Sugar & Salt by Pavarti K. Tyler

believe.”
    “What does this have to do with—”
    “Since your interest in Juliette is based on an age-play scenario, we believe your actions here are not simply re-enacting a fantasy, but a precursor to a crime, and you are likely to ultimately continue on to fulfilling your desires with someone underage. This is not the business we are in. We will not help you practice a crime, nor encourage the exploration of an obsession which could hurt a child.”
    “No, you don’t understand. Coming here is to stop myself from....” He sighs and lays his head in his hands. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
    “You see, I do understand. You didn’t display this behavior at the school before you came to see Juliette. And from your phone records, you’ve been calling this girl’s cell phone at least four times a day, which you also had not done previously. We believe allowing a continuing relationship with Juliette will only encourage you. If you’d like to engage the services of another one of our staff, we will consider allowing you to continue as a client, but you will not be allowed to participate in any age-play scenes.”
    “I can’t have Marcie, I can’t see Juliette.” He shook his head, not looking up.
    “Mr. Whitmore, I recommend you look into some kind of therapy. We know a number of discreet professionals who work specifically with sexual deviance and obsession. I can give you a referral if you’d like.”
    “It’s not me, don’t you get it?” He looked up, his face pale and pathetic. “I’m not the one who’s sick. It’s Marcie, always walking around our house with no bra and her little workout shorts. I’m not
doing
anything. I’m... goddamn it. You’re just like Barbara, fucking criticizing everything I do when I’m just trying to do things right.”
    “Mr. Whitmore—”
    “Listen to me, you little bitch—”
    And there it is—the line Jackson cannot allow to be crossed. No matter how much this guy disgusts him, he trusts Portia and Miss Necia to handle things. Portia never loses her cool; her composure is superhuman. He’s never seen her cry or get angry with a client, but he will not sit by while someone speaks to her like that.
    He’s halfway across the sitting room by the time the pervert stands up. Whitmore looms over Portia aggressively, his hands curled into fists. Jackson strides in, grabs his neck, and barrels forward until he slams the asshole’s body against the wall.
    “That’s just about enough. I think it’s time for you to leave.”
    “I’ll leave when I’m fucking well and ready.”
    Jackson squeezes a little tighter. It would be so easy to let the life ebb out of this little fuck. Everyone in his life would be better off: his daughter safe, her friend free, his wife out from under him.
    Whitmore grabs his forearm, pulling it away and trying to wriggle free.
    Jackson steps closer and lets his body weight rest against the creep, just enough for him to feel the bulk of muscle beneath his clothes. There is a thick smell of coffee on his breath, but Jackson can smell the liquor it’s intended to cover. Desperation and a sick sense of entitlement wraps around this douche bag like a safety blanket, letting him navigate a world that doesn’t want him with impunity. Shits like this succeed and thrive while he struggles to keep himself together with every breath. Men like him are worth less than the shit they flush, but the world is open to them like pussy on a platter.
    The injustice of it makes him squeeze Whitmore’s throat a little tighter.
    Portia steps up, her arm only millimeters from Jackson’s, but he can feel an electric shock running through his body. “I think this evening is quite over now. Mr. Whitmore, if you decide to seek therapy, or would like to speak with Miss Necia, I recommend you call next time instead of stopping by.”
    He drops Whitmore and steps back, leaving only a small space between him and Portia for him to walk through. He watches as the