Therapy

(The seventh installment in the Lance Sheldon Chronicles)

Prologue

The look of shock must have been plastered all over my face as I stared at my laptop because I heard Jessica say, "What? Is something wrong, baby?"

I did my best to change my facial expression as I looked up at her. "No," I assured her, "just can't get over the extreme people will go to in an attempt to sell that little blue pill."

"Tell me about it," my wife said. "How many did you get? I got eighteen messages in one day last week."

"About that," I lied, smiling and closing the screen.

Because the next few days were so busy and I was doing my damnedest to avoid the overwhelming urge to sign in and read the message, I was able to go without reading the bizarre email I had received. However, just because I didn't read it, didn't mean my mind wasn't completely consumed with the fact it was sitting in my inbox, and I desperately wanted to read it.

I could only imagine how my face must have looked to Jessica when I saw Dr. Alraaz Madani in the sender column of my inbox. If she had just put something more on the subject line than what she did, I may have had some inkling as to why she was writing to me after such a long time. "Hi" was all it said.

It seemed like a hundred years ago when I first met Alraaz Madani. It was before I had any idea she was a doctor. I was in my second year of teaching at Livermore Elementary. Her son, Colin, walked into my room with his mom on the first day of school. She shook my hand and introduced herself and her son. I wish I could say there was an instant attraction and give you a hot description of what she was wearing and how hot she looked, but I can't. Truth is, the only reason I remember her coming up to me at all was because she was one of only three parents out of twenty students I had that year that was courteous enough to make my acquaintance on the first day.

Our relationship really didn't change at all that year. It was always good. I was the dedicated teacher who gave everything I had to my students, and she was the supportive, involved parent who baked for class parties, or signed up to go on a field trip, but nothing remotely different than a typical teacher/parent partnership was ever there.

That year came and went as did the following. It wasn't until Colin Madani was 2 years removed from being in my class that my interaction with Alraaz Madani resumed. Having been a stay-at-home mom for the past four years, Alraaz needed to do something with her time as her youngest began kindergarten that year.

I remember it being a Friday afternoon about a month into school, when my principal knocked on my door at the end of the day. "I have a request," she began. "You remember Colin's mom, Mrs. Madani?"

"Yes of course. She was one of only a few very supportive parents that year," I recalled.

"Well," she continued, "it seems now that Beau is in school, she would like to spend time volunteering in our school. She said it was because Colin had such a great experience in your room. She admires your ability to motivate the kids and keep them excited about school. Therefore, she would like to volunteer in your class three to four days a week. I told her I would talk to you and see how you felt about the idea."

"She was a very supportive parent, and with twenty kids, I wouldn't mind improving the teacher to student ratio in my room. When would she like to start?"

"She said whenever. Her schedule is very flexible."

"Mmmm, let's say Monday morning?"

"Sounds like a plan. I'll go make the call." As she scurried out of my room anxious to start her weekend, she added "Have a good weekend."

* * *

It was about a week before Christmas. Who, I thought, was Mrs. Alraaz Madani, had been working in my room for about two months. She was an amazing help. We collaborated on ideas, she taught lessons, corrected papers, anything I needed, she did. Over the two months, however, I wouldn't at all classify us as close or even friends. We were most certainly colleagues.

If I were to pinpoint when our relationship began to change, I would say it was after a fairly rough afternoon three or four days before Christmas. The kids were completely off the wall

.

Both our writing and math lessons bombed. At the end of the day, we vented about how horrendous of a day we had had. I told her how glad I was to have her in my class. She talked about how much she enjoyed working in my room. Even on a rough day. As we said good night on our way out the door, I'm not sure how it happened, but we exchanged a hug. That was the turning point.

In the months that followed Alraaz Madani and I became close friends and confidants. We expanded our communication to weekends and vacations. Lunch was a regular thing where we shared personal information about ourselves. I learned that Alraaz Madani moved to the United States with her parents from Libya when she was 10 years old. The family converted from Islam to Catholicism shortly after moving to the states. Alraaz's parents were very hard on her, always demanding the best from her, and degrading her for anything they felt was below their expectations.

Her parents' criticism was unrelenting, apparently even upon her graduation from medical school. Mr. and Mrs. Madani felt that their daughter's decision to specialize in psychiatry was an embarrassment to the family. Being a real doctor involved "treating truly sick patients, not listening to depressed people". The family's black eye got darker with Alraaz's decision to marry a high school science teacher and finally choosing to leave the medical profession to be a stay-at-home mom and live on a teacher's salary.

The more I learned about Alraaz Madani, the more interested I became. I found that, due to my interest, we spent the majority of time talking about Alraaz's life and what it was like growing up as an immigrant and climbing to the top of the social hierarchy as a physician. For the longest time, I had a difficult time thinking of Colin's mom as Dr. Alraaz Madani. Over the two years I had known her, she had never let on that she was a doctor nor would I have guessed she was an immigrant from Libya.

I believe I realized it before Dr. Madani did. Through our many conversations, I got the distinct impression that my friend missed the profession that she initially spoke of with such frustration and displeasure. So, it was no surprise to me to find that Alraaz went back to practicing medicine. As close as we once were, it is hard to believe we ended up going down the path we did.

All of these thoughts bombarded my head as I again sat staring at my laptop, anxiously calling up my inbox. It was about a week after originally seeing the message. Jessica had run to the store, and I couldn't take the curiosity any longer. Part of me wanted to just delete it, but the other part of me that ached to read it won out as I clicked the message and with a combination of anxiety and excitement, I read:

Dear Lance,

I'm sure this finds you completely surprised and confused. So, after you pick your jaw up off the floor, I'll explain to you why I'm writing. A lot has happened since the last time you and I communicated. I am still practicing medicine out of my home office, but I have also picked up some part-time time work at the hospital. I love my job and that's a good thing because, outside of my kids, it's all I have left. Now that all of all the kids are in school I am able to make a difference in a handful of other people's lives as well. However, being a career woman again did not allow me the time to dote over my husband as I did when I was home with the kids. He told me about eight months ago that he was tired of being third, and sometimes fourth, in my life, behind my job, the kids, and often my workouts and he wanted a divorce. We, or at least I, had been having some troubles for a while as you know. I had noticed a long time before

that both the emotional and physical components of our relationship had been steadily on the decline. The funny thing was, I was neither all that shocked nor upset with his announcement. Even after a couple of days of sleeping on it and thinking about it, I was in a relatively good place. Because I no longer wanted to be in a relationship either. I agreed to a divorce, and about six months ago our divorce became final.

As my life started to straighten out, you popped back into my head. The kids and I had been living on our own for a couple of months, and It was just as my divorce was becoming final, I was falling into a nice routine with my practice, after having to move it out of

my

husband's house and relocate to a rented office space downtown, that I began to miss the closeness you and I shared for a period of time. Although I was seemingly taking everything in stride, mentally I struggled to feel happy. Yes, I had my kids and they were doing great, I was free of a very stressful and emotionally draining relationship, and I was in a good place both professionally and financially, but I missed having the person to share my daily trials, tribulations, and successes with; the exact thing I had when I worked in your room. I began thinking more and more about how much of a significant part of my life you were over that year. I have yearned for one of our lunch breaks too many times to count over the past

six

months.

If things between us had ended more smoothly, I believe I would've contacted you sooner and more directly, but as you know, I didn't expect there to be any communication between us again... ever. What I didn't realize, until about three months ago was that, although you and I were not in direct contact, you did, in fact, play a significant role in, what I now refer to as, my therapy. As the therapist, I am always helping others overcome their issues. I had never considered before that the therapist herself might need a dose of therapy. In an attempt to do something therapeutic I began writing my thoughts, emotions, and feelings down in a journal. I was amazed at how good I began to feel after the first couple of weeks. I wrote about everything from challenges with my kids, to the issues in my failed marriage, to struggles with my patients. It was sometime during the third week. I was writing about my day and I found myself again thinking about you. So, the last thing I wrote about was you. In fact, whenever I chose to write over the next few weeks, you were all I wrote about. When I finally felt like I had put down all of my memories and thoughts of you on paper, I felt amazingly free. As I looked back and read what I had written, I realized the thing that weighed heaviest on my mind and caused me probably the most stress was not work, my kids, or even my failed marriage.

It was you and the terrible way our relationship ended.

My purpose of this e-mail in a rather elongated format, is to thank you for everything you brought to my life with your electric personality, enthusiasm for life, and the desire to make other people's lives around you better. I also want to apologize for how we ended. I would give almost anything to go back and make it right. My hope is that this e-mail finds you in a good place and very happy with your life. I wish these things for you because, as I mentioned earlier, although it was for a relatively short time, you played a significant role in my life and I'll always be grateful for your friendship. It is not only for what you purposely brought to my life, but also what you completely and unknowingly brought to my life: My therapy.

Because you are the focus of the story that has brought me so much peace, I wish to share it with you. I couldn't think of a more appropriate title than the one I gave to the story of us. My hope is that you read this story and, if necessary, it helps show you how truly sorry I am for our falling out, and how highly I think of you. This is our story.

Chapter 1

I officially met Lance Sheldon on the first day of my son Colin's third grade year. Although Mr. Sheldon had only been at Livermore Elementary for one year prior to Colin going into third grade, he had developed quite a reputation with both parents and kids alike. The kids talked about how awesome Mr. Sheldon was and parents used words like motivating, exciting, young, fresh, friendly, and approachable in their different circles when describing the newest addition to the Livermore Elementary School staff. I also remember a few of the mothers making comments like "We didn't have any Mr. Sheldons when I was in school" and "I'd like to have a parent/teacher conference with Mr. Sheldon, and my kid isn't even in his class". After listening to all the praise and excitement my fellow parents in the building and Colin had for Mr. Sheldon, I agreed to officially request him as my son's teacher.

When I walked into the room that first day, I remember thinking "Damn, I'll take a parent/teacher conference with that man." He wouldn't be classified as the sexiest man alive or anything, but there was just something about him. Lance Sheldon was a man in his mid-twenties; he stood about 5'7" tall with short brown hair, brown eyes, and a sexy little goatee. Having to walk across the room to meet the man, I was given the opportunity to check out my son's teacher from head to toe without being too conspicuous. I noticed how well his dress shirt and tie fit his upper body. He appeared to enjoy hitting the gym. As we stood face to face, officially introducing ourselves, something unexpected happened. Being a woman of thirty-six, my friends often teased that I was at the age of my sexual peak. I remember making small talk for a few minutes. However, I have no idea what was said because the whole time he was talking, my mind fantasized about sucking his throbbing cock and then it happened. Right in mid-sentence, I was talking with no idea what I was saying, I felt the sensation as if I pissed myself. After leaving the room and going to the bathroom, I realized I had had a spontaneous orgasm and my pussy was soaked.

Chapter 2

The year went along nicely for both Colin and me. He would come home almost daily with a Mr. Sheldon story. His grades were, as they always had been, excellent. But, by all accounts, this was the best year he had yet in school. His whole disposition about school had changed. It was no longer a chore to get him to go to school. He looked forward to going to school because, as he commented a couple of times, "I wonder what Mr. Sheldon will do today." Homework was a must in Mr. Sheldon's class every day of the week. I myself was never a fan of homework, but with the results I was getting with Colin, if Mr. Sheldon said do homework, we were going to do homework. And it was easy. Colin would come home, sit down at the table and bang out his homework without even being asked.

Colin's motivation carried over from school related things to our home and family as well. As the year went on, he became more and more helpful at home, volunteering to help clean the house, do the dishes, or play with his younger brother. He and Beau would play in the yard on nice days after school, allowing me to have some alone time. On occasion I would be afforded time to slip into my room and do a little role-playing show for myself. I would pretend that I was in Mr. Sheldon's class after school, in trouble for something.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Mr. Sheldon," I would coo. "I really didn't mean to make you mad. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" I begged, turning my ass toward the spot where the imaginary Mr. Sheldon was standing. "There must be something I can do to make this better." I continued to beg, slowly unzipping my skirt and allowing it to hit the floor as I bent over and gave Mr. Sheldon a view of my tight little ass in my skimpy little g-string.

"I'm sure there is, Ms. Madani," I would say, rubbing my own ass, as though my hands were the hands of my son's teacher.

This skit always ended with me lying naked on a bed, my nipples hard as rocks and a dildo stuck in my tight little snatch, moving in and out, and around and around until a fine orgasm had come and gone. I always made sure to thank Mr. Sheldon for being such an excellent teacher and holding me accountable for my behavior.

In order to keep my fantasies as fresh as possible, I made a point of putting myself out there whenever the class needed something. I baked sweets for class parties and worked the book fair multiple times during the week of open house. However, the situation that allowed me the most interaction with my son's teacher and provided me new and fun material for my role-playing fantasies, was being chosen as the chaperone for the class trip.

Chapter 3

I came home from the third-grade trip to the planetarium. My nipples were rock hard and my pussy was soaked. I wasted no time after closing the front door behind me. The kids were at their friends' houses and my husband was at work. So, I slipped into the planetarium (my room) and shut the door.

I looked up as I (in my mind) sat in the seat next to Mr. Sheldon looking up at the stars. He looked over at me and asked me in a whisper if I needed help with that itch I have.

"Yes, Mr. Sheldon. I could use a little assistance. Upon hearing my reply, I felt a hand go up my skirt and pull my panties off to the side, fingers searching my slit for my hardening nub. Once located, the fingers worked around and around my clit and up and down my slit until I couldn't take it any longer.

"Oh, fuck Mr. Sheldon! You are going to make me cum!" I believe working out my pleasure verbally only lead to increased pleasure as an amazing orgasm rushed through my body. Time was on my side. I heard the car door shut just as I stood up, straightened my clothes, and opened the door.

Chapter 4

The year continued on and eventually came to an end, with Colin excelling in all areas of academics as well as his helpfulness at home. Colin wasn't the only one to excel at home however. I continued to work hard at school and it paid off at home. The more I was able to find reasons to interact with Mr. Sheldon, the more vivid, hot, and amazing my fantasies were. However, as the year came to an end, so did my interactions with my son's teacher.

I was unable to find legitimate, believable reasons for interacting with Livermore's favorite third grade teacher as Colin worked his way through his fourth-grade year. Although the fantasies still happened, they were much less frequent and potent. Colin's fourth-grade year came and went with little interaction between the sexiest teacher at Livermore Elementary and myself. It wasn't until a month into my son's fifth grade year that the perfect plan hatched in my cerebrum.

I had spent the first three weeks of the school year bored to death with running errands, cleaning the house, and doing coffee with the girls. I learned quickly that life isn't as exciting for a stay-at-home-mom after all of her kids are in school. Although Colin was in 5th grade and Beau was only in kindergarten, I cooked up a plan to kill two birds with one stone: End my boredom as a run of the mill housewife and become better acquainted with the famed Mr. Sheldon.

I contacted the principal of Livermore Elementary School around lunch time on a Friday afternoon. My request: Allow me to volunteer in a classroom, specifically Mr. Sheldon's classroom, if possible. I went on about how wonderful an experience my son had in Mr. Sheldon's room and how exciting it would be for me not only to watch such a phenomenal teacher in action, but also to assist him with his students in any way he needs on a fairly regular basis.