitantly. "Difficult?"

"She's had nine different care assistants in six months. They all refuse to work with her eventually. Look, between you and me, she's rude, aggressive and seems to hate everyone. I'm sorry to have to give her to you but you're the only one left. She has regular nursing visits so you'll just do cleaning, laundry and cooking."

"What's the matter with her?"

"She was seriously hurt in a car crash. Her husband and son were killed, she has severe facial damage and her legs were badly injured. Apparently she refused surgery although the nurses say if she really wanted to she could probably get about with crutches now. But she's depressed and hides behind her aggression, refuses to even try to leave her bed." Gerald sighed, giving Ben a beseeching look. "I really am sorry about this, but could you please help me out?" 

"OK," said Ben, rather amused to see the relief on his boss's face. The woman couldn't be that bad.

*

Cathy heard the front door open. That damn home care woman again. Hadn't she had enough the previous day? The obsequious bovine was as submissive as the men in her stories, she thought.

The knock came at her bedroom door as always.

"YES! I'm still here, I'm not going anywhere," she shouted before adding under her breath, "you fat old cow."

But when the door opened she stared. "What the fuck...? Who the hell are you?"

"Hello, I'm Ben Fielding. I'm your new home care assistant."

Cathy glared at him. "Have those soft-headed morons lost it completely? A man? Jesus Christ."

"Would you like some lunch?" he asked pleasantly. 

Though his voice was soft, he wasn't particularly remarkable, she thought. Not tall, slim build -- if a little plump around his stomach -- mousy brown hair, the sort of looks you forgot in a moment. And surely a wimp to boot -- what kind of man became a home care assistant? "Lunch?" she echoed. "What are YOU going to cook? A boiled egg? If that's not too complicated?"

"What would you like?"

Did this asshole have to sound so pleasant all the time? Well, fuck him. "How about a cheese soufflé?" she sneered.

"OK." 

And to Cathy's delight, he left without another word. That'd fix him, she thought, wondering what he'd bring for lunch now. A cheese omelette probably. Christ, he wouldn't know a soufflé if it jumped up and bit him.

*

Ben shut the door gently, hoping she hadn't seen his reaction to her face. The damage was terrible, one cheek looked lower than the other, of the several scars, the worst ran from the corner of her left eye to her top lip; her nose had been broken and her lips no longer seemed to meet on one side. He felt a lump in his throat as he tried to imagine what she had been through.

In the modern kitchen, all the appliances seemed new, the cupboards filled with the pots, pans and dishes sufficient to cook anything. It had been a long time since he'd made a soufflé.

He didn't have all the right ingredients but he could probably make do. Parmesan could substitute for Gruyere, ordinary plain flour, wholegrain mustard: yes it was possible.

Forty-five minutes later he returned to her bedroom with a tray. The soufflé had not collapsed and he was quite pleased with it. He knocked on the door.

"At last," she shouted. "Three quarters of an hour to make a cheese omelette?"

Ben assumed this meant she wanted him to come in and he took the tray to the bed.

"What the fuck's that?" she demanded, looking at the white porcelain dish.

"A cheese soufflé."

She stared at him. Her mouth opened twice and then closed. Repressing a grin, Ben put the tray on her lap and left to clean up in the kitchen.

*

Cathy was bewildered. Somehow he had outmanoeuvred her and left before she could recover. But the soufflé looked surprisingly good. Putting the first morsel on her tongue, she tasted it, immediately wishing she hadn't. It was fantastic. Her soufflés had never tasted that good.

The bastard, did he think he could win her over with a bit of fancy cooking? As she quickly finished the meal, reluctantly enjoying the light texture, she planned her attack for when he returned.

He was moving around downstairs, the sound of dishes and plates tinkling in the kitchen. Later the sound of the Hoover reached her -- now he was cleaning. She lay, fuming, rehearsing the words she would say.

When the nightmare woke her, it was getting dark, the house was silent and the tray had gone. Damn the man, he'd left whilst she slept, without even giving her the satisfaction of telling him what she thought of him. Her stupid readers would suffer her revenge she thought, reaching for her laptop. 

She was crying as usual.

*

At the front door the next day, Ben braced himself for the expected onslaught. She must have heard the key in the lock because even as he pushed the door shut, her voice called down the stairs.

"Is that the Naked Chef? Or a Kitchen Nightmare?" She sounded angry.

Sighing, he climbed the stairs and tapped gently on the bedroom door.

"Well come in then!" she shouted.

"Hello Cathy."

She grunted in reply.

"What can I get you for lunch today?"

"Salad."

"Anything in particular?"

"No.".

"OK," he said. Her abrupt answers hurt. "I'll have to pop to the supermarket, there's no salad stuff in the fridge."

"Of course not. None of you useless bastards ever buys the right stuff."

He left quickly.

An hour later he brought the tray to her room. A salad of lettuce, peach, melon and continental ham garnished with chopped almonds on her plate. She looked at it and he hoped she would say nothing, just as she had the previous day.

"An hour, just to make this? Thank God I didn't ask for anything complicated."

Ben slipped out quickly without speaking. He cleaned the kitchen, emptying the fridge and cupboards. The cloakroom and bathroom were next and it was two hours before he returned for the tray. It was on the bed next to her laptop, the plate empty.

Her face looked peaceful whilst she slept. He could almost imagine a smile. 

Quietly removing the tray, he returned to the kitchen.

The next two days were replays of the first. She would be abusive, he'd make her a meal then do some cleaning and by the time he returned to collect the tray she'd be asleep.

But his last working day that week seemed different, although he couldn't explain why. There was something about her attitude.

"Ah the Gordon Tosser Ramsay look-alike," had been her greeting that morning. She must spend ages thinking up a new insult every day, Ben thought with amusement.

"What would you like for lunch today?" 

"Fish." Another monosyllabic reply.

"What kind?" Ben always tried to keep an even temper, excusing her behaviour in his mind as the result of her traumatic experiences.

"Don't care."

"I'll go to the supermarket then."

"Humph."

He brought her sea bass fillets cooked with lemon chilli butter and a light salad.

She sneered at it as always. "Oh. Extra marks for good presentation, Mr. Oliver."

For once she was not asleep when he collected the tray with the empty plate.

"Think you're so fucking clever don't you?" she began the moment he walked into the room. "Well smart arse, you can cook all you want, you don't fool me. You're as pathetic as the rest of them. I know what you think, I can see it when you look at me. The sad woman with a wreck of a face. I know I repulse you -- but do you know what? I don't fucking care."

He was taken aback, this was her strongest attack yet. "No, Cathy, I don't feel repulsed. Honestly I just feel sorry -- "

"I don't want your sympathy. Piss off. Leave me alone." 

He could see tears in her eyes. Time to leave, he thought. "I'll see you in a couple of days."

"You sad wimp. You're actually coming back for more?"

Ben decided not to continue with the conversation and simply said, "Bye for now," as he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

*

She was fuming. He'd done it again. Was there nothing she could do to drive him away? And that damn food, she hated fish, that's why she'd asked for it -- certain for once she'd be able to leave the food despite her hunger. Instead he'd brought her fish that tasted good!

Two days. He'd be back in two days. Well if she couldn't get to him the KillerBitch would. Picking up her laptop she began to type.

*

"If you could only listen to yourself," said Dave. "I think you've got a real soft spot for her."

Ben thought the idea ridiculous. "Come off it. She spends all the time cursing me."

"And you've done nothing but excuse her for it since you first told me."

"She's been through a lot, Dave. She lost her husband and son in the crash, she can't walk and if you could see her poor face -- we'd probably be pretty pissed off too, if it was you or me." Why couldn't his friend understand? It was just normal sympathy for a fellow human's suffering. He had no other interest in her.

"Yeah, yeah. Do you want another pint mate?"

Ben saw the opportunity to change the subject. "Yes please. Let's try the guest beer. Harvey's Sussex Ale, I wonder what that's like?"

*

There wasn't much noise from downstairs. Probably this woman only had to cover for two days so she wouldn't bother doing much cleaning. She couldn't cook either, bloody stew made of chewy meat and hard vegetables. Useless she was, just like the rest of them.

When she came back to collect the tray, the woman had the audacity to look rather hurt. "Oh you didn't finish your dinner. Weren't you hungry?"

Cathy couldn't even summon enough ill-temper to swear at her. "No."

"Well, I'll take this downstairs and wash up then."

This one was a cheerful hearty type, the worst. It didn't seem to matter what she said to them, they just gave their saccharine smiles and carried on. "Can't hear you doing much work. What's the matter, don't they pay you enough?" 

"Oh no, dear, it's not that. There isn't anything to do. It's so clean and tidy down there."

"I bet it's good being paid to do nothing. Well if there's nothing to do, then there's nothing to keep you is there?"

Saccharine Sally turned up again the next day. Much to Cathy's disgust, she found herself looking forward to Ben's return although nothing would induce her to admit it.

For the first time, when she heard his key in the lock the next day, she said nothing until he knocked at her bedroom door and announced himself. "Hello Cathy, are you OK?"

"Fanny fucking Craddock, is that you back again?"

He came into the room smiling. "I was worried when I didn't hear you."

"Nothing to worry about. I'll be here long after you wimp out." She was being as unpleasant as usual, and yet now she felt oddly uncomfortable.

"What would you like for lunch?"

"You're the chef, you bloody well decide." It hurt to admit to herself she'd eat anything he cooked.

"OK," he said and left.

After he'd gone, she was disappointed he hadn't given her the opportunity to say anything else. Although she wasn't sure she could think of anything anyway.

*

Ben returned for the tray to find her asleep as usual. As he reached for the tray he knocked the laptop on the bed beside her. The screen burst into life and he could not suppress his curiosity. She seemed to be looking at a website that published erotic fiction. He smiled, imagining her reading the stories.

That evening he looked at the site she'd been reading. EroticTales.org was an education for Ben, he'd never read stories like these. He remembered that Cathy had been looking at a list of most read authors: Oleandergirl, MasterPhilip and KillerBitch.

Oleandergirl seemed to write popular romance stories. Each chapter of her stories was rated as receiving above average votes from readers. He enjoyed them but couldn't understand why Cathy would, she didn't seem the sort for happy endings.

MasterPhilip's stories involved men dominating women. The thought of any man dominating Cathy was ludicrous.

KillerBitch had published twenty-three stories. As he read them he was astonished by the graphical sexual violence she portrayed. Even more astonishing were the responses from readers that seemed equally vehement. Oddly the anger in the responses grew greater as each new story was published, almost as if she was encouraging it.

His eye caught a tag line for her latest story: Ben learns to obey. His curiosity got the better of him and he started to read.

The story could only be described as extreme. She'd written Ben as a wimp of a man being dominated by a harsh dominatrix. She found endless ways to humiliate and debase him, he was made to wear a male chastity device that forced his penis to stay between his legs, she whipped his body with canes and leather belts and worse...

Ben couldn't stomach any more. Did Cathy read this stuff? Shutting down his computer didn't help, he couldn't seem to erase the images from his mind. Why was the author so antagonistic towards men? Although it seemed crazy, he found himself wanting to write to the author to ask why. 


Cybertherapy Ch. 01



Common sense told him that to use his real name would be a mistake. He set up a new email identity and then registered himself on the site. Looking through the comments on the story, he realised she ignored all messages except those as strong as the story itself. He knew he couldn't write a comment like that, he could never be that vitriolic. Maybe her pride was the key, if he wrote criticising her writing style that might bring forth an answer, but he'd need to be subtle. After much deliberation, he finally wrote:

KillerBitch, 

I read your latest story with interest. I felt however that you struggle with some of the descriptions, and your use of passive sentences left the writing poorer. If you would like I could help by editing your stories before they are published.

Regards

Carebear22

He could only hope she'd respond.



Cybertherapy Ch. 02



Special thanks to my special friend and editor

CHAPTER 2

Ben knew that his curiosity about Cathy's reading habits would have to remain unsatisfied. He could not legitimately explain looking at her laptop without permission and she would undoubtedly -- and reasonably -- claim he had breached her privacy.

His one hope now was that he could find some clues from KillerBitch. It took four days for a reply to come. Four days of fresh insults from Cathy whilst he did everything he could to try to crack the shell of bitterness that surrounded her.

Then came the evening he logged on to his new anonymous email account to see the name KillerBitch appear in his inbox.

Sent 15 Mar 17:47

CareBear,

You arrogant, presumptuous, blow-hard. Do you think there is anything that you can teach me about writing? I see no evidence of your stories - perhaps joined-up writing and words of more than two syllables are beyond you.

KillerBitch

Ben smiled, his strategy seemed to be working. KillerBitch did not like attacks on her writing style. If he could sustain this plan, he might get her (him?) to talk. Polite abuse seemed the most effective -- he knew he couldn't win a swearing, cursing fight. And smiling, he typed his response.

Sent 15 Mar 18:33

KillerBitch,

I'm sorry that you have misinterpreted my offer to help. I sought only to act in a spirit of friendship. I'm surprised that no-one has mentioned the problems that exist in your style. Do you think it might help if you changed the settings in your grammar checker?

By the way is the spell checker turned on?

CareBear22

The reply was almost immediate.

Sent 15 Mar 18.42

CareBear22,

Are you mentally deficient? I thought I made myself clear in the first email -- you have nothing to teach me. I find it incredible that anyone as stupid as you could be allowed to own a computer.

Don't bother replying.

KillerBitch

Ben decided to wait a day before trying again.

Sent 16 Mar 20:44

KillerBitch

I really would like to understand your writing better; to explore characterisation and plot development with you. I feel sure that your stories would benefit from some input from an editor.

It might make it easier if I could see the stories before you publish them so that I could point out some of the simpler errors to you.

CareBear

There was no reply the next night. Ben pondered what to do next. Either she was ignoring him now or there was another reason for the lack of response. There had to be some way he could irritate KillerBitch without driving her (somehow he was sure the author was a woman now) away. 

KillerBitch

I must admit to being surprised that you haven't answered me, I hadn't realised you'd be sensitive to a little mild criticism. I haven't even touched on your questionable choice of subject matter -- although obviously that is something that will need to be addressed.

CareBear

That should do it, Ben thought with a smile, hitting 'Send' with relish.

It did.

Sent 19 Mar 18:36

CareBear

You really are a persistent asshole. How much clearer do I need to be?

You must have skin like a rhinoceros. Perhaps you're gay and that's where you got your tough hide. With a name like CareBear it wouldn't surprise me.

I have my reasons for writing what I do. They are my reasons and I see no reason to share them with some sad old queen.

KillerBitch

Ben grinned. Gay, huh? That was a new one. Well, if it piqued her interest, there was no harm in her thinking he was...

Sent 19 Mar 20:47

KillerBitch

So, you couldn't stay away then? Maybe you're not so confident as you try to portray. Are you beginning to see that there's a point in my telling you your writing is in need of a good editor?

I am sure that I could assist you; I feel certain that you would understand some of the easier concepts quite quickly; many of your stories are actually quite readable.

CareBear

Sent 20 Mar 18:49

CareBear

Am I supposed to be impressed that you know what the semicolon key is for on your keyboard? 

Quite readable? Have you seen my reader scores?

You could never understand what it is that inspires my writing so please don't bother to try. Just go away and leave me alone.

KillerBitch

Ben decided that if she found the semi-colon impressive, a colon ought to blow her away... 

Sent 20 Mar 21:09

KillerBitch

I am sure that your readers find your stories excellent. However, I might question the: 

•educational standard

•intellectual capacity

•emotional maturity and 

•mental age of the people 

who read this kind of story. But please don't let this detract from your fairly good writing style.

I expect that once you've had a little more practice you could make a reasonable attempt at a more serious type of story, something with some real emotion.

CareBear

Sent 21 Mar 18:55

CareBear

What the hell? Maybe a dose of the truth will get rid of you. You're like a sodding limpet.

Don't you suggest to me that I don't understand real emotion. You know nothing about me.

Look, I did something wrong. I made a big mistake and broke the law. As a result I hurt a lot of people. Everyone knows what I did and I can see in their faces when they look at me that they still remember and hate me for it. I hate myself. You couldn't imagine pain like mine.

Now fuck off and leave me alone.

KillerBitch

Ben stared at the screen in surprise. That hadn't been what he was expecting at all. Now he really would need to tread carefully.

Sent 21 Mar 21:58

KillerBitch

I hear your pain. Is that why you write that stuff? You know, you could do so much better.

Why not let me help you? Help me understand?

CareBear

Sent 22 Mar 18:15

CareBear

Oh no gay boy, no details. I'm not that stupid. You've had all you're getting from me. Look I'm doing my penance. I've been before the courts and I've accepted my sentence. If my writing helps me to come to terms with the world then so be it.

I've learned to express my hatred for the shits that surround me with their fake concern. At least I can imagine what I'd like to do to them all. They smarm around me all day every day. As fast as I can get rid of one, another appears. They're like flies on a fucking corpse.

I'll be punished for a long time yet and I deserve it so don't start with the fake concern. Please just go away and leave me alone.

I'll tell you that I've only told you this much because you'll never know who I am and I'll never know you -- thank God. At least where I'm locked away now, I only have to suffer a few well-meaning prats. I'm quite prepared to stay locked up for the rest of my life.

KillerBitch

She was a prisoner? That explained a lot. Ben knew that now he had to be careful. This was the point at which KillerBitch would either keep talking or stop altogether. He tried to phrase his next message as neutrally as possible.

Sent 22 Mar 20:24

KillerBitch

If you're doing your penance, isn't it time to let go of some of that pain?

You haven't been able to do much with your stories. I could help you to express your feelings more eloquently.. 

CareBear

*

Ben wasn't entirely sure how he'd got into this. Instead of learning more about Cathy, he'd managed to find another damaged soul in need of help.

As he drove to work he tried to make sense of everything he knew about KillerBitch. 

What had she done? What sentence was she serving? Did people have access to the Internet in prison then? Or maybe she wasn't in prison. Certainly she was some kind of criminal, she'd admitted as much. Perhaps she was in a medical facility; he wouldn't have been surprised. 

As he pulled up outside Cathy's house, he noticed a silver hatchback parked on the driveway. A woman got out of the car and approached him before he reached the front door.

"Hello?". She looked at him quizzically. "Are you Ben?"

"Yes." He frowned. Now what was going on?

She smiled. "I just wanted to say thank you."

"What for?" His confusion increased. "I'm sorry but who are you and what's this all about?"

"I'm sorry young man. I should have introduced myself first. Gloria." She held out her hand and he instinctively shook it. "I'm Cathy's mother."

"Oh!" It was Ben's turn to smile. "I'm pleased to meet you. But you don't need to thank me for doing my job."

"Oh it's not the job so much as the way you do it."

"I'm sorry?" 

She laughed. "Cathy absolutely hates you."

"Really?" He tried to look apologetic. "You'll forgive me but Cathy hates everyone."

She shook her head. "Oh no. She used to hate everyone, then as time wore on she just disliked them and that was when she lost the will to live. But you've given her reason again. I can't remember the last time I heard her curse anyone as much as you." Then she grinned. "Honestly, Ben. You're so good for her. It's wonderful to see her feeling anything, even hate. I just hope that in time she'll feel other things."

"Well this is a first for me," Ben said, feeling rather uncomfortable. "I never expected to be thanked for making someone hate me."

"I just had to say thanks. Now I must get on. I pop in to see Cathy before I go to work and then again in the evenings, and I'm here with my husband at the weekend. If you ever need to talk to me, here's my number." And giving him a small card, she walked away, shooting him one last smile over her shoulder. 

Ben's sense of euphoria wasn't to last. Cathy was at her vehement best. "Oh it's Mrs Bridges," she greeted him sarcastically. "What's on the menu today, loser?"

He sighed. Business as usual, then... 

*

Sent 23 Mar 18:10

CareBear

You don't give up do you?

Are you a gay masochist? You remind me of someone else who won't leave me alone. He's an unremitting sanctimonious turd as well.

I don't want to let go of my pain. I don't deserve to let go of my pain. Leave me alone with it please.

KillerBitch

Ben sighed and found himself having to think long and hard about what to write next, deciding at last to keep it simple.

Sent 23 Mar 22:50

KillerBitch

No I won't give up. Live with it.

I shall keep coming back until you accept that you need help with your stories.

CareBear

*

"What now?" Ben demanded, seeing his friend's face had glazed over the moment he'd started to tell him about his day.

"You're sounding worse than you did last week," replied Dave. "You are attracted to this woman, aren't you? Why the hell else would you put up with the sort of crap she's dishing out?"

"It's my job," he replied, putting his drink down a little more firmly than he had intended and spilling some on the table.

"Crap! You don't even need to work. You choose to keep going back."

"She needs me!" Ben found he was almost shouting. He hadn't been this emotional in years.

"Says who?" Dave was unrelenting.

"Her mother."

"So you've met her mother?" Dave was grinning. "This is getting serious."

"No." Ben rolled his eyes. "She waited outside to see me the other day to tell me how much I was helping Cathy."

"So she likes you then?"

"Just the opposite. She hates me. But her mother said that was an improvement since she hasn't shown any real feelings for anyone for such a long time." Ben couldn't help feeling rather proud he had achieved something with Cathy. "If I could just do something positive with that emotion now."

"So what will you do? Get her to hate you more?" Dave still looked amused.

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet." Ben sighed. He'd been going to tell his friend about KillerBitch, but that seemed rather unwise now. Dave didn't understand about Cathy; he certainly wouldn't understand a writer of twisted erotic stories.

*

There wasn't a message from KillerBitch on Saturday. But then, she hadn't sent him a message last Saturday either, had she? Reviewing all the emails, he noticed that every one of hers had been between six and seven o'clock in the evening. None had been sent at the weekend. 

He decided to wait until Monday before writing again. If he was right, KillerBitch wouldn't be able to reply until then anyway. 

Having asked to work part-time he only had two clients now. An elderly man, Charles, whom he visited every morning, and Cathy with whom he spent the remainder of the day. Strictly speaking he was supposed to finish work after he'd finished Cathy's lunch but he often stayed on, sometimes cleaning, sometimes just sitting in case she needed anything; she never did.

Charles was the perfect gentleman as always, Cathy was at her acerbic best.

"Here's the not-so-naked chef -- thank God!" she exclaimed. "Who'd want to see a podge like you naked? What slop are you serving today, chubby?"

"Filet of pork en croute." One of his favourites, but he felt discretion was wiser.

"Oooh poncey Frog food eh." 

But for the conversation with Gloria, Ben felt he could have easily given up on her by now. He said nothing and left -- that always seemed to annoy her.

She ate all the food as usual.

He started the email program on his computer that evening, feeling apprehensive. As soon as he saw the name KillerBitch appear, he exhaled noisily . He hadn't even realised he'd been holding his breath.

Sent 26 Mar 18:31

CareBear

Why am I writing to you?

I don't know.

Maybe it's just that this bloody man is getting to me. He turns up every day, treats me well and is always a gentleman. I don't want that -- why can't he understand?

This doesn't make sense to me. He's nice and I hate him, you're a bastard and I'm talking to you. Perhaps I want to be punished for my stupidity. When I'm rude to him he's polite, when I'm rude to you, you're rude back, it makes sense.

It's a shame you're gay. We might have had a good relationship, but I don't date fags.

What's happening to me? Only a few weeks ago I'd have told you to fuck off, now here I am writing to you. My life is getting more confused. My family won't listen either, I don't want or need their damn forgiveness. I want to be punished -- no-one will do it.

I'm so confused, don't you dare be fucking nice to me.

KillerBitch

Ben stared at the screen thoughtfully. Nice guy wasn't going to work here. But he'd spent his life being a nice guy -- how could he be anything else? What if he tried to imagine this was a story and cast himself in the part of villain? Then he could be harsh with KillerBitch without driving her away. And it looked as though he'd been right—KillerBitch was a woman. Her remarks about dating seemed to confirm it. It was time to get into role... 

KillerBitch

So you do want to be punished! Then you'd better be ready for your punishment.

You need help with your writing - but you're still fighting me. That too will result in punishment.

Now I don't know what happened in the past or why you're blaming your problems on what happened then. I think you're just avoiding the real issue here. I'll be on chat tomorrow evening at 6.00. 

Talk to me then. Do not be late.

CareBear

Ben laughed out loud when he finally pressed 'Send'. He'd never written anything so outrageous in his life. Surely she'd never agree to chat?

But at ten minutes to six the next day, he found himself waiting expectantly in front of his computer. Licking his lips, which for some reason seemed very dry, he took a sip from the glass of water beside him. This was so out of character for him, he wasn't sure that he could do it. If he could just force her to face whatever demons plagued her.

What would he say to KillerBitch? What if she didn't agree to chat? What would he...?

The 'ding' from the computer speakers made him jump. The small chat window appeared with a message and Ben resized it to fill half the screen.

KillerBitch:Hello? 

Relieved, he started to write 'Hello! Glad you could make it' then realised that wasn't the right thing to write at all. " In character, Ben," he murmured as he hit 'delete', and started all over again.

CareBear:On time. I like that. It's a good start. Are you ready to begin?

KillerBitch:Begin what?

CareBear:Whatever I tell you to do. I thought that we established you wanted to be punished?

KillerBitch:What sort of perverse rubbish is this?

CareBear:It's about you learning to write.

KillerBitch:I told you I can write.

CareBear:Then why are you here?

KillerBitch:I don't know.

CareBear:You seem very indecisive. No wonder you struggle with your stories. It's time you introduced a more disciplined approach to your work. You will write the stories I tell you to write, and you will send them to me to edit. 

Ben felt sure she'd call his bluff. He had no real idea how to write and even less about erotic stories. How he would edit her work was something he still hadn't considered.

KillerBitch:You are very arrogant. What makes you so much better?

CareBear:Oh dear. You have got a lot to learn.

Don't argue with me.

If you are so fucking good at writing you won't have a problem doing what I tell you to do. 

He flinched as he typed. The use of profanities was alien to him. But he couldn't let her guess he wasn't the guy she thought he was. Not now, not yet. 

KillerBitch:I'm not scared of you.

CareBear:Perhaps you should be. You may not be good enough to meet my challenges. I wouldn't want to have to punish you.

KillerBitch:Don't threaten me, tosser. There's nothing you can do to frighten me. You don't know anything about me.

CareBear:You have no idea what I know.

KillerBitch:You creepy pervert, what do you know?

CareBear:You'll know when I want you to. NOW DO AS YOU'RE DAMN WELL TOLD.

KillerBitch:Please, what do you know? 

For a moment, Ben wondered whether he'd gone too far. It seemed he was rather better at playing this role than he thought he'd be. But it seemed to be working well. And taking a deep breath, he started typing again.

CareBear:Forget it bitch. I know more about you than you do about me. And you won't know anything if you don't do what I say. I'll just disappear and leave you wondering if I might turn up one day, when you least expect it.

KillerBitch:Please. What must I do? 

Ben could feel his resolve weakening. Whoever she was, he seemed to have her worried; he was unhappy at the thought he might be scaring her. If he weakened though, she'd stop the conversation. He'd thought hard about what she should do. It had to be a task that related to her situation without probing too deeply into the background of why she was there. His solution seemed outrageous; but then so did the whole scenario.

CareBear:You will write me a story. It will be about a woman who has become a recluse and about what she wants. You will detail all her sexual desires and how she can satisfy them. 

There was a considerable pause before the next words appeared.

KillerBitch:I've never written about something like that.

CareBear:Then it'll be a challenge. Unless of course it's too difficult for you. Maybe that's it -- you're not good enough.

KillerBitch:I'll do it. 

Ben found he was smiling.

CareBear:Good. I want to receive it by Friday. Goodbye. 



Cybertherapy Ch. 03



Thanks to Lily, my friend and editor for more hard work to make my story better.

Chapter 3

The progress he'd made with Killerbitch only made Ben realise how little he'd achieved with Cathy. Why had he made her the topic for Killerbitch's story? It'd happened in a moment before he'd thought about it. In his desperation he'd picked the first subject that came into his head.

Meanwhile Cathy continued her abuse; he cooked her meals, and cleaned whilst she ate and inevitably slept. He did notice she seemed to have stopped thinking up a new daily insult. Probably she had run out of ideas.

Whilst polishing the units in the living room he came to a drawer that would not close, the contents seeming awkwardly wedged. When he pulled it open he found photos, the drawer full of them, each in an elegant frame. Curiosity overcame his scruples and he carefully lifted them all out.

They were pictures of a young family: Cathy's family. A wedding group, some holiday shots, a formal photograph of her with a man and child, her husband and son Ben assumed, and one which particularly caught his eye, a candid portrait of Cathy smiling at something out of shot, her striking beauty such a contrast to the sad broken woman he knew.

Returning the pictures to the drawer, he was careful to put the portrait on top. For the remainder of the week he returned every day to check that everything was safe.

Every evening he spent researching good writing technique, even practicing by writing some short pieces of fiction. By Thursday, he found he not only knew a great deal more about writing -- he actually enjoyed doing it. When the email arrived with KillerBitch's story, he opened it eagerly. To his inexperienced eye it seemed well written and it was well after midnight he finally finished his editing, returning it to KillerBitch with a brief email. 

It was time to take KillerBitch in a new direction.

Friday evening, he sat at his computer, wondering if his deception had passed the test. As six o'clock arrived, he had to remember the character he was playing. How long could he keep this up? It was so unlike him.

KillerBitch: Hello.

CareBear: That was a fairly good start.

KillerBitch: Thank you. The editing seemed to make a difference. I may have been hasty in some of what I said.

CareBear: A concession from KillerBitch, amazing. What did you think of the subject?

KillerBitch: It was different.

CareBear: Made you think eh?

KillerBitch: Yes.

CareBear: What did it make you think?

KillerBitch: I don't want to talk about it.

Ben paused. Why should she be so afraid to talk? She was graphic enough in her stories. He decided to press her.

CareBear: But you will.

KillerBitch: No.

CareBear: Oh I think so.

KillerBitch: I can't.

CareBear: Oh, so the tough KillerBitch isn't so tough now?

KillerBitch: I miss it, alright?

CareBear: Miss what?

KillerBitch: You know.

CareBear: No. Tell me.

KillerBitch: Sex. Happy now you've made me say it? 

So she was frustrated. How could he use this? He needed more time.

CareBear: I'm happy you're admitting your needs.

KillerBitch: Why are you tormenting me?

CareBear: Because I think it's time you faced your pain and dealt with it.

KillerBitch: What do you want me to do?

CareBear: Write a romance. A real love story about a man and a woman who care about each other. Take a look at Oleandergirl. Your story will have several chapters and you have a week to complete the first one.

Romance writing was the complete opposite of everything she normally wrote. Ben wasn't surprised when she didn't reply.

CareBear: Do you have a problem?

KillerBitch: No.

CareBear: Do you understand what you are to do?

KillerBitch: Yes.

CareBear: Then do it by next Friday. 

And before she had a chance to respond, Ben signed out of chat and email. 

*

Cathy fell back on the pillow. What was she getting into? What did this man know? She'd felt afraid and yet now he'd suddenly turned to romance - it seemed a complete change from everything he'd said so far. Had she misunderstood him? She was confused, uncertain about whether to carry on with this.

After thinking for a few minutes, she picked up the laptop; she might as well get started before her mother arrived.

*

She had a name for Ben now, 'the chubby chef'. It seemed to hurt him and she whilst was pleased she'd found a chink in his armour at last, she'd felt oddly uncomfortable seeing the sadness in his eyes. Whilst he'd stood up to her taunts, she'd begun to respect him - and hated herself for it. He was such a wimp, so why did his face come to mind when she tried to picture the man in her story? 

Damn the man, he had her so confused. She actually caught herself saying thank you to him when he brought her lunch.

*

KillerBitch: Hello.

CareBear: You've done well again.

Thank God. He liked it.

KillerBitch: You approve then?

CareBear: Yes, I'm just returning it to you now.

She waited for a couple of minutes for the email to arrive. Surprisingly he had done very little editing.

KillerBitch: You haven't changed much.

CareBear: It didn't need changing. You write romance better than that other nonsense.

Killerbitch: Why is it nonsense?

CareBear: Oh come on, unbelievable stories with unbelievable characters that you only wrote to antagonise the readers. Read the story you've just started again. The characters seem real, the story is feasible and you have written it with some empathy.

KillerBitch: So what's next?

CareBear: First you publish the chapter on EroticTales.org, then you start writing chapter 2.

Publish it! She hadn't expected him to say that. What if more people started writing to her? How could she deal with friendly emails? Did she want to be friendly? Her head was spinning, filled with questions. Tentatively she typed a response.

KillerBitch: Why do I have to publish it?

CareBear: Because I want you to see how others react to the story.

Her worst nightmare, facing the reaction of others. All her other stories had been written to antagonise the readers so she could control the reactions. This time the story was from her soul and she was scared people would see her for who she really was.

KillerBitch: If people write to me, must I answer them?

CareBear: Not yet. We'll talk about it again when you've written some more.

Why had he changed? He hadn't been like this last week.

KillerBitch: Why are you being nice to me?

CareBear: Why shouldn't I?

KillerBitch: You weren't the other week.

CareBear: I just observed you could write better and now you've proved I'm right.

Some strange creep on the Internet praises me and I like it, Cathy thought. What's got into me?

KillerBitch: It seems so sudden.

CareBear: Not really. If I'd just asked you to write a romance you would have sent me away with a load of swearing and abuse.

Cathy hated to acknowledge the truth of his words.

KillerBitch: Maybe.

CareBear: No, definitely. Now at least you will talk to me.

KillerBitch: Yes.

She paused for a moment. The most important question was still waiting to be asked. Though she feared his answer, she had to know.

KillerBitch: You said you knew things about me. What?

CareBear: We can talk more about that next week. For now just get on with what I asked you to do.

Before she had a chance to type again, he had closed the connection.

*

It was odd thought Ben, but suddenly KillerBitch seemed much more vulnerable. Her aggression had gone and her story suggested a passionate, sexy woman lay behind the façade. He'd been aroused by her story -- although he would never have let her know that. It was a particularly erotic romance. If she had modelled the heroine on her own desires, then she was very sensuous. Maybe she had been punished for a crime of passion -- attacked her lover, or her cheating husband.

Idly his thoughts drifted to Cathy; perhaps her aggressive attitude also hid another personality? He would try to be more understanding and not let her jibes upset him. Maybe he could reach her in time just as he had with KillerBitch.

Next morning he went for his fourth session at the gym he'd joined. Stung by Cathy's 'chubby chef' taunts, he'd started taking a closer interest in his diet and was surprised to find he'd actually lost three pounds during the week. He was beginning to feel good about himself.

*

Cathy had been grateful her mother cooked her meals at the weekend; at least the food was comparable with Ben's. She hated the way her parents refused to blame her for anything that had happened. Their sympathetic understanding had been frustrating. But suddenly she was beginning to feel pangs of guilt about her poor behaviour. What was happening to her?

Now, late on Sunday night, she was thankful when they had returned to their home; she didn't have to deal with her conflicting emotions. She picked up her laptop and returned to the story. Drawing on her memories of the happy times with Sean, she recounted the passionate encounter between her heroine, Emily, and her hero, Paul. The memories stirred feelings she'd thought had been lost.

How she missed Sean's touch on her body. His strong hands could always bring her to the brink of orgasm. He would caress her breasts; pinch her nipples until the slightest pressure between her legs would be enough to bring her to a shattering climax. Even as she thought about him she could feel her body reacting. 

*

She was waiting apprehensively as usual on Friday evening.

KillerBitch: Hello.

CareBear: Well done. I've just sent it back to you.

Her laptop beeped as the message arrived. She opened the attached document file and found no changes at all to her words.

KillerBitch: Did you even read it? You haven't done anything.

CareBear: It didn't need anything -- it was a good piece of writing.

KillerBitch: Thank you.

Once more she felt a child-like pride in having pleased him. Yet she found herself having to remind herself to be wary. She knew nothing about this man. 

CareBear: Are you enjoying writing this story now?

KillerBitch: Yes, I'm surprised. 

CareBear: Why?

KillerBitch: I hadn't expected to feel like this again.

CareBear: Like what?

KillerBitch: Romantic. Sexy.

CareBear: Why not?

KillerBitch: Because I'm not.

CareBear: But why not?

KillerBitch: Because I don't look sexy.

CareBear: Maybe who you are matters more than what you look like?

KillerBitch: No. I'm not sexy any more.

CareBear: We'll see.

Cathy was beginning to feel uncomfortable about the conversation. She needed to change the subject.

KillerBitch: What do you know about me? It's worrying me.

CareBear: Sorry about that. I don't actually know anything. I just said it to make you take notice.

With a huge sigh of relief, she fell back on the pillow before almost immediately resenting him for making her afraid. 

KillerBitch: That was cruel. You scared me. 

CareBear: I'm sorry. But it worked, didn't it? Whilst you were distracted by that fear, you not only talked to me but wrote stories you wouldn't have considered before. And from those stories haven't you found out something about yourself?

What had she learnt? She thought about her feelings, something she hadn't done for a long time. Perhaps it was getting easier to like people again. Trying to be hateful seemed so much effort now. Had he really done all this just to make her face her own fears and anger? Why?

KillerBitch: I don't know. Possibly.

CareBear: Come on KB, be honest.

KillerBitch: All right then, yes. Perhaps I don't have to be so spiteful.

CareBear: Was that so hard?

KillerBitch: I've had a hard time, I told you about it.

CareBear: Yes, but everyone is entitled to forgiveness, whatever they've done.

KillerBitch: I don't want forgiveness.

CareBear: Don't confuse forgiving with forgetting. People may not forget what you've done but they can forgive it.

KillerBitch: What are you saying?

CareBear: No-one can hold on to their anger forever. It will just destroy you. Whatever you may have done, I'm sure that there are people who care about you and they don't feel angry with you any more.

KillerBitch: But they should. I can't forgive myself.

CareBear: Who cares about you?

KillerBitch: No-one.

CareBear: Think again.

Yet again, before she could reply, he had signed out, leaving her to think about his words. She lay back against the soft pink pillows, confused once more. Why did he have to be so right, making her face things she didn't want to face? He was as bad as that bloody Ben. She'd wanted her parents to hate her, and tried to punish them when they wouldn't. Now she was being forced to confront the unjust way she'd been treating them and it made her uncomfortable. 

Did CareBear have a point? Who did care about her? Her parents? They spent so much time with her, she'd thought it was just loyalty to their daughter but maybe they did care. But no-one else. Sean's parents must hate her for killing their son. Her aunts and uncles would surely not be so forgiving. None of her friends came to visit any more. The only person who kept coming back was that wimp Ben.

Ben. He put up with everything she threw at him and came back with a smile. She hated him and yet he seemed to care about her, there had to be something a bit odd about him. Maybe he was like the submissive she'd written about. He never seemed submissive though; behind that irritating smile he seemed to have pride. He kept the house spotless -- although she'd never actually seen it, but her mother was impressed. He cooked wonderful food, he never let her browbeat him, he just accepted her abuse and met it with an even temper.

And what was CareBear's motivation? Why was he doing this? Could it be he actually cared as well? Who was he? What was he? She'd thought he was just some creepy pervert but he seemed more genuine now. Was it an act? She didn't know what to think any more. 

*

Ben was bewildered. He seemed to be getting close to KillerBitch but that wasn't supposed to happen. At the same time, despite some peculiar lapses when she was polite to him, he felt Cathy was still aggressive, making him despondent, doubting he'd ever be her friend. He was glad he was meeting Dave -- he needed to talk.

The pub was noisy as it always was at lunchtime on Saturday. That suited Ben; it was actually easier to have a conversation without being overheard. Dave returned to the table in the corner of the large bar with two pints of bitter. 

"OK, mate," he said, putting one of the glasses down in front of Ben. "What's bugging you this week?"

"You won't believe it." Ben looked apprehensively at his friend. "I really need you to listen to me. I know you like to take the 'mick' but right now I need you to be understanding."

Dave's smile faded. "You really have a problem, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"The bitch in bed?"

Ben smiled. "No. But a bitch anyway."

"All right. You've got my attention now. Start talking."

"I've sort of met someone."

"How do you 'sort of' meet someone? You either meet them or you don't."

"Well I haven't actually seen her. It's someone I met on the 'net."

"The Internet? Come on Ben, you're not that daft." Dave was smiling at him.

"I really think she's genuine." Ben began to worry, perhaps Dave wouldn't be serious.

"She could be anyone. Look around this bar, she could be one of the ugliest women here."

"Why does it matter what she looks like?" Ben was irritated. "Didn't you see  Shallow Hal?"

"That was just a film."

"No!" Ben hadn't intended to be quite so vehement. He took a breath. "It's not just a film Dave, it's a way of thinking. Why should it matter how someone looks? It's the person inside that you have a relationship with."

He paused for a moment then went on, "Anyway I've been emailing and chatting to her for a few weeks now and I think she's someone who's had a bad time and now needs an understanding friend."

"Sympathy wouldn't be a good way to form a relationship."

"Not sympathy, understanding. I think I've got her to break out of the shell that she'd built around herself."

Dave looked puzzled. "How can you tell?"

"She's more easy going in the things she writes now. Softer somehow. Funny, when she started she was almost as bitter as Cathy."

"Well what's her name?"

"I don't know her real name. She calls herself KillerBitch -- so you can guess what she was like when I first encountered her."

"And where was that?"

Ben blushed. He hadn't considered being asked that. "Um... Er... I ... I've been reading some stories."

"What? I could hardly hear you."

Despite the noisy crowd in the bar and the loud music playing, Ben hated to speak any louder. "I've been reading her stories."

"Stories? What kind of stories?"

This wasn't what Ben had had in mind when he started the conversation. "Um... Erotic stories."

"Erotic stories?" Dave shouted gleefully. "You're becoming an old perv." He burst into gales of laughter.

"Please Dave," Ben pleaded. "I wanted you to listen to me."

"Sorry mate. But honestly..."

"I know, but I was only trying to find out what Cathy was reading."

Dave's eyes opened wide. "The bitch reads it as well? Bloody hell."

"I just wanted to understand her better." Ben finished his pint. He wanted to end this conversation. Waving his empty glass at Dave, he asked, "Another?"

*

"All finished, dear?" her mum asked, picking up the tray.

"Yes thanks Mum." Cathy looked at her mother's smiling face and for the first time in many months, smiled back.

Her mother froze for a moment. "Cath, are you OK?"

"Yes Mum. I'm fine," she said nodding, meeting her mother's gaze without aggression. 

Gloria looked bemused. Cathy thought she was probably wondering whether her daughter was having some sort of emotional or mental breakdown.

"I don't understand, Cath."

"I've been thinking about things, lots of things. I know I've been a bitch."

Gloria hesitated. "You've been through a lot," she said diplomatically. "Daddy and I understand."

"Can we talk for a while?"

A beaming smile split her mother's face, lighting up her eyes where tears began to form. "Of course we can, darling." Putting the tray on the dressing table, she sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry Mum. I've been horrid to you and Daddy and you don't deserve it."

Gloria took her daughter's hands. "I'm just so pleased to see you smile."

Mother and daughter sat silently together for what felt like several minutes, before Gloria spoke again. "What brought about this change?"

"I don't know." Cathy thought for a moment. "No, that's not true. He made me think about the people who care."

"Who? That nice man who comes in every day during the week?"

"Ben?" She chuckled gently. "No. He doesn't make me do anything. He's too nice."

"You make that sound like you don't think he should be nice."

"No. Not really. But he never argues, never gets angry. I tried so hard to make him hate me but it didn't seem to work. He just smiled and kept coming back."

"Do you really hate him?"

"No. Not any more. In fact I found I'd started to be polite to him this last week, although I don't think he noticed. You know, I think I'll try to be friendly to him on Monday. That'll give him a shock." She smiled at the thought.

"Well if it wasn't him, who? One of the nurses?"

"A man on the internet. At least I think it's a man," she said with a wry smile.

"You think! A man on the Internet? Cath, I don't like to be a fussy mother, but are you sure this is a good idea?" 

Cathy saw the concern in her mother's face. "Don't worry mum. I'm not totally silly. I wouldn't tell him anything about me that would tell him who I am. He doesn't know where I live or my name."




Cybertherapy Ch. 03



"Well how did you meet him?"

"I'd rather not tell you that at the moment, Mum."

"Well, what can you tell me?"

"Not a lot really. But he told me to think about the people who care about me and I did. He's right, I'm making you and Daddy unhappy and you've done nothing but love me. I wanted to punish myself but I was punishing everyone else at the same time."

"So this stranger on the Internet made you think about yourself? Well he must be someone special."

"I don't know. I suppose he must. I found myself listening to him when I ignored everyone else." Cathy thought for a few moments before continuing. "I don't know what was special about him though. In fact I felt a bit intimidated at first."

Her mother looked concerned. "But you said that he didn't know anything about you?"

Cathy grinned. "He didn't. But he let me think he did and it was enough to make me listen to him. I was angry at him for that, and yet now I feel grateful that he cared enough to force me to face myself."

"I don't understand all this," Gloria said, obviously still confused, "but I'm grateful to the man whoever he is."

"Well maybe one day we'll find out."

"So what other changes are you planning? I think I need warning before you give me any more shocks."

"Well, I think I'm going to ask the nurses about getting out of this bed. What do you think?"

Gloria smiled. "I think you've made me very happy."

*

As he walked up the path to Cathy's front door, Ben wondered again how much longer he could endure the heartless taunts. It was beginning to take a toll on his usual good nature. He'd even begun to consider resigning from this job.

He climbed the stairs and tapped on her bedroom door.

"Come in." He was surprised that she didn't shout as usual.

Pushing the door open, he took a deep breath. "Hello Cathy."

"Hello Ben." She paused, smiling at him from the chair by her bed, as he stood in the doorway. "Well come in then. Don't stand there with your mouth open." 

"Er... Hello," he said uncertainly.

"I know. You're wondering 'what's the catch', right? 'Cathy's being nice to me'." She sighed. "The thing is, I've been doing a lot of thinking over the weekend and I owe you a huge apology. I've been a terrible cow and you've never been anything but kind and patient."

Ben's head was spinning. He felt pleased she seemed to have changed yet remained apprehensive. Perhaps this was another cruel trick and she'd revert back to normal.

"Um... well, apology accepted."

"You don't trust me do you?" She tilted her head to one side still smiling.

"Well, this is a big change." Ben said hesitantly.

"I know. Why don't you cook us some lunch and eat with me? We'll talk and I'll try to explain."

"What would you like?"

"You know that I'll eat anything you cook." She grinned. "You must have worked that out by now."

Forty-five minutes later he was sitting in a chair beside her bed.

"This is great Ben. I love pasta."

"It's nothing special." He felt embarrassed by her praise. "So what brought about this change?"

"I was thinking about how awful I'd been. I had a long talk with Mum on Saturday and again yesterday. I just had to have it forced into my head that I was hurting the people who cared about me."

He felt relieved her mother had been the one to finally break through the shell. Somehow it seemed right.

"It's great to see you smiling."

"It sounds silly but now I'm smiling, I feel happier. I don't know if I'm smiling because I'm happy or happy because I'm smiling. I suppose it doesn't really matter does it?"

"No, not really. So tell me more about you." Ben grinned mischievously. "Tell me this. What do you really like to eat?"

*

At six o'clock, Cathy was ready to talk to CareBear.

KillerBitch: Hello?

CareBear: Hello. Well have you thought about who cares?

KillerBitch: Yes. 

CareBear: And what are you going to do about it?

KillerBitch: I've already started apologising to them.

CareBear: Good. So you're starting to rebuild relationships?

KillerBitch: Yes.

CareBear: You know, your story had a very passionate relationship. Do you think you'll ever have one like that again?

KillerBitch: I suppose it's possible.

CareBear: Only possible?

KillerBitch: Well I can't believe that it could happen again.

CareBear: In your story you said your hero, Paul, started rubbing Emily's neck. Did you think that was sexy then?

KillerBitch: Yes.

CareBear: Why?

Why was he asking? Cathy hadn't expected him to ask about the story tonight. She thought he was going to talk about her parents, even Ben maybe. But the story was something she hadn't been prepared to discuss.

KillerBitch: My husband used to do it. I liked it.

CareBear: So it was sexy when he rubbed your neck?

KillerBitch: Yes.

CareBear: Then what did he do?

KillerBitch: He massaged my shoulders.

CareBear: What would he do next?

KillerBitch: He kissed my neck.

CareBear: And then? Where would he touch you next?

She remembered how Sean's hands made her feel so sexy. The memory brought a throbbing reminder to her groin. 

KillerBitch: My breasts. He fondled my breasts.

CareBear: Then what would he do? 

KillerBitch: Tease my nipples until they were hard.

CareBear: Are they hard now?

Her hand sought out her nipple. It was hard. Rolling it gently, she felt that old familiar tingling sensation wash across her body and then centre between her legs. She could feel herself getting moist, wet even. A soft moan slipped from her lips. It was several seconds before she could type again.

KillerBitch: yes

CareBear: Pinch them.

She closed her eyes for a moment, she could imagine Sean touching her.

CareBear: Squeeze them.

Without knowing why, she obeyed his instruction. The passion was building within her. Every touch on the keyboard was an effort.

KillerBitch: tes

CareBear: Feel them, touch the bare skin. Does it feel good?

Her hands slid beneath her nightgown, caressing herself.

KillerBitch: yes

CareBear: Are you getting hot?

KillerBitch: ues

God it was getting impossible to type now, each letter seemed to take seconds to type. Even reading the screen was becoming difficult. Her breathing was ragged and uneven. The waves of pleasure swept through her and her heart was pounding.

CareBear: My prick is getting hard for you. Can you feel it?

KillerBitch: yew 

CareBear: Are you wet -- ready for me?

Her hand slid across her abdomen, her fingers seeking the hard button of her clit. The lips of her pussy were swollen, the slit wet with anticipation. She slipped one finger inside, then a second. 

KillerBitch: yes

CareBear: Feel that clit, is it hard, does it want to be touched.

Her skin seemed to be gooseflesh all over; little shivers shook her body; her toes curling as she felt her approaching climax. She moaned louder and yet she hardly noticed. Then an orgasmic wave surged through her body dragging soft squeals from her chest as she felt the spasms in her pussy gripping her fingers. 

KillerBitch: yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

Her fingers slipped from the keyboard as she slumped back. A warm glow spread through her body and she suddenly missed the arms of her lover, she wanted to be held, to be loved. She heard pinging noises from the computer but it was several minutes before she was able to read the chat entries he had typed. 

CareBear: Are you OK?

Carebear: Hello?

Carebear: I take it that was good for you?

KillerBitch: God, yes. It's been a long time. That felt amazing. Thank you.

CareBear: I'm pleased I could help. :- )

KillerBitch: I can't believe I just did that. I've never done anything like it before.

CareBear: It's been a day for surprises then.

KillerBitch: Why?

CareBear: Another woman I know was nice to me for the first time today.

Cathy felt an odd premonition.

KillerBitch: What do you mean?

CareBear: I help care for a woman who's stuck in bed after a bad accident. She's been bitchy for months and then today she apologised.

Her suspicions suddenly hardened. This couldn't be happening. Not now.

KillerBitch: What's her name?

CareBear: Cathy.

She closed the browser, and shut down the computer.



Cybertherapy Ch. 04



Thanks to Lily for all her skills and patience.

*

"You bastard!" Cathy screamed at Ben from her chair by the bed, the moment he stepped through the bedroom door. "You lied to me. I thought you were a friend. How could you do that?"

Ben stepped back, her onslaught more aggressive, more venomous than any before, her furious stare intimidating. "Cathy, what's the matter?"

"Don't pretend you don't know. I suppose you went prying into my laptop when I was asleep, eh? I thought I could trust you."

Ben was bewildered. What had he done? She'd never been this angry even at her worst. "I don't understand--"

"I know, you stupid moron."

"Sorry, know what?"

"Don't play the innocent with me -- CareBear."

"CareB--" Ben's world suddenly crashed around him. "Oh God. -- You're KillerBitch? But I didn't... I'm sorry Cathy. I can explain."

"Oh, I bet you can. You slimy creep. You've had long enough to prepare your excuses. I bet you had a great time stringing me along."

"I didn't know," he pleaded. "Believe me, I had no idea it was you."

"Believe you? I can't believe a single word from your lying mouth."

"Really, I didn't know. I would never have taken advantage of--"

"You did take advantage." Her sharp retort cut him short. "You looked at my laptop. Found my entry on EroticTales and decided to use it to make a fool of me."

"No!" But Ben could see how it must look to Cathy. How on earth was he going to explain? "Alright I did see the website on your laptop but I didn't know you wrote stories. Honestly, I--"

"Honestly? How can I possibly trust anything you say? What you did was deceitful." Her anger showed little sign of abating although at least she wasn't shouting now.

"But I didn't know. I wouldn't have done anything to hurt you."

"What about last night? You have no idea how I feel, have you? It's like I was raped, assaulted. You fucking pervert." She spat the words at him.

"I'm so sorry Cathy. I wish I could make it right. I wish I'd known."

"Spare me your fake sympathy."

Ben swallowed hard. "Forgive me please."

"That's something that will never happen. Now get out of my house and never come back." Her voice, no longer angry, had become glacial. "I don't know if I can take legal action against you or your company but believe me, I shall find out."

"Please Cathy, let me tell you how it happened," Ben begged.

"Get out." The words were spoken slowly and deliberately, her icy tone making it clear she expected no argument. As he began to back away and close the door he heard her final words, "And make sure you leave the key."

*

By Saturday, Ben was in the depths of depression. He had no enthusiasm for meeting Dave and yet he'd lost the spirit to do anything decisive like cancelling their usual rendezvous in the pub.

Dave frowned when he saw his friend. "What the hell's happened to you?"

"You can't imagine. If you read it in a story you'd say it was too unbelievable." Ben could hear the lack of emotion in his own voice. It reflected the deadness he felt in his soul.

Dave shot him a knowing glance then sighed. "What's the bitch done now?"

"It's not what she did, it's what I did."

"Well, what did you do?"

Ben looked at Dave blankly. "Let's get a drink and I'll tell you."

Twenty minutes later, Dave was still staring at him. "I don't believe it."

"See, I told you."

His friend rolled his eyes. "Sorry, that was stupid. Of course I believe it. It's too outrageous not to be true." They sat without speaking, a silent island amid the usual noise of the crowd and music. Eventually Dave spoke again. "So will you get fired?" 

"Oh, I've already handed in my notice. I don't think she's taking any action against the company, although I told them I'd pay any costs if she did." Ben sighed. "I tried to send her an email but she must have cancelled the account because my message bounced. Now I don't know what to do. I sent her a proper snail-mail letter, but I suspect she'll just throw it out. She was so angry the last time I saw her. If only she'd given me a chance to explain."

Dave gave him another knowing look. "You were beginning to like her weren't you?"

"Yes. The real Cathy, the girl that was somewhere between Cathy and KillerBitch, yes, I think I was." Ben looked sad. "I finally find a woman I like and then I blow it."

"But it was an accident."

"Yeah, but she'll never believe that."

They sat staring at their drinks.

Dave looked up suddenly. "What about her mother?"

"What about her?" Ben frowned.

"Well you said she liked you. Why not try talking to her?"

Ben considered for a moment, the idea seeming less preposterous the more he thought about it. "Yeah, I suppose so. It has to be worth trying. I still have the card she gave me."

*

Gloria stared at her daughter in amazement. "Ben was the man on the Internet?"

"Yes. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

"But he seemed so nice."

"I thought so." Cathy scowled. "But he really was a creepy pervert after all."

"Are you sure it couldn't have been a mistake?"

"Mum, he couldn't have found my account on the web site by accident. He had to have known, so he must have snooped in my laptop."

"I suppose so. Still... And erotic stories, really Cath, what were you thinking?" Gloria looked uncomfortable. "I never thought a daughter of mine could be involved in pornography."

"Mother!" Cathy pulled a face. "It's erotic stories, not smutty pictures."

"Well, what's the difference?"

"You've never even read anything like that, have you?"

"I should think not," her mother said with a slight shudder.

Cathy picked up the crutches by her chair, pulling herself to her feet with difficulty.

"Can I help you dear?"

"No, Mum. I have to learn to do things by myself." She made her way slowly to her laptop which lay on the table by the window. She worked on the machine for a few minutes, then pulled a memory stick from where it had been plugged in. "Here. Take this. Tell Daddy to print off the documents on it so you can read them."

"I'm not sure..."

"Trust me, Mother." Cathy spoke as though to a child then sighed and rubbed at her thighs.

"Have you spoken to the nurses about your legs?"

Cathy sighed . "Yes, but they don't know much. I've got an appointment with the orthopaedic outpatients' department at the hospital. Dr. Glenn came round this morning." Her GP was a regular visitor.

"Why the long face?" Gloria sounded concerned.

"Well, it's just typical, I suppose. The appointment's in six weeks time. When I asked about waiting times he said it could be six months before they could operate. And because I didn't let them operate just after the accident, it could need three operations to fix the ligaments properly." Cathy sighed again. "As for the facial reconstruction, I'll probably have to wait until after my legs are done."

"Oh Cath. I wish your Dad and I could do more. I think we could get some of the operations done privately but I know we haven't enough to do all of it." Gloria looked disconsolate. "Daddy says we should be able to sell some of his stocks to raise money."

Cathy stared at her mother. "I can't ask you to do that. Daddy had those savings for his retirement."

"Darling, if it will help you we'll happily spend the money. I only wish we had more. Daddy is going to see if your aunts and uncles can help."

"No! I don't want you in debt to anyone, even family." Cathy looked determined.

"Alright dear, don't get excited. We can talk about it some more later."

"I mean it, Mother. No borrowing. And I really don't want Daddy to sell his stocks either."

"Yes dear. Whatever you say." Gloria conceded.

*

Ben eyed the telephone suspiciously, as though he expected it to come alive and bite him. It had taken him two weeks to summon the courage to make the call. He finally picked up the handset and, glancing at the card, dialled the number. After five rings he heard a woman's voice.

"Hello."

"Hello, is that Gloria?" he asked quietly.

"Who is this?"

"It's Ben Fielding." He tried not to sound as nervous as he felt.

"Who?"

"Ben. I used to be Cathy's carer."

"You've got a nerve calling here." Ben flinched at the hard edge to Gloria's tone.

"Please, I need to talk to you -- to explain."

"I'm not sure you can explain what you did."

"I'm sorry. I never wanted to upset Cathy. But you have to know, I never spied on her."

There was a pause. "Well it's an awfully big coincidence you just happened to be writing to her on the Internet."

He hadn't expected her to believe him but he was determined to try to persuade her. She'd seemed a sympathetic person on the only occasion they'd met.

"I know. Look I admit I did see the web site on her laptop. I didn't go looking for it. I went to collect her tray one afternoon. She was asleep. The laptop was on. I couldn't help seeing the web site she was looking at." He knew he was gabbling but he was desperate to win Gloria over before she lost patience with him. "It never occurred to me she wasn't just reading the stories. I never thought she could be writing stories like that."

"Like what?"

Ben frowned. "She hasn't told you?"

"She told me she'd been writing stories on some pornography site. She even tried to get me to read some. I didn't, of course. I still can't believe she could get involved in something so disgusting."

"I think you're judging her a little harshly. I know the stories she was writing when I first got in touch with her were questionable, but the one she was writing when -- well, you know -- that story was very romantic and beautiful. You should read it."

"I don't read porn, young man."

"It isn't porn. Please Gloria. Just read it and see. I think you might be surprised."

"I'm sure Cathy wouldn't have kept any copies of it. And I wouldn't want to worry her by trying to find out."

"I have a copy," Ben offered, hoping she'd want to see it.

"No. I don't think I want to read it."

"It's a good piece of writing," he cajoled. "It has great characters and a good story."

"And you really think I should read it?" She sounded bemused. "What good would that do?"

"I believe she put a lot of her soul and personality into the story. It might help you to understand the way she's thinking."

"All right then, young man. You've earned yourself another chance to talk to me. I'll meet you somewhere with my husband after I've read it."

Ben felt his eyes narrowing. "So you have got a copy?"

"Yes. I'm sorry Ben. I lied. But I didn't want to read that sort of thing. I'm still not sure I do, but I'll try."

"Thank you." Ben felt rather as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "But could I ask one more favour?"

"And what might that be?"

"Could you stop calling me 'young man'? I'm forty two years old."

*

They met the following week in the cafeteria at the supermarket. Ben bought coffees for the three of them. Gloria's husband -- Roger -- shook his hand and smiled weakly. "I'll let Gloria do the talking for now, Ben. I still don't really feel comfortable with all this at the moment."

Ben nodded his acknowledgement. He turned to Gloria. "Have you read the story?"

She smiled at him. "Yes. It's a bit racier than I'd normally read, but, you're right, it's not really pornographic. And yes, it is romantic."

"Well, she wrote that because I asked her to. You really don't want to read the stuff she was writing before. That truly was unpleasant."

Gloria glanced at her husband and after some unspoken message passed between them continued, "Well, if you didn't know who she was, why did you ask her to write it?"

"I thought she was some other hurt person I might be able to help. I never even considered the possibility it might be Cathy."

"Yes, but why make her write?"

Ben sipped at his coffee. "Because I couldn't think of any other way of starting a dialogue. I figured if I could get her to write something from her heart I'd learn more about her."

"And what did you learn?" She looked at him intently.

"Under that aggressive exterior is a very loving woman." Ben smiled rather ruefully. "I've been thinking about it a lot. She wasn't just badly hurt on the outside was she? I think she may have suffered even more emotionally."

Gloria nodded slowly. "How much do you know about what happened?"

"Only that her husband and son were killed and she was badly injured in a car crash. And that she blames herself."

Gloria sighed. Reaching forward to pick up her coffee, she took several sips, clearly giving herself time to make a carefully considered response. "Well," she said at last, replacing the cup, "there are those that might say she should blame herself I'm afraid."

Ben regarded her with amazement. "Why, for heaven's sake?"

"First you should understand she loved Sean as much as any woman could love a man. And as for their son, darling little Jack..." Gloria sounded rather choked. "Cath's whole life was devoted to making them both as happy as she could."

"I came across a few photos while I was clearing up once," Ben confessed. "You could see just by looking how much she loved her family."

Cathy's mother nodded again before finishing her coffee and replacing the cup. "They'd been to a party at Sean's parents' house. Both of them had been drinking but Cathy was sure she would be OK to drive the short distance home. It was only a few miles round the lanes, away from the main roads. How much the drink was to blame, I don't think anyone really knows, but Cathy's certain it was because she was over the limit the accident happened.

"Anyhow, there was a junction where the lane crossed a dual carriageway. Cathy made a mistake and a lorry hit their car. Sean and Jack were killed instantly, she was in a coma for four weeks."

Ben was silent for a moment. "Then why did she write about going before the courts and being sentenced?"

"Well as a drink-driving offence, they prosecuted as a matter of routine. Of course she pleaded guilty, but the Judge said she'd already been punished sufficiently by the loss of her husband and son, quite apart from the severity of her injuries. So she got a suspended sentence and a driving ban."

"And she still wanted to punish herself?" he said, finally beginning to understand.

"Yes. And she wanted everyone to hate her as much as she hated herself. All the time the nurses and home helps kept getting upset and refusing to visit her she could tell herself it was because they knew what she'd done."

Ben found himself beginning to smile. "I see. And when I wouldn't follow her script she didn't know what to do -- and so she hated me."

Gloria returned his smile. "Well I'm no psychologist but that's what I think."

He sighed. "I just wanted to help her see that people cared."

"And you did. Ironic isn't it?" She turned to her husband. "I think you have to accept this was a misunderstanding Roger. It seems pretty clear to me Ben didn't mean to hurt Cathy -- just the opposite."

"So it seems." Roger turned to Ben. "I'm sorry Ben. I just found it very difficult to believe it was a coincidence. I mean what were the odds you would be writing to Cath without knowing who she was?"

Ben shook the hand Roger extended to him. "Don't worry, Roger. I'm not sure I would have believed it if it hadn't happened to me."

"Gloria said she thought you were responsible for returning our daughter to us and she's right." He looked at his wife. "I think it's time we had a little talk with Cath."

"Maybe dear, but you know how stubborn she is. I don't think she'll be prepared to forgive Ben just yet." Smiling wryly, Gloria turned to Ben. "I'll give you a ring next week to let you know how we got on."

*

As Gloria had predicted, Cathy was not in a forgiving mood.

"I don't know what he's said to you Mum, but I don't feel as charitable as you and I'm certainly not ready to believe he was as innocent as you seem to think."

"Dad and I have been talking to him, and I think maybe you're being too harsh," Gloria said calmly. "I wish you'd talk to him. At least give him a chance to explain himself."

"I hate to keep repeating myself, Mum but I don't want to see him or hear about him and I most definitely don't want to talk to him. Now please stop." Her voice became harsh as her irritation increased. "If you can't drop the subject I'll stop talking to you. Now -- enough!"

But when her mother sighed, Cathy found herself feeling guilty. "Would you like a coffee, Mum?" she asked, her voice softening.

"I can get it."

"No! I want to get my independence back, to be able to look after myself." She struggled to her feet, balancing awkwardly on her crutches. At least her kitchen was small enough to cross in only a couple of strides.

"Has Dr. Glen been able to find out any more about the waiting lists?" her mother enquired, watching as her daughter filled the kettle and turned it on.

Cathy pulled a face. "He said it could be as much as six months."

"Well, ask him about going private dear, even if it's only for your legs. Daddy and I can afford that at least. And it would make us much happier to use the money for that than saving it for retirement when we know we could have done something for you."

"I told you, I don't want to take your money." She put down the cafetiére and turned to her mother, a defiant look on her face. 

"Even if it makes us happy?"

Cathy raised her eyes briefly to the ceiling. "That's emotional blackmail."

"No dear, it's the truth. Now please make us happy and let us help you."

"I'll think about it." She poured the coffee and handed the cups to her mother. "That damn Ben still gets to me, you know."

"How's that?"

"I looked at myself in the mirror this morning and realised what a hypocrite I'd been calling him chubby."

*

Ben was surprised at how close he had become to Gloria and Roger. He hadn't realised how much he missed his own parents. Their meetings had become a regular event and the lunch he was cooking would be the third he'd prepared for them. Furthermore, they seemed to enjoy his company as much as he did theirs.

As they sat at the dining table, Ben inevitably brought up the subject of Cathy.

"What's the news from the hospital about the surgery?"

Roger, as so often seemed to be the case, deferred to his wife. "Well, we think we can get her onto the private list now so she should get the first operation for her ligaments done within the next fortnight."

"That's great. What about the facial reconstruction surgery?"

"Well it's going to be a long haul. The surgeon thinks she'll need at least three operations and with the current waiting lists it'll probably take two or three years."

"I didn't think the wait was that long for private patients?" Ben was puzzled.

"It's not. But I'm afraid she has to have the operations on the NHS." Gloria looked a little sheepish.

"I don't suppose she has private health insurance." 

"Unfortunately not. Roger and I paid for the leg operations but that was all we could afford. We would have borrowed the rest but Cathy wouldn't hear of it."

"But the operations could be done a lot faster privately?" Ben's heart began to beat more quickly.

"Oh yes, if only we had the money."

Ben smiled. "I think I can help there."

*

Cathy looked at herself in the bedroom mirror. Legs that looked pretty damn good for a thirty-five year old -- even if she did have to wear thick tights to hide the scars from the operations. Eighteen months of physiotherapy and exercise after the operations had been beneficial. Her figure looked pretty good again now as well. She had to use a lot of make up on her face, and the surgeon said she'd probably always have to, but she felt good about herself again.




Cybertherapy Ch. 04



She went back down to the kitchen and peered through the glass door of the oven. The cheese soufflé looked good -- just not as good as his. Cursing him again for what seemed like the ten thousandth time, she went to join her parents in the living room.

Seeing her parents had become difficult again now she'd finished with the surgery. Her mother was adamant she should be out 'socialising'. Of course what she meant was dating men. The onslaught recommenced almost immediately.

"Have you been out at all this week?"

"No Mum." She was resigned to hearing the usual lectures. "I know, you think it's time I had a social life, I should be making friends again. What you mean of course is a boyfriend."

"Not necessarily dear. Although that would be nice."

Cathy groaned. "Mum, I still have some pretty nasty scars. I have to cake my face with make up to hide the damage, and I'll never be able to wear sheer stockings again. No man is going to be interested in me. And if they do it'll be out of pity. I don't think I could bear that, knowing a man's only with me because he feels sorry for me."

Her mother looked at her with an odd expression. "Not all men would care about the scars."

"Oh right. I'm not likely to find one of them, am I?"

"Not if you treat them all the same way as you did the last one."

"Meaning?"

"You know full well what I mean. Ben Fielding cared about you. He saw past the scars. And when he was talking to you on the net he didn't know who you were but still cared." 

Yes, Cathy thought, but her mother didn't know about what had happened, did she? She still found the memory of their cyber-sex embarrassing. "I've told you Mum, I don't want to talk about it. And I don't want to talk about him either."

"Why not?"

"He hurt me, OK?"

Gloria frowned. "How could he have hurt you if you didn't care about him?"

"I... I didn't care about him." Cathy was irritated again now. They had had this discussion several times and she hated the way her mother made her face things she wanted to ignore.

"Cath. You're an intelligent woman and you know as well as I do, you could only be hurt by someone you cared about. You never say you're angry with him, just that he hurt you. How long are you going to deny what you really feel?"

"As long as it takes to make you leave the subject alone."

"It won't happen. I can safely say I know Ben far better than you ever did and I know he still cares about you. You're the first subject of conversation every time we see him."

"But he hasn't seen me for nearly two years." Cathy was a little surprised he could still be asking after her; he should have lost interest by now.

"He still cares dear. I think it's time you forgave him and let him explain what happened."

"You really think he cares about me?"

"Yes. And you did like him didn't you?"

Cathy hesitated. More than she was willing to admit. "A bit, I suppose," she conceded at last. "He was quite nice when I started to be friendly to him. And he cooked wonderful food."

"Come on Cath, admit what we all know, you liked him."

"Well maybe I did. But he took advantage."

"He didn't, you know. You need to talk to him."

"OK, OK. If only to stop you going on and on about it. You win, alright?" But when Gloria smiled, Cathy groaned again. "But you're not allowed to gloat."

Gloria was still smiling. "Well, I don't often win an argument against you, dear."

*

Unusually Gloria had made a special request for a cheese soufflé. She was coming alone, as Roger had had to go on an unexpected business trip. Ben had just shut the oven when the doorbell rang.

He opened the front door to find not Gloria but her daughter and the shock of finding Cathy on his doorstep, and not her mother, left him speechless. As always when faced with a pretty woman, even one he knew, he had no idea what to do. He stood staring until she finally spoke.

"Hello Ben. Can I come in or do I have to stay out here?" On her face was the loveliest smile he'd ever seen.

"I'm sorry." He stepped back and caught his foot on the mat, making him stumble.

"Thank you." She walked past him into the living room. "This is a nice room."

"Er... Thanks," he mumbled, closing the door and following her in.

She turned around, giving him another of those beautiful smiles. "I'm sorry to spring this on you. It was Mum's idea."

"I've no doubt it was." He thought for a moment. "Sorry, that sounded all wrong. What I meant was it doesn't surprise me. She's wanted us to talk for a long time."

Cathy sighed. "I know. And I know I should have listened to what you have to say a long time ago. I was embarrassed and hurt and I lashed out at you. I was wrong and I apologise."

"That's OK," Ben said, rather thrown off-balance by this new conciliatory Cathy.

She began to take off her coat looking pointedly at Ben, who finally realised he needed to take it from her. He stopped when she slipped it off her shoulders to reveal the pretty floral dress beneath. The neckline was low enough to allow a modest glimpse of her cleavage; he noticed she was actually very slim and for the first time he could actually see her legs beneath the swirling knee-length skirt. Once again he froze, intimidated by the evidence of her femininity.

"May I sit down?"

"Yes, sorry." Ben was aware he'd forgotten all his manners. He'd never had this problem with her when she was an invalid in her bed.

She gave him a rueful glance. "Ben, that's the third time you've apologised since I arrived."

"Sorry -- oh..." He looked sheepish. "I can't help it, it's a bit of a shock, seeing you here. I didn't think you'd ever want to talk to me again."

She nodded. "Nor did I for a long time."

"So what changed your mind?" Ben was a little puzzled.

"My mother."

"Oh yes, of course." Once more he was tongue tied, why did it have to be so hard to talk to a woman?

Cathy sniffed the air. "That smells good, what is it?"

"Cheese soufflé." They both burst out laughing. "Your mother insisted."

She smiled. "She knows I can't make one as good as yours."

Embarrassed by the compliment, Ben flapped towards the sofa. "I'm sorry. I'm not thinking," he gabbled. "Please have a seat. Can I get you a drink?"

"Stop apologising," she said, laughing as she sank down on the sofa. "And I'd love a glass of wine please."

He returned with their drinks and sat in an armchair facing her, amazed at the changes since he'd last seen her. To him, she seemed as beautiful now as she had been when the picture in the drawer was taken. As he sat staring at her he lost all sense of time; he had no idea how long it was before she finally broke the silence.

"Well?"

"Wow," he said, finally releasing the breath he'd been holding in. "You look incredible."

"Thank you, sir." She grinned. "They put me back together quite well, didn't they?"

"Better than that. You look beautiful." He seemed unable to form any sentences longer than a few words. 

"Well, that's just flattery. Not that I'm complaining."

Ben excused himself and went to the kitchen to make an unnecessary check on the dinner, jumping several feet into the air at the sound of Cathy's voice behind him.

"Why are you so nervous, Ben? I promise for tonight at least I won't lose my temper. I can't promise for longer than that, after all I am a woman and we're allowed to be unreasonable if we want to." She chuckled.

"I'm sorry."

She groaned. "Will you please stop apologising?"

Ben managed a laugh. "Oh God. I always seem to be so awkward with women. I don't know why. My confidence deserts me and my brain seems to stop working."

"It didn't when you were my home help."

"No, I can't explain that. Although, maybe because you needed my help it gave me confidence." Even as he spoke, the idea made sense to him.

"Well if you could talk to me then, you can talk to me now. Why don't you start with you? Tell me all about Ben Fielding."

Two hours later they were still talking.

Ben couldn't remember eating the meal; he'd been too busy watching her for most of the time. "I hope the food was OK."

"I'm sure it was. After the soufflé, I confess I was so caught up with talking to you I didn't really notice." She looked adorably bashful, he thought. "My turn to be sorry. I should have paid more attention after you'd taken the trouble to cook it."

"Don't worry, I was just as bad. I hadn't realised we had so much in common." He collected the plates and took them to the kitchen.

"Did you really like me? When I was being so horrid." She had to speak a little louder whilst he was out of the room.

"Yes, although I thought it was KillerBitch I was getting to like." He blushed at the memory, thankful she couldn't see him as he made the coffee. "I really am so sorry about all that. I'd never have taken advantage of you."

"What? Never?"

He went to the kitchen door and looked at her with surprised, only to see her smiling back at him. "You're teasing."

"Yes and no. Mum knows me better than I know myself. She said I didn't really hate you and she's right. I'm not sure how you did it but you got inside my defences."

"I think you are the most beautiful woman I've ever known." Ben couldn't imagine what possessed him to say such a thing. He was embarrassed as soon as the words left his mouth.

Cathy gave a snort of laughter. "That's downright ridiculous and we both know it."

"No. I mean it. It's you, the person you are. That's what's so beautiful." Ben was serious but Cathy didn't seem to believe him.

"Lot of old flannel," she joked. "Now hurry up with that coffee. I shan't make you wait this long next week."

*

Three weeks later Ben knew he was in love for the first time in his life but had no idea what to do about it. After dining out for once, on returning Cathy to her house he found himself accepting her offer of another coffee.

"Would you put the kettle on for me please Ben? I'll be back in a minute."

He did as she asked and sat on the sofa to wait. When she returned down the stairs, she was wearing a long white negligee. Whilst it was not transparent, it showed sufficient to hint at her body beneath. Ben was breathless. As soon as she sat next to him, all thought of coffee was gone.

"Right then, CareBear," she teased. "It's time to finish what you started."

He had no time to respond before her lips locked on to his. Though he'd hoped this would happen sooner or later, he still found he couldn't believe it was happening. Having found he enjoyed writing, he'd carried on creating stories--and Cathy had been the model for all his heroines. But though he tried to concentrate on all the things he'd fantasised about doing with her, her kisses made it very difficult to concentrate and when she took his hand and led him up to her bedroom, Ben thought he might have died and gone to heaven.

Having followed her down on to the bed, Ben held her tightly, trying to give himself time to think. She put her hand on the back of his head and pulled his face to her neck. Of course--her neck! She'd said she liked being touched there that night on the net. His hand began its caresses as he kissed her throat, his lips feeling the vibrations as she made soft humming noises. He nibbled down to her shoulders, kissing and sucking. Pausing for the briefest time, he recalled their chat and which part of her incredible body he should explore next. Gently pushing her back, he opened the negligee exposing her body. Her breasts were perfect. Full and rounded, larger than he could cover with his hand and topped with perfect dark pink nipples.

He traced a circular path round each one with his fingers, gradually working towards the nipple in a decreasing spiral. When he finally reached the hard little peaks he gently pinched and pulled at them. Her soft sighs told him he was doing the right thing. Eventually his mouth followed his fingers and he sucked first one then the other into his mouth sucking and lightly biting on them.

"Oh Ben," she said quietly.

"Mmmm?" he murmured, not about to release his delicious mouthful to start talking just yet.

"It's been a long time."

He smiled against her flesh. "Mmmm."

His hand had left her breast and was exploring the flat plateau of her stomach, stroking, enjoying the smooth silky skin. He wanted to touch all of her at once, to take her and possess her but he didn't want to do anything that might scare her.

"Don't you dare stop now," she said as his movements slowed, taking his hand and pulling it down between her legs, the silky fabric there already drenched.

"May I take these off?"

"For fuck's sake, Ben, stop being a bloody gentleman. I haven't done this in almost five years -- what I want right now is a hard cock."

He was astonished - but delighted - at her words. It wasn't at all what he'd been expecting.

"Rip them off me if you like. I don't care." Her voice sounded hoarse, her hands already clawing at the waistband of his trousers. She seemed almost frantic in her efforts to undo them. "Oh Christ, Ben, help me. Get your bloody clothes off -- now!"

Laughing, he rolled away from her long enough to undo his trousers and begin to slide them down his legs. Cathy grabbed his shirt and ripped it apart, a button striking the base of the bedside lamp with a ping. She took hold of his now painfully hard manhood and pulled him towards her.

"I need this in me. We can make love later. Right now, just fuck me."

Ben didn't need any further invitation and climbing between her legs, slid straight in. 

"Yes!" The scream in his ear was almost painful. It helped to distract him for a moment, he wasn't sure how long he could hold back; the sensations created by her hot wet sheath around his phallus bringing him almost immediately to the brink of orgasm.

"I'm not going to last, Cathy," he panted.

"Then don't, babe -- finish for me."

She lifted her hips, pushing back at him as he thrust into her, finally releasing the pent up passion he felt. Afterwards, he fell to one side, trying to keep his weight from crushing her, breathing heavily. Shell-shocked, still reeling from the frantic pace at which she had brought him to this point, it was some time before he recovered sufficiently to speak. "I'm sorry, I couldn't--"

"Ben Fielding!" she interrupted, gazing at him with amusement. "If you apologise one more time, I'll make you wait at least ten more minutes before you can have me again."

He smiled, weary but elated. "What just happened here? One minute we were going to have a coffee and the next we're in your bed."

She smiled back, stroking the side of his face before running her fingers through his hair. "Tell me something, how long is it since you made love to a woman?"

"A little while." He wasn't about to admit the truth -- then she'd really think he was a wimp.

"Honestly. I'm not making fun of you."

"Four years or so," he admitted sheepishly.

"And why is that?"

"I just seem to have a problem talking to women, never mind anything more."

"But you didn't have a problem when you were talking to KillerBitch?"

"No. I was pretending to be someone else." Her touch on his face and hair was reassuring.

"I don't think so. I think that was you, but without the fear. When I talked to Mum about you she said you seemed intimidated by women. That's when I knew I'd have to take the lead. If I'd waited for you we'd never have got started."

"But I don't understand why you'd be interested in me. A beautiful woman like you could have any man she wanted."

"You're so sweet. A complete idiot of course, but so sweet. You know how badly I'm scarred, you've seen me stuck in bed, I've insulted and belittled you and still you stayed around. And while you found the real me on the Internet, maybe I found the real you. The Ben who's strong and kind, patient and understanding. In the last three weeks I've felt safe and cared for. Now we need to move forward. We've made a start, now you have to make love to me. We'll learn together how to please each other."

And pulling his face towards hers, she kissed him.

*

The sun was shining through the window when Cathy woke up. She was lying on her side, Ben's arms wrapped round her. The memory of their lovemaking brought a contented smile to her lips. He'd been a very apt pupil and by the early hours of the morning he'd proved he could make her scream with pleasure. Somehow, she didn't think he'd need many more lessons.

She heard his breathing change and felt him stir. "Hello stud," she said with a giggle.

"Hello yourself." He squeezed her gently. "You feel good."

"Mmm." She wiggled her buttocks into his groin. "You feel pretty good yourself."

"My God, you're insatiable," he said with a chuckle, allowing himself to enjoy how she felt in his arms for a few moments before deciding the time had come to be serious. "Cathy, what happens now?"

She looked back over her shoulder at him, grinning. "Well, if I'm lucky you'll ask me to marry you before I get pregnant and you decide it's your duty."

Ben stared. "Is that a proposal?" he said, keeping his tone light. "You'd really want to marry a man like me?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"A middle aged hospital porter, who, until last night, was hardly Don Juan."

She rolled over to face him. "Ben! Don't you ever run yourself down like that again. You do a caring job, you're a fantastic cook, you're strong and I promise you as long as you make love to me like you did last night I will never feel short-changed." Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble. "Though you'd better shave before we make love again. I think this would be very scratchy on the insides of my thighs."

Ben smiled. "Well, if you're going to be my wife, there's a problem you should know about."

"And that's your idea of a proposal? I think you'd better practice." She smiled. "What's the problem? Are you worried about money?"

"Sort of." He felt rather guilty.

"You don't need to. I have some money. I can get a job, and we'll have your house. Don't worry that you don't earn a huge salary. I don't care." But he still looked worried, she realised. "That's not it, is it?"

"No. There can't be any secrets between us."

"Oh hell, tell me the worst." Thoughts of debts, bankruptcy, first wives, alimony all rushed through her head.

"Your parents never said where they got the money for your surgery?"

"No." Cathy frowned at the question. "I'm sure they borrowed it but they won't tell. They say they've been sworn to secrecy although I can't understand why."

"Probably because the person who gave them the money didn't want you to feel indebted to him."

"Him? What do you...?" Her eyes widened. "You? But how? What...?" 

Ben grinned. "You'll find out soon enough. We have more than enough money to do anything we want."

"How much exactly?"

"I don't know exactly. But when I won the lottery it was three million pounds."

"Oh hell," Cathy groaned. "Now I'll have to spend the rest of my life repaying you." And pushing his arms away, she lowered her face to his groin. "Time to get started then..."