A Visit to the Therapist

If there's enough interest I might make a part two. Story didn't entirely go where I intended it to, writing is hard. Fair warning: don't expect to get off, it's more of a setup.

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Only the third session and I'm already two hundred bucks down the hole. Doubts enter my mind whenever I'm in the waiting room. I know I have to power through though, to reach the better life on the other side.

I'm a sex addict. Doesn't sound too bad does it? I bet you have a good chuckle whenever you read a news story about people like me. But actually living like this is no joke. Dodgy massage places, red light districts and endless dating app subscriptions don't come cheap. Not to mention the inability to forge deep emotional connections with women.

The door to the waiting room is opened and she leads me into her office. A brightly lit space with a huge built-in bookcase, the classic chaise longue and two opposing chairs. I have yet to graduate to the lying position, and I once again take place opposite to her in the very comfortable and broad sofa-like chair. It's remarkably warm, to give me a sense of comfort and the ability to be open.

"What's been on your mind this week?"

I take a second to think it over. I start talking about a date that didn't go so well. I'd asked a girl out at work, my reasoning being I couldn't just try and use her for sex since that would sour office relations.

"Forcing me to forge a more wholesome bond with a woman before wanting anything physical seems like the smart thing to do?"

The uncertainty in my last statement is palpable.

No reply. I've noticed she likes me to let my thoughts roam free and see where it takes me.

"Maybe I'm going about it in the wrong order though, and brute-forcing my way around my problems is not going to yield any results..." I think aloud.

"I'd be inclined to agree." She softly nods.

"What do you suggest I do?"

"Tackling your problems head on is an uncomfortable yet necessary step in any addiction, be it physical or not. Imagine you were an alcoholic instead. Would you continue drinking while trying to enrich your life outside of the habit? Perhaps, but getting sober first is the obvious priority you'd be avoiding."

I ruminate over what she says, admitting defeat to her reasoning in my own head.

"The longing and thoughts of sexual intercourse still dominate your mind, even as you try to live alongside them."

Her judgment feels harsher than it was in any of the previous sessions. I try to remind myself that she is not actually judging me and just doing her job, stating the facts as she sees them. Yet a shameful feeling rises within me.

"We're here to help you, I'm not casting judgment even if you may feel that way." It's like she can read my mind. Her experience in dealing with freaks such as myself is showing. Why did I pick a female therapist anyway?

"How do you suggest I tackle my problems head-on?" Please give me a way out. Something constructive. It's the second time I ask and we've only just started.

"Imagine me as a physical representation of your inner turmoils. The complex personified, if you will. What would you do to resolve any issues with me?" I'm baffled at her absurd suggestion. Devious, disgusting thoughts immediately enter my mind. I try to change the course my brain is heading in.

"I-I'm not quite sure what you are getting at." I manage to stutter out. My eyes involuntarily drop to her exposed legs, crossed over one another. I pick up my gaze to find her staring intensely at me.

A long uncomfortable pause - for me, that is - falls.

"Simply giving in to your desires will not make them go away. Quite the opposite in fact, they will return with increased strength, while you become weakened from repeatedly losing your inner battle."

She gets up from her seat and walks over to me, heels clicking through the silence. Only when she's standing so close that I have to crane my neck upwards to hold eye contact does she halt.

"You might have a number of wanton, lewd and perverted ideas running through your head at this moment. Ideas involving you and me. In a less professional setting you would attempt to act on them, either by seducing me, coercing me, or perhaps worse."

I feel my arousal growing. Literally. She is one hundred percent in control of the situation and has cut my vile thoughts off before they could even enter my conscious mind. Under the surface they bubble wildly, however.

"Old habits die hard. Even getting aroused in this situation is losing to the urges and desires. What you must do is dominate your own thoughts. Be the master of your own mind." She says this last part with a smirk on her face, barely visible yet noticeable in her voice. I realize it's the first time she breaks her ice cold persona.

Completely involuntarily - as if being held like a puppet on a string - I stand up. I'm now towering about half a foot above her. I look down on her and feel the blood coarsing through my veins. A sudden adrenaline rush. As if completely expecting this out of me, she proceeds to kneel. The roles have been reversed. The psychological effect of the physical change is immediately felt by me. I look down on her rectangular glasses. Her ice cold smile and milky thighs sticking out from under her robe. Though I'm looking down on her, she exudes a victorious aura.

"Do you see what I mean? You are no longer submitting to your desires, but dominating them. Mastering your mind requires action from your body."

I find myself in a trance, unable to speak. My bulge keeps growing. If I'd had no pants, it would currently be touching her face. I move my right hand towards her face and brush it gently. Her smile turns into a knowing, nearly loving simper. My thumb finds her lips and I wiggle it in-between them. Her expression remains unchanged, as she roams her tongue across the intrusion in her mouth. The rest of my hand envelops her cheek as my left unbuckles my belt. Consumed by pure lust, I suddenly realize that this is part of the test. To remain in control. To keep it on my terms. I remember the words spoken by the strong and powerful woman a few minutes earlier - the same one I currently find kneeling at my feet.

I must dominate. Not submit to desire.

"It's a test, isn't it?" I feel stupid before even finishing the sentence. Of course it is. I'm just desperately trying to convince myself of it.

I withdraw my thumb from her mouth, but keep my resting hand on her face.

After about twenty seconds, I remove my hand as well. Her stare continues to penetrate my soul.

It feels like an eternity passes by, though in reality it's closer to a minute.

She stands up, turns around and walks to her desk.

"That will be $100. See you next week."