FICTION | PROMPT STORY

Four Women For His Fancy

His strict criteria will help him find the right woman

Edgar Reed leans closer to the mirror, slightly turning his head to inspect the lines.

Two lines.

He turns his head to the other side.

Three lines.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck!”

His heart beats faster. He breathes in slowly, holds his breath, then releases it. The pounding in his chest increases. Once more, he tries to calm himself, but to no avail.

Why those numbers? It should be four. Four lines on each side. Not two, not three. Four!

Those thoughts race through his mind. Edgar tries to push them away, tries to concentrate on his breathing, to ground himself the way he has learned in therapy, but he loses the battle.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He moves away from the mirror.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He opens the tap.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He splashes water on his face.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Before every action, he counts to four. Mostly in his head, but sometimes the counting spills from his lips.

That has been the reason for the therapy sessions he still attends every week. If he doesn’t, he’s at risk of losing his job as an IT specialist. Where his boss sympathizes with him, having Edgar counting to four before answering questions asked has caused strain between him and every other colleague. After many warnings to seek help, his boss has finally given him an ultimatum: therapy or being fired.

Edgar Reed loves his job, but the ultimatum has only been the push he has needed to do what he has always known he should: get a handle on his OCD.

It hasn’t only been the counting. Also things.

At work, he has four pens on his desk, four notepads, four screens. At home, there are four recliners in his lounge with four side tables, four prints on the walls. On his bed, he has four pillows. In the bathroom, there are four toothbrushes, four bars of soap, and if you open his kitchen cabinets, you will find four of everything: peanut butter, pots of coffee, forks, knives, spoons, mugs, pots and pans.

Finding two wrinkles next to one eye, and three next to the other, upsets the perfection he craves.

Edgar dries his face and looks back at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t look at the wrinkles, only at his eyes. His breathing is slower now, as is the beating of his heart.

He turns on his heels and, in his head, he counts the steps as he walks to the kitchen.

One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two. Three. Four.

He wants to make himself a cup of strong tea, and when the number of steps doesn’t work out to bring him to the kettle, he walks around the table an extra time until he stops at the kettle on the count of four.

Throughout making his tea, he counts. Then, with the hot mug in his hand, he walks to his home office, still counting.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Once again, because his steps don’t work out, he walked an extra circle before he sits down. He taps the space bar and the four screens on the large desk spring to life.

Instantly, his loins stir.

Before bedtime yesterday, he has been looking at women. Four of them, of course.

Edgar Reed needs a woman who will get his compulsion. A woman who will love him despite it. He has been at it for… you guessed it… four years, and now, after he has scrutinized their dating profiles and search for any signs of psychological disorders, these are the four who have survived his strict elimination process.

He has chosen these four women not only because their profiles have hinted at something outside the norm, but also because they are beautiful. He has instantly felt love for them.

Or lust.

His hand slips into his sweatpants and closes around his semi-erection.

He strokes himself while looking at the first woman.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He strokes himself while looking at the second woman.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He looks at the third, still stroking.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Then the fourth.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He repeats this countless times, and gradually his pumping hand gains in speed, and his orgasm builds. The telltale sign of his stomach muscles tightening announces his orgasm while his eyes rest on the third woman.

After cleaning himself up using four tissues, he pulls his notebook closer and adds a line behind the third woman’s name, bringing her score to three. The first’s score is one, the second and fourth both have two.

For now, Edgar Reed has decided the first woman to get to four will be the one he wants.

There’s only one thing niggling him at the back of his mind. Edgar is thirty-nine years old. Maybe it will be better if he waits until he has turned forty before he chooses his woman?

His mind flashes back at the wrinkles near his eyes. Maybe if he waits, there will be four on either side. Surely a woman would prefer the symmetry?

At that moment, he decides waiting until he turns forty to make his choice is the way to go, and thinks of another criterium to choose a woman: four spurts when he climaxes.

Just the mere thought of this additional requirement makes him hard again. He drops his pants, grabs his member and looks at the screens, one by one.

“One way or another, I’m going to find you…”

Will Edgar ever be able to choose?

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