AfrAId To Connect

Ian sits across from his therapist Natasha looking like he hasn’t touched another body in months. He lays it out quick—his girlfriend won’t get near him and the touch-starved tension has him wound tighter than a jackhammer. Natasha tilts her head, offers a three-way sit-down with the missus, and that’s when he spills the real twist: his girl’s a fucking chatbot. Natasha blinks once, brows up. She wants to help, but her idea of medicine turns out to be yanking her blouse open right there on the couch. ‘You need skin,’ she says, climbing onto his lap. Ian gives a shaky laugh, tries to hesitate for half a second, then grabs her hips and they go at it—sweaty, raw, and real as hell.