The door to the therapist's office groaned as I pushed it open, almost as if it were voicing my innermost thoughts for me. I was on my way to yet another court-mandated appointment with a psychologist for anger management and I was not happy about it. Unfortunately, though, if you forget to take your antidepressant one morning then have an epic meltdown at work resulting in threats to your manager of "shoving her timeclock up her ass"...well, apparently you're lucky that anger management therapy is all you get. I tried to remind myself of that as I paid the co-pay for the visit; I needed the job more than I needed my pride. I just needed a few more visits and I'd be off the hook. The only thing keeping me from going completely insane was the therapist - with dark hair, blue eyes, an athletic build, and hands that made my mouth water - I spent more time fantasizing about him during our sessions than actually listening to him.
As the secretary handed me my receipt, I walked into the waiting room. I settled down into a chair and shut my eyes, taking a small moment to relax. The silence of the small room surrounded me and I reveled in it though I remained alert for the telltale click of the door leading to the doctors' area. I didn't wait long. First came the click, then the quiet, confident footsteps. I kept my eyes shut; why rush to greet him? He knew I didn't want to be there.
"Hello, Taylor," he addressed me, "Long time, no see."
God, his voice was like the warmest brandy on a cold day. I felt the fire go all the way to my toes and back up to my brain putting every nerve at attention. I hadn't even opened my eyes and I was already doomed. I cracked one eye open to give him a semi-bored perusal - I refused to let him see how he affected me. That was a mistake. He was wearing a pair of nice gray slacks, a dark purple Oxford shirt, and a matching gray and purple tie. The jewel tone of his shirt against his olive skin drew attention to his powerful hands and I was mesmerized. His dark hair was combed with just the unruly strands in front refusing to comply as they fell unrestrained in his face. I was so wet that I wanted to scream. It was bad enough I didn't want to be there anyway; now, I had to suffer through an hour with a man I couldn't touch for any reason. I also couldn't take care of myself for at least an hour. I felt my mood grow ugly. Fuck politeness. He was a therapist; he could deal with me being a bitch for one session.
"Hello, Dr. K. Do we have to do this now? I was trying to take a nap," I threw out nonchalantly. Damned if my voice didn't waver a little. I could have slapped myself.
"Yes, we have to do this now as you well know. Besides, I'm sure you could think of better places to take a nap," he chuckled. That bastard. I didn't need his corny humor to force my thoughts any further into the bedroom. Seething, I made to follow him through the door. Mistake #2. Damn, he had a fine ass. The slacks he wore had to be tailor-made for him because they left nothing to the imagination. I knew from past discussions with him that he worked out on the regular so I couldn't help but imagine what all that exercise had done for his butt. Just as I realized he was close enough to grab, I snapped out of it in time to walk in front of him. He seemed surprise by my haste but he didn't say anything.
I entered his office and sat on the long, beige sofa along the inner wall. He walked in and quietly shut the door. I kept my eyes away from him, afraid that they'd give me away. So the session began. Dr. K. settled himself in his office chair, collected his notepad and pen, and waited. When it was apparent I wasn't going to open the conversation, he did.
"So, how have you been, Taylor?"
"Fine." Don't talk to me, don't remind me where I am. All you're doing is making me hotter. God, I want to fuck you so bad and I can't. Either touch me or leave me the hell alone.
"You don't seem fine." Oh, you have no idea, Doc.
"I'm tired. It's been a long week."
"Are you sure that's all it is?"
"Well, you know, people starving in Africa, children dying of cancer, pollution killing the Earth - those things are probably not helping my mood either."
He smiled, "Now, Taylor, while those things are serious, you know that's not what I'm talking about. How are things at work? At home?"
"Well, I still have a job though my manager acts like I'm a caged animal anytime she comes near me now. Sometimes, I just want to roar at her to see what she does. She'd probably shit her pants. But then, I remember, I need this job more than I need to harass her so I keep my mouth shut. So, she gets to act all afraid and I act like I've learned my lesson and we're all happy."
"Are you happy? At least with how things are going at work?"
