[Author's note: This is part one of a series about a sex therapist that likes to join in with her clients. It's pure fantasy - but wouldn't that be wonderful if it were true! Enjoy!]
Keith took my hand as we walked down the hallway. It was a subtle gesture, but meaningful. It was the first physical touch we'd had in months.
"Room 1554, right?" he said, glancing at the doors as we went by.
I looked at Keith, my husband of five years, but for all intents and purposes, a stranger. We'd married when we were twenty - young and madly in love. I was attracted to Keith's sandy blonde hair, his athletic build, tall stature, and yet kind face. That kindness extended to his personality as well. We were in our first year in college and had lots of time to hang out, and lots of freedom to explore each other's bodies - which we did on a regular basis.
Two years later, we married - in front of family and friends - in a cherry grove in full bloom. Our love had blossomed into a beautiful romance that carried us for years. Keith was a wonderful husband and a wonderful lover. I so looked forward to kneading his cock and getting it big and hard - ready to open up my pussy and give me wonderful feelings of pleasure as he squirted inside me.
Our marriage, and the sex, were great until about a year ago. Neither of us were sure what happened, it occurred so gradually. As our busyness increased in pursuit of serious careers, our frequency of intimacy waned. Weekends were filled with getting outside for exercise and staying in for sex. After a while, we got lazy - and drifted further apart.
By the time we realized what was wrong, it seemed too late. We both cut back on work and tried to focus on each other, but to no avail. Neither of us seemed interested in making love, or even physical affection.
A weight of sadness enveloped me.
"Earth to Carrie. 1554, right?"
I jolted from my memories and glanced down at my phone. The appointment with Dr. Heller showed her office as 1554 - on the 15
th
floor of a lovely building in downtown Los Angeles. We were in the right place... almost.
"Sorry, Keith," I said, sheepishly. "1554. Should be right up around this corner, I think."
I was right. Around the corner, the hallway dead ended to a double door. Emblazoned on a brass plaque were the words:
Dr. Cynthia Heller, PsyD PST
Keith held the door for me. Always polite.
The room looked like a waiting area. A couch sat at an angle along one wall with chairs on another. Muted watercolors hung on the walls and the lush carpet felt soft under my feet. The lights were dim and calming music played softly in the background.
There was another door at the other end of the room. A sign on it said:
Please have a seat
We sat on the couch facing a large mirror - no doubt designed to help make the room bigger. I watched my reflection and wondered, again, if I was somehow no longer attractive to Keith. He used to tell me how he loved redheads. My auburn hair fell to the middle of my back, pulled into a ponytail. I was wearing a flattering blouse that showed off my medium-sized breasts. I worked out and my stomach was still flat and my waist narrow. I even wore a short skirt to show off my long legs, although none of that seemed to affect Keith. He stared straight ahead.
We were here for one last try to save our marriage. We'd been to traditional couples therapy, but nothing seemed to help our physical relationship. We still loved each other, that was true. Whether this doctor could penetrate what ailed us, I wasn't at all sure. But we were both willing to try this new therapy. It was either that or give up entirely.
The inner door opened, and a woman walked out. She was blond, about my height of 5'5". She was beautiful. Her face was a bit flushed but that's not what drew my gaze. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her large nipples bounced under her blouse as she walked.
She smiled at me as she walked by. I was taken aback because it was not just a smile like a stranger would give. It was almost familiar... sensual. It wasn't that I was unattracted to women but had never considered having sex with one. For some reason, this woman exuded sensuality. Was this Dr. Heller? I smiled back but the woman didn't stop - opening the outer door and disappearing through it.
"Patient?" I said to Keith.
He shrugged his shoulders.
We sat for another 10 minutes. I was getting nervous. Right at the time of our appointment, the inner door opened once again and out stepped one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. We stood and the woman extended her hand to Keith.
"I'm Dr. Heller," she said, "though you can call me Cynthia."
Keith took her hand and said, "Nice to meet you doctor... um... Cynthia."
"You must be Gwen," she said, holding out her hand to me.
"Um," I fumbled, taking her hand. "Yes... Gwen. Nice to meet you, Cynthia."
Cynthia's hands were very soft and lovely - which was a good description for the rest of her body. Dark brown hair with a slight wave fell most of the way down her back. Deep brown eyes that seemed to search your soul. A slightly upturned nose and gentle chin. She wore a silky blouse that fell across an ample chest, flat tummy, and a very short skirt showing off slender legs in stiletto heels.
"Come on in, guys," she said in a kind voice.
Keith and I exchanged a look, then followed her through the door.
As I entered the inner office, if you could call it that, I knew we were venturing into something entirely different. The room was large. The walls were painted with darker, muted tones and the lighting dimmer than in the waiting room. More paintings hung on the walls, but these did not feature landscapes like the others. They were abstracts of nude men and women shown in various sexual positions.
A couch and a chair sat in one corner, and the rest of the room was set apart by several large wicker screens. I couldn't tell what was behind them.
"Have a seat," Cynthia said, indicating the couch.
We sat down and she occupied the chair across from us. She crossed her legs and took out a notebook and pen.
"Keith and Gwen," she said, after scribbling what might have been today's date at the top of the page. "I assume you've read through the documents I sent over to you?"
"Um, yes," I replied, pulling some sheets of paper from my bag. "We've got them here."
I handed her the pages and she took a moment to look them over.
"Thank you," she said, setting the stack aside. "I've reviewed your history, so thanks for sending that to me. I'm sure you understand that what I do here is, well, unconventional from a traditional psychological practice."
"Yes," I replied. "That's why we're here."
"Of course. So... how familiar are you with PST?"
"PST?" Keith asked.
"Right... sorry for the acronym," Cynthia responded. "Participatory Sexual Therapy. PST."
"Not much, to be honest," I said. "But you come very highly recommended and... we're kind of at the end of our rope."
"We're desperate," Keith said.
"I understand," Cynthia said. "Most people who find me have usually exhausted other means to find the answers they need. But the good news is, I think I can help you two."
"We sure hope so," Keith said, glancing at me.
"Participatory Sexual Therapy is just how it sounds," Cynthia said, uncrossing her legs. "My goal is to help you rediscover your sexuality for each other by becoming involved sexually with me."
Keith shifted slightly and I felt heat rise into my face.
"There's no need to worry you two. By the time we're done, you will love making love again. Can I explain?"
"Please do," I said, trying to calm my nerves.
"What's happened to you is more common than you might think. In the field, we call it Sexual Object Displacement. Something has displaced the attraction that you had for each other. It can be work, another person, even recreational pursuits."
