The Intimacy Clinic: Session 01

I felt a heavy weight in my stomach as I sat anxiously in my car, debating whether to get out or just drive home. I had no confidence that I was mentally prepared for this, but if I stalled any longer, I'd miss my appointment. I looked out across my corner of the parking lot and found it empty. That made it a little easier.

At long last, I left my car and started to make my way towards my actual destination. I had parked around the corner for the sake of discretion. I passed a man on my way there, he gave me a polite "good morning," but I averted my eyes in shame and said nothing in return. He was a complete stranger to me, but the embarrassment that I felt at that moment prevented me from handling any normal interaction whatsoever.

I reached the entrance, took one last panicked look around, and entered the door labeled 'Intimacy Clinic'.

The reception area felt entirely like a typical waiting room: cushioned plastic chairs, sporadic fake plants, and relatively unadorned walls. I avoided eye contact with the handful of people waiting for their appointments, whose heads turned to wordlessly acknowledge my entrance. I wondered if they felt as uncomfortable as me, but even if they did, I was not eager to share any modicum of our mutual shame.

I stood in the doorway for a moment before making my way towards the front desk, hesitant to the last. The woman behind the desk was pretty and young, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. I cursed fate for making her a pretty girl, humiliation is at its worst when attractive people are present to witness it. She looked up at me as I approached, gave me a pleasant smile and a kind "good morning!"

"Good morning," I echoed, quietly and awkwardly. "I, umm, have an appointment at eleven?"

She asked my name, and I gave it. She then gave me a collection of paperwork to fill out, and graciously invited me to take a seat. I took the most remote seat and began looking over the paperwork. I quickly scanned over a few waivers, disclaimers, and consent forms, all of which seemed pretty standard to me, so I signed them without reading too deeply.

I then found a privacy notice that I was much more interested in. I read every word, making sure that my sessions would remain confidential. I was satisfied to find that the clinic required my explicit consent to release any and all information about my sessions. There was a curious amount of legal jargon concerning the care of session recordings, but recordings could only be made with my knowledge and consent, so I thought nothing more of it and signed the document.

The final form was the single-page sheet of paper that I had been dreading. It requested my personal information. I felt a cold sweat developing as I looked it over. I felt a bit better when I saw some text stating that all fields on this form were optional. But at the same time, I knew that they could only help me if I told them the truth. I began to fill in:

Age: 27

Gender Identity: Cis Male

Sexuality: Bisexual, slight preference towards female

Relationship Status: In a long-term relationship

And I froze up at the next box, titled 'Reason for Visit'. This was the part that made me so anxious: having to admit to somebody else that I had an issue. I nervously glanced around, making sure that the nearest person was several seats away. I covered the paper from wandering eyes with my free hand, and quickly wrote down "Inability to orgasm during sex."

I started to tremble, despising the fact that there was now a record of my greatest shame. I kept my hand pressed down over the embarrassing truth while I proceeded to fill out the rest of the form:

Number of Sexual Partners in Last Year: 1

Current Frequency of Sex: Once every other week, or so

Current Frequency of Masturbation: Daily, at least

I found those last two embarrassing as well, once they were written. I took another sheet of paper to cover up all of my answers thus far as I continued giving my responses:

Preferred Sexual Act: Sex from behind

Preferred Method of Stimulation: Erotic photography and literature

I doubted the relevance of those last two, but there was a part of me that enjoyed confessing them. Nobody besides my partner knew about them, and they were hardly as embarrassing as my previous answers. The last field concerned my willingness to try new sexual experiences, on a scale from 1 to 10. I put an 8. On the backside of the page there was a dedicated space to list any specific requests or notes about my sexuality or interests, but I couldn't think of anything important enough to write, at the time.

I hurriedly rushed my papers back to the desk and handed them over. The receptionist smiled a thanks and asked me to wait for a moment. She turned away, towards a set of folders and filing cabinets. She flipped my packet open right to the last page and my stomach sank. Did she really need to be reading all of that?

She picked up a few folders and brought them to the desk in front of me. She laid them out and opened each as she started to explain, "there are three specialists who are available for an intake appointment at your scheduled time, whom would you prefer?" This seemed rather odd to me. I was entirely expecting to get randomly assigned to whomever happened to be available at the same time as me, I was shocked to even have a choice.

Each folder contained a large photo and a short biography of each specialist. The first photo was of a burly, bearded man with glasses. His name was Alex, his hair was just starting to gray, and he wore a dark suit. His biography included an education in psychology at a prestigious university and several accolades as a gay rights activist.

Next was a slender woman in a simple pair of jeans and a tee shirt. Her name was Susan, her black hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she was smiling widely at the camera with her hands on her hips. I would have guessed her age at an even 40. Her biography also lauded a number of degrees, as well as a best-selling book on sexuality, but otherwise emphasized the fact that she prioritizes the comfort of her clients, easing into the process of sexual betterment for those who might be more skittish around the subject matter. She certainly appealed to me.

The last option was a busty woman with short, dark hair. Her lips were pulled into a playful smirk and her arms were folded, framing her chest. Her name was Megan. She wore a black blazer with a red shirt underneath that showed just enough cleavage to catch my attention. Her age was hard to place, she could have been three years younger than me or six years older than me. Her biography spent no time whatsoever on her credentials, instead spending the time to talk about how she believes that the majority of sexual issues stem from a lack of understanding one's own needs and desires, and how she expects total openness and honesty from her clients.

So I had a well-educated and experienced man, an equally well-educated woman who might be easier to talk to, or an intimidatingly beautiful woman who just might push me out of my comfort zone. I had no way of knowing which call was the right to make for myself, each had clear pros and cons.

"I wasn't expecting to even have a choice," I admitted. "How do I know which one is right for me?"

The girl replied, "honestly, it's hard to say," she gestured to a filing cabinet behind her, "we have dozens of other specialists if none of these interest you, but we would have to move your appointment to accommodate their schedules." I frowned. "Besides, this is only an initial appointment, if things don't go the way that you want them to today, I'm certain that at the end of the session, they can refer you to someone who might be more suitable for your needs."

She sounded like she was reciting a well-rehearsed speech, but one that happened to be particularly unhelpful for me in making my decision. I stared at each photo for a moment, considering thoughtfully. After a few seconds of indecision, the girl finally hurried me along, in a voice just above a whisper, "I'm not supposed to say this, but to be totally honest, I'd just pick whomever you're most attracted to. It helps break the ice a lot faster, if you know what I mean."

I have to admit that I did not exactly know what she meant. How could being attracted to my therapist be a good thing at all? If anything, I'd be more comfortable talking to somebody whom I'd have nothing but professional feelings for. But at the same time, I kind of liked the way the receptionist looked at me as she talked. It was as if she had just told me some kind of sexy secret about herself, and she enjoyed knowing what pleasure I would take in knowing her secret.

Mildly turned on by her sudden breach of protocol, I took her advice, and chose the busty woman in the blazer. The receptionist quietly applauded my choice, and delightedly informed me that she would be ready for me in just a minute. I returned to my seat, puzzled and bewildered by the whole interaction. I basically just told a complete stranger that I found another complete stranger sexually attractive. It usually takes me years to develop that kind of relationship with a person.

I played the conversation back through my head, musing at its peculiarity as I began to wait. I lazily glanced around the room, still avoiding eye contact with the other clients. It was then that I finally noticed and considered the contents of the two pieces of artwork donning the wall opposite me. One was of a couple in bed, under a comforter, only their heads exposed, presumably getting intimate with each other, and the other was of a bare woman's back, from the waist up. At first glance, their presence made sense, this was a clinic that dealt with sexual issues, mild hints at sex in artwork seemed relatively appropriate, but as I looked again, each photo was decidedly less subtle. In the first, the couple wasn't actually a couple but a trio. What I thought was a throw pillow was actually the back of another man's head, and the central woman's expression was not just a generic enjoying-herself kind of face, she looked to be having a rather strong orgasm. And in the other, the bare-backed woman was actually being straddled by a pair of knees on either edge of the frame, and just out of focus in the top corner was another woman's face, mouth agape, making it not so much of an implication.

I honestly admired the way these photos got away with hiding their eroticism at first glance. It felt like stumbling upon a couple having sex in the woods, but instead of getting embarrassed, they invited you to join in. I let my arousal swell a little bit more, had I been alone, I easily could have enjoyed these photos much more physically with myself. However, it felt dirty to be looking at them in public.

After a few more quiet minutes of wondering to myself how appropriate it was to hang such artwork, the door next to the front desk opened, and out stepped Megan, my new therapist. Unlike the photo in her portfolio, she was now wearing a gray cardigan and a tight pair of jeans that quickly revealed the voluptuous curves of her lower half that were not visible from the photo.

She tentatively looked down at some papers in front of her and called out my name. I awkwardly raised my hand, giving a half-smile, and she beamed at me in reply. She excitedly gestured me forward, and held her hand out to shake my own as I approached.

"Hi! I'm Megan, such a pleasure to meet you," she told me, "I'm very excited to be working with you." She shook my hand and ushered me through the door into a short hallway that led to about six other rooms.

"Thanks... me too," I replied meekly. Megan closed the door behind us and started to lead me towards the very last door in the hall. I appreciated being behind her, watching her sizable backside and hips move so fluidly in those tight jeans was hypnotic, to say the least.

She opened the door and gestured for me to enter first. "Make yourself comfortable," she said, with a sly smile. I entered, and found a small room with not much more than a cozy two-person couch, a comfortable chair opposite it, and a desk in the far corner. There was a window by the desk with the blinds mostly drawn, allowing some natural light to enter the room. Above the chair on the wall was another photo, not entirely unlike the two in the waiting room. This one depicted a woman's body under a thin bed sheet, her head out of frame. Upon second glance, the outline of her hand was obviously placed over her crotch, and the curves of her nude body were easily distinguishable. I enjoyed it considerably, but the fact that no actual skin was visible made it far less distracting than the other two. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if it was truly appropriate. I didn't come here with the intention of getting off, after all.

I assumed I was meant to sit on the couch, and took a seat there. Megan closed the door to the room, and sat on the chair across from me, moving it an inch or two closer. "Well, hi there!" she said cheerily. "How are we doing today?"

I shifted in my seat awkwardly. I hate small talk. "Oh, you know, pretty good," was my generic response. "And yourself?"

She distractedly replied, "I'm doing fantastic, thanks for asking," as she thumbed through my paperwork. "So, I'm sure you saw in these forms, but just to reiterate, everything that we say, or do, within this room is entirely confidential, nobody will ever find out, so please, do not hesitate to be honest with me about anything at any point in this process. In fact, the process can only go smoothly if you are perfectly honest with me. I can only help you if I have the whole picture."

"Okay... good to know," I let out, reassured yet again, but nervous that I was going to have to face some hard facts very soon.

"Great! Well then, let's see here... It seems you have hard time achieving orgasm during sex, is that right?"

I was completely put off by her bluntness. This was the greatest shame in my life, so bad that I had to seek out counseling to try and remedy it, and here she was talking about it like it was nothing. "Y-yeah, sorta," I said, more than a little embarrassed.

She seemed to notice. "Hey, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You'd be surprised how often this sort of thing comes up. And usually it's perfectly treatable, people can absolutely end up having very fulfilling sex lives afterwards. But first, I'd like to ask you some pretty personal questions about your situation so that we can see where to go, would that be okay?"

I proverbially kicked myself for not choosing Susan as my therapist. Instead, this woman was being so goddamned direct about this, she was expecting me to talk about the most private and intimate parts of my life without even bothering to let us get acquainted as people first. It made me uncomfortable, but now that I was here, I felt obligated to see at least one session though, so I begrudgingly accepted, "sure."

"Great, so have you also had this problem with other sexual partners, other than your current one?" So far, her voice sounded clinical.

"Yes, every partner I've ever had sex with," I replied honestly and uncomfortably.

"And have you ever been able to have an orgasm during sex?"

"Umm..." I hesitated, not really wanting to answer. "Maybe, like, twice? And those happened... years ago, at least." I felt shear humiliation boil up inside of me as the words left my mouth. I bowed my head to look down at my feet.

"I see, that's good, and do you have any problems achieving orgasm during masturbation?"

"No," I responded curtly, humiliation turning suddenly to irritation. I wasn't impotent, if that's what she was implying. I felt an unfamiliar and furious sensation beginning inside me. I caught myself before I said something stupid, took a breath, and continued "I have no problem cumming on my own, it all works, believe me... but it does, sorta, take a while, still." The feeling inside me quickly turned back to shame.

"Oh, really? How long?"

I shook my head and began to stare at the ceiling, still unable to look at her. "It depends... but usually like an hour... or two, at most."

"Wow, that's quite a long time! And I see here that you masturbate daily despite that, do you find that to be painful on your genitals?"

I chuckled to myself, relaxing slightly for the first time, "honestly... after a certain point, that kind of pain is just sorta part of it." I was strangely proud of my answer, so I finally glanced in her direction to gauge her response.

She was smiling to herself as she made some notes on the back of my form, saying "Ahh, good. Good to know, I mean." She looked up and our eyes met for the first time since we started talking. I admired the light, chocolaty color of her eyes, and the warm expression on her face. Her smile persisted as she said, "and thank you for being honest, you have no idea how hard it can be to get a client to open up about what they enjoy. Please, keep it up, and we're going to have a very good time."

I felt strangely validated and at ease with that. Maybe she was just more kind than I gave her credit for initially, or maybe it was just that my admission earned a purely positive response, without even a hint of judgment. I let out a sigh and relaxed further in my seat as she continued her questioning.

"How long have you been masturbating?"

I felt comfortable in replying, "Most of my life, probably like 15 or 16 years?"

"And having sex?"

I shook my head to myself, trying to recollect the accurate answer. "I was 17 when I first had sex, I think, but then, you know, it was off and on again for the next few years. I only started having sex regularly... like 4 or 5 years ago? And even then, that was only if I happened to be in a relationship with somebody."

"So then, how does sex usually go for you? Between you and your partner, I mean, without you having an orgasm."

I tensed up again. "Well... I used to try and keep going as long as I could... but then, you know, one of us started getting sore, cramping up, et cetera... so now I usually just go until they cum, then I pretend to cum, and then we're done."

"Well, that's nice, at least! You sound like a decent partner. Maybe not an honest one, but it speaks well to your character that you don't sacrifice your partner's pleasure." She looked kindly at me. I felt warm inside, all of a sudden.

I said, "Thanks. May sound weird, but that means a lot."

"You're very welcome." She winked at me. "I am very sorry that you've felt unsatisfied by sex so far, but I am glad that you can still manage to find satisfaction in yourself, that's very good. So what do you do for those one or two hours while you masturbate? You wrote down... 'Erotic photography and literature'. What sort of subject matter?"

As I was about to respond, she set down her notes and casually removed her cardigan, revealing a tight black tank top that did her upper half all kinds of favors. I could just make out the edges of a black bra that supported her breasts into a perfect and gorgeous cleavage that her tank top framed dramatically.

"Uhhh...," I did my best to steal a glance at her chest, then quickly looked up above her so she wouldn't catch me staring. But of course I saw the photo of a woman who was presumably masturbating under a bed sheet and looked back down at Megan, forcing myself to lock eyes with her and look nowhere else. "Yeah... I like... stuff."

She laughed, and her boobs bounced lightly as she did so. I unconsciously looked down to watch them, and immediately forced them back up. My penis twitched involuntarily, and she spoke, "Oh, come on! Don't hold out on me now! You're doing so well!"

I stammered, "Y-yeah, no, I mean... It's just that I... don't really talk about this kinda stuff, you know?" That was only half true, I've talked about my kinks with countless of anonymous strangers on the internet, and a handful of real-life friends, but I felt compelled to invent some excuse to explain why I was so flustered. Telling the truth, that my mind was absolutely consumed with the thought of shoving my face into her beautiful tits, didn't seem quite right at the moment.