Goth Moth the … rescuer?

Note: The below story deals, HUMOROUSLY and nongraphically, with sexual promiscuity, drug abuse, and mental health. If these bother you try another of my stories. 🫵🏻✍🏻 It is a … Dramedy. A psychiatric comedic drama.

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Goth moth … ?

What the hell?

My reaction? I thought, “I really shouldn’t have taken that … uhm … lysergic acid diethylamide.”

“Fine … LSD. A spade is a spade I suppose. This is a, quote, SAFE SPACE, unquote, after all.

‘Yeah, yeah, Doc. Laugh it up.”

What? “Back up? Start over,” you say?”

“Yes Doc. I did actually use the “quote, unquote, correctly. Yep. Ninety-nine Percent.. quote, unquote.. Hahahahaha… of people just have empty space in their quotes. But…, I have a higher edumacation than that. Like Jethro Bodene I knows muh Gazintas. …

“You smiled Doc. I saw it.”

“Well, this morning started normally enough. Or - Don’t worry, I’m just glancing at my watch - SQUIRREL! Hold on a sec Amy.”

“Don’t look at me like that. Please.”

“Yes, I know we have plenty of time.”

“Okay…, Doctor Weinhouser…, aka, Amy. Do you perchance sing? Or are you related to a drunken Doogie?”

“Ah, that got a smile. You know you’re pretty cute when you smile doc. Amy… uhmm, Doctor Amy.”

“Still not okay? How about.., Doctor A&W? I like Rootbeer.”

“Fine, thanks for the pencil and notebook.”

“No sweat. If it makes you happy, I’ll just write the whole thing down. Is it okay if I use you as a … soundboard, A&W?”

“Of course Alexander. That’s what you pay me for.” Dr. Amy Weinhouser scotched her ergonomic chair a tad closer to her patient - Alexander Worthey. Alex. Shifting her thin-framed glasses, which she didn’t actually need but felt supported her professional image, a hair farther up on the bridge of her nose, tried to look professional. Competent. She mentally reviewed her perceptions of her … intriguing … patient.

Alexander Worthey. Wealthy Scion of an old family was … a drug abusing, uhm, addict. A womanizer. Wavy blonde hair coiffed just so. A strong, dare I say Aquiline?, jaw.

Dr. Weinhouser shook herself back to reality. Alex was …, Alexander was looking at her quizzically. He had a sly grin on his perfect mouth. A grin that said, “I know exactly what you’re thinking Doc. And,” as his riveting blue eyes travelled to her cleavage, “you’re horny as hell.”

“You said you saw a,” glancing at her notepad held in trembling fingers trimmed in screw-me red nail polish, “Goth Moth?” She looked back up.

Alexander, her patient, on her couch, reclined there, graceful as a recumbent lion. A lion on the prowl and way too relaxed. “What does that mean Alexander?”

“Alex. Just Alex Dr. A&W.”

The youthful, but credible, she thought forcefully, psychiatrist brushed back an errant lock of blonde hair. Damn bun. Hair always manages to sneak out of its restraints. Wish I could be … unrestrained. Using the gesture to pull a pen from her hair where she had tucked it above her ear earlier, she brought it to her mouth. Unconsciously, she nibbled on the eraser.

“Hey A&W. You nervous?” Alexander tilted his head. His throat constricted as he swallowed.

The psychiatrist was mesmerized. Hypnotized for a second that felt like an eon as she blinked. His throat muscles were tight. Bunched,… rising up, going down … like… Her nipples pebbled, growing harder. STOP.

“Nice rubber Doc.” Her patient was laser focused on the rubber…, eraser. Not A RUBBER. Her face. Her full, kissable… “No. Why would I be nervous Alexander?” Proud of her calm demeanor, she pushed the pen back into her hair and took a deep, calming breath. Her body was warm… her palms sweaty. Her …., nethers: Wet. She squirmed. “Just getting more comfortable. This is fascinating Alexander.”

“Just Alex,” the magnetically handsome twenty-five year old man said distractedly.

“So, Alex, what is a Goth Moth? And … LSD? Really?” She looked at him reprovingly. “Didn’t you say you were done with the hallucinogenics? Besides, it’s the dead of winter. Moths are, Out of Season?, I guess. You really don’t see them in the cold months. Certainly not in Seattle in February.”

‘Yeah, yeah. Blah, blah. Hallucinogens.” The young man waved off his psychiatrist’s concerns nonchalantly. “And moths not being in season - that’s not the important thing Doc.”

“But the, [Goth Moth?] is. So, why don’t you tell me about it?” The newly graduated - Summa Cum Laude, from Harvard - twenty-six-year-old mental health professional queried.

“Yep. It is. So…” Alexander Worthey leaned back, draping a well muscled arm over a plush lavender couch cushion. “It was last night. Myrna and I had just had some of the best… mind blowing sex I’ve ever had. Damn she’s hot.” Alexander gave a low, appreciative wolf-whistle. “And that mouth…”

Doctor of Psychiatry, Amy Weinhouser, squirmed in her office chair. The mental image of Alexander Worthey pounding some bimbo mercilessly got her so worked up she … Amy clenched her hands so tight her newly pulled from her desktop ink pen - having forgotten she had one in her hair - snapped. Her breasts ached. They wanted to be in on the fun. Black ink squirted on her designer skirt. Amy jumped. A startled bunny caught in the vegetable garden.

“Can I help you with that A&W?” Alex licked suddenly dry lips as he watched his gorgeous blonde shrink swipe at her … lap. “Nice knees Doc.’’

Righting herself awkwardly she glared reprovingly at her devilishly handsome patient. “No. But, thank you. So, Goth Moth? Out season and possibly a hallucination?”

Alexander settled back again into the comfort of plush lavender cushions. Staring at the mirror behind Doctor Weinhouser, A&W, he started talking. The notebook and pencil on the cushion next to his leg were totally forgotten.

“Yeah. Okay.” Nervously, he ran a palm over suddenly tired eyes. On an irrelevant note he saw, in the wall mirror, that his eyes were still bloodshot. Slight red lines crisscrossed like an Atlas showing winding country roads. “Well, I happened to still have a couple of hits,”

“Of LSD?”

“Of LSD. Yeah.”

“And you…?” The doctor let her unspoken query hang there, hovering like an Apache copter about to make a strafing run.

“Well, first I took a wicked piss. Then I saw the … strips of … LSD. By the sink.”

“So you took them?” Dr. Weinhouser jotted a quick note on her tablet with shaky fingertips. Red, screw-me fingertips, which she quickly placed demurely into her lap. A parched tongue licked suddenly dry lips.

“Right after I put on my underwear. Boxers, if you’re wondering.”

Amy blinked several times. The image of Alexander Worthey, his… penis… flopping around, balls dangl… “I wasn’t Alex. So, you put on underclothes and then…?”

Sheepishly, Alex met her eyes for a moment before looking back down. “Then, because I’m a gentleman, I asked …, uhm…,”

“Myrna? She’s new to you?”

“Yep. Myrna. We’ve been hooking up about, oh, six or seven weeks maybe. Damn: whaatttt annnn ass. And she gives the best hea..” He stumbled to an awkward, ‘pregnant silence.’ “Sorry Doc.”

Picturing her virile, muscular patient being fellated made Amy blush. But, what an image it made… Hot. Sloppy. Blow j… “It’s fine. Alex. I’m aware of the … actions … associated with sexual intercourse.”

Alex grinned slyly. “I believe you, A&W. You look … capable.”

Doctor Weinhouser blushed a deep shade of crimson. “Can we at least make an effort to remain professional, Alexander?”

“Not with that lovely flush in your cheeks. No.”

Dr. Weinhouser sighed and pushed her glasses once more up onto the bridge of her nose. With her middle finger. Somehow she managed to look stern and embarrassed simultaneously. “You were saying about your boxers? Uhm, your strips. The LSD?”

Alexander chuckled. “My boxer strips. Of course. So, I offered one to …”

“Myrna. Your sexual partner.”

“Myrna. Can I call her H&N?”

Dr. Weinhouser looked puzzled. Plucked eyebrows drew up questioningly.

“Are you part Vulcan?” Alex was looking at her eyebrows.

“Vulcan? Like Mr. Spock?” Amy canted her head to one side. “Fascinating. A science fiction fan.”

“Oh, from way back. You haven’t seen a warp drive kick in until you’ve seen it on LSD. By the way…”

“Yes?”

“There are female Vulcans. They’re almost as attractive as you are Doc.”

Amy felt her cheeks getting flushed once again. She thought she should consider sending her receptionist to the boutique for a new pair of panties. “Thank you.”

Alex looked at her for another few seconds as she sat there, hands clasped in her lap, one eyebrow cocked, just waiting expectantly.

“So, H&N…”

“Tell me Alexander: What does H and N mean?”

“Hot and Naked.”

“I see. Please,” she waved one hand, as nonchalantly and dismissively as she could manage.

“She jumped on my … She took me up on my offer. Enthusiastically.”

The mental health professional tried to ignore the obvious bulge in her patient’s crotch… lap… slacks. “And then you put your boxers back on, I presume, and …?”

“Yeah,” Alex said with a far away, yet smug, look. “Then we took the acid.”

“I see. How did that make you feel Alexander?” Dr. Weinhouser asked through a tightly constricted airway.

“Fan-effing-tastic. At first.”

“At first? Why just, “At first”?” She said, air quoting and dropping the new pen she had retrieved from a desk caddy. Still too flustered to recall she had stuck one behind an ear.

“Well: Doc. There was a candle. A lit candle. On the counter by my sink.” Alex had a far away look in his eyes. “It was, flickering, and making all kinds of cool patterns in the mirror. Like a disco club in hell.”

“With disco… ?balls? I presume.”

Alexander guffawed loudly: straightening from where he slouched on the couch. His muscular torso was framed in lavender like… a hallucinatory fantasy… hallucination. “I’m certain that was,” quirking an eyebrow comedically, “fascinating.”

“It sure was, Doc. Myrna’s absolutely fascinating from head to … …, toenails. Physically fascinating, anyways. Myrna’s tits…., breasts…, were … floating right in front of my eyes. It was,” he waved his hands confusedly as he searched for the right word. “Sublime.”

“Myrna. I note that when you’re not acting like a hormonal, quote, RANDY, unquote, eighteen-year-old boy at the beach with his girlfriend after the prom, you’re capable of remembering a lady’s name.”

“H&N is definitely not a lady.” Alex, unable to help himself, laughed and slapped a well defined calf. Anyway, I noticed something else …, flitting around.” The patient went silent, an abstractedly unfocused look in his brightly shining, yet tired-seeming, eyes. His hands wafted erratically in the air, mimicking the wobbly flight of a winged insect.

“February Goth Moth?” Finally, the excited, aroused woma…, psychiatrist thought.

“Goth Moth,” her patient confirmed quietly.

“And, what exactly is Goth Moth?”

“It’s exactly that.”

“Exactly what Alex?” Dr. Weinhouser snapped her fingers in front of her patient’s nose to get his attention.

“Exactly a … moth. A big moth.”

“Okay, there was a large moth. By the candle?”

“Yeah. By the candle. And a small one too. Black. He looked, hurt.”

“Who looked hurt?”

“The small moth. He was flying… lopsided. Like his wings were singed.”

“Moths singe their wings…, and even burn to death in candles all the time Alex. What was so strange?”

“I know Doc. Moth to a flame and all that.” He met her heated, curious gaze hopefully - seeking validation. “Like Myrna and me.”

“Exactly Alexander. Drawn like a moth to a flame. It’s perfectly normal.”

“Yeah. Maybe so, but…”

“But what?” the shrink…, mental health professional, asked; straining for professional aplomb.

“It was the other moth. The big one. It was weird.”

“Weird in what way?”

“It was huge. And… white. Mostly.”

“So a large white moth. Still doesn’t sound weird Alexander. Except, of course, in Seattle in February.” Her patient: the wealthy, good looking sex pot - scion of a famously rich family, looked like a confused adolescent. Worried.

“It had black stripes on it’s wings and, brown spots. Like…. Eyes.”

Dr. Weinhouser was taken aback. Momentarily nonplussed, she forgot about her sopping nether regions, clean, dry panties, and everything but the young, hot, man, in front of her. A man her own age. Good looking, muscular, and sexy. The motherly instinct in her wanted to cradle him in an hug and ease his concern. The vibrant, hormonal, part of her wanted to screw his brains out. She swallowed down a gallon of saliva while thinking of other … swallowing. “Eyes?”

“Yeah. Eyes.” Alexander, psychiatric patient, rich playboy, confident and wealthy addict, slumped back once more, absently rubbing his tented groin. The doctor watched…, fascinated.

“So the …” absently, she checked her notes, “Goth Moth had eyes in its wings?”

“Yeah. Eyes. In the wings. And its face. Weird.”

“Weird how, Alexander?”

‘Well, I had an old magnifying glass by my sink. I use it to find my …, meds.”

Amy took a note,” writing, ‘Magnifying Glass’ and circling it.

“What did you do, Alex,” Dr. Weinhouser asked softly.

“I looked. At the big moth with the wing eyes.”

“With the magnifying glass?” she prompted.

“Yes. The magnifier.” His startlingly blue eyes were open wide above his perfectly sloped, aristocratic nose. Amy was fascinated by the slope and shape of that nose. Has he had nose job? she wondered.

“It was wearing a mask.”

The psychiatrist, nonplussed, scrunched her own wide-open eyes. “A mask?”

“Yeah. A goth mask.”

“The moth had white wings with black lines, brown wing-eyes, and was wearing a …, black …, gothic mask.” Amy was now taking frantic notation. “That’s interesting. But, to be fair, you were on lysergic acid diethylamideu.”

“LSD.”

“So you… what, Alex?”

“I looked. Closer. It had brown feathers for…, antennae?”

“Yes, More than one antenna. Antennae.”

Alex smiled. It was wearing a fur stole. A fluffy fur stole. Around its neck.”

Dr.Weinhouser jotted, ‘brown feather-antennae.’

“I see.” ‘Fur stole moth’, she wrote. ‘Not a thief…. Fur Scarf —->Fluffy.’ Setting her new pen absently behind her ear, accidentally dislodging her secreted one, which fell, silent, unnoticed, to the carpeted office floor to join its acrobatically challenged sibling. “What about the mask?“

“Yeah. That. It was huge. It covered the whole top half of her face. And … “

“And what, Alex?”

“She …”

“She being the Gothic moth? Or H and N…, uhm, Myrna?”

The moth. The Goth Moth. It looked … female. It was too pretty to be a guy.”

“What about the small moth? The black one.” Amy was fully enthralled now and had, almost, forgotten her prior arousal.

“It was just flitting around the wick… by the flame, you know.”

“Okay.”

“Then…”

“Then …, what?”

‘Then it grazed the flame. I was still looking. Through the magnifying glass. And I smelled the… Char. But Goth Moth darted in suddenly and … grabbed it. Goth Moth rescued little blackie.”

“So Goth Moth has hands.”

“Not that I saw.”

“So how did Goth Moth grab little blackie?”

“I don’t know. She just did! Maybe she used her mouth. Like a mama cat rescuing a kitten.”

“Maybe. After all, hallucinogenic drugs were involved.”

“Yeah and Myrna was getting…, involved again. With my, boxer strip.” Noticeably, Alexander’s slacks tented again. Amy watched, enthralled, as his erection bounced in his pants.

“Myrna was fellating you?” She felt her mouth go dry as a fresh spurt of liquid heat soaked the seat of her $2,500 ergonomic office chair.

“Yes. She was giving me head. With teeth.” He grinned and grimaced simultaneously. The result was disturbing.

“Well, let’s move a head… uhm, move on. So, Goth Moth rescued Little Blackie.”

“But H&N…. Myrna … She, finished her …, business. Then she grabbed my ass, and,”

“And? And what happened next?” The woman was aroused and utterly invested.

“And she asked if I’d marry her.”

“Myrna? Myrna, who just had intecourse…, very active intercourse I assume, then took LSD. Then gave you a blow job. And, then: Asked if you’d marry her?”

“Yep. I panicked.”

Amy burst out in a veritable fit of laughter. Doing her best to stop, the doctor turned the laughter into a coughing fit and grabbed a bottle of cool water from a corner of her desk. “I …KOFF!! Understand. So, what did you do?”

“I panicked. I dropped the magnifying glass and grabbed Goth Moth. Myrna swallowed my …, dick. Then I swallowed …”

“What did you swallow? Another strip of LSD?”

“No. I swallowed Goth Moth.”

“You … ATE … Goth Moth.” Amy was both revolted and … fascinated. She quirked an eyebrow. “Wow. That’s … something…, …,” Amy Weinhouser, licensed doctor of psychiatry, was totally at a loss for words. As she watched, Alexander Worthey’s huge erection wilted.

“Yep. It wasn’t bad. Like chocolate. Except..,”

“Yes?”

“Except I threw up. In the sink.”

“You vomited in your sink?”

“Yep. Myrna was so mad …,”

“To be fair you had intercourse with her, gave her hallucinogenics, let her blow you … Then vomited. Right after she asked you to marry her. Not exactly textbook romance Alexander.”

Alex grinned sheepishly. “She was so mad she left. Without these.” From his right front pocket the grinning man withdrew a pair of filmy, red silk, thong bikini panties.

The psychiatrist cum excited woman almost … creamed.. herself right then. I have got to get me a pair of those!

“Goth Moth Rescued Me.”

“GOTH MOTH TO THE RESCUE! SAVE ME UNDERMOTH! SAVE ME!” Amy Weinhouser, holder of a doctorate - with honors - in clinical psychiatry, fell off her womanly wet, expensive, ergonomic chair… Where she found a forlorn pen wistfully lying there in the shag. It just sat there lightly swaying as its owner belly laughed. Bic rolled anway in self defense to find it’s mate. Bic had to get away from his owner… Now.

“A&W? I got news for you.”

“Wh… wha… what n n n n news?” Amy said between painful fits of uncontrollable laughter.

“Doc. Your chair is soaked. So’s your skirt. And… You’re crazy.”

And you, Alexander, need to remove Gothic Moths from the menu. Especially in February. It may be mothball season, but it definitely is NOT moth season.”

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ALL BELOW IS NOT PART OF THE WORD COUNT AS IT ISN’T STORY.

🤪🤓😎🤪🤓🤪🤓😎 AUTHOR AFTERWORD 😎🤓🤪😎🤓🤪😎🤓🤪

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Dear reader: Just be aware that this tale was … eerie. Normally I have a flash of inspiration that will undoubtedly turn into a masterpiece… unforgettable. Five minutes later, “What was that idea again? 🧐” This was just a silly rhyme that popped into my head a few days back when someone said something about a moth. To which I replied, “Yep. A Goth Moth.” I do,that kind of thing - constantly. Three days later it was still bouncing around in my head. Goth Moth. What the heck would a Goth Moth look like? Last night I lay down at ten p.m. Eight sleepless hours later this story finished writing me and I got up. Six a.m., totally zonked, zero sleep… NONE! to deal with grandchildren, breakfast, and school buses. I still have zero sleep as I add this rejoinder. I hope you enjoyed it. I was ,.. in a fugue state for … all night as it walked me from one key to the other with no let up. I’m sure you, my fellow writers, understand.