Alan
The mood was palpable as the two of us sat gloomily at the table, picking slowly at our food amid a sea of deafening silence. Eventually, Mary spoke up.
"Look, we can't go on like this," she said. "I've made an appointment for us with a marriage counselor."
"What? You can't be serious. We don't need a counselor. You just need to behave like a normal wife!" I retorted.
"Not helpful, Alan. He comes highly recommended by Susan Holmes. She said he's a little unorthodox but, according to her, she and Steve wouldn't still be married if they hadn't worked with him. Anyway, the appointment is Thursday at five o'clock. His name is Onslow Lindemann."
What kind of name is that anyway
, I thought later that evening as I googled 'Onslow Lindemann'. Mary was in bed, most likely already asleep, as she had been most nights for the past few months. In my mind, this was part of our problem although she, of course, doesn't see it like that. Whenever I challenge her about never being available for sex her response is always the same. She works, she's tired, and can make up her own mind regarding how much sleep she needs thank you very much. Even when she does allow me to have sex it's not exactly what you would call mind-blowing. She'll pump my cock, and if I'm lucky she might suck it for a minute or two, then get in position to be fucked which, in her case, usually means on her back. Mostly she's silent while I am taking her, and I could, for all the feedback I get, be fucking a sack of potatoes.
So yes, my unhappiness with our sex life, and the ensuing conflict and arguments that have been ongoing for months, lie at the heart of why Mary thinks we need a counselor. The really hard thing is that, despite the issues she has with sex, I still love her. We've been married for nearly twenty years and while she may have put on a few pounds since we first met, I still think she is the sexiest woman in the world. She's curvy and, in addition to her soft creamy thighs, has the most beautiful pair of 36C boobs that God ever gave out. You know the old adage that 'good things come in small packages' is true once you've met my wife. She's only five feet two inches tall, but an absolute powerhouse of fun and energy. Except, that is when it comes to the bedroom.
While I didn't want to waste time and money listening to Onslow Lindemann tell me where I'm going wrong in my relations with Mary I also recognized that she and I have been in a downward spiral for months and that maybe, just maybe, he might be able to make her see my point of view regarding our sex life. I therefore resolved to attend the appointment the following week.
Mary
Honestly, I was a nervous wreck as I pulled into the parking spot in front of Dr. Lindemann's building. I'd been practicing in my head, all week long, what I wanted to say but still wasn't sure that I could adequately express the issues that were driving Alan and I apart to an outsider. Susan had warned me that Dr. Lindemann's therapy could be in her own words "well a little unorthodox", but wouldn't be drawn on what she meant. Unfortunately, this only added to the anxiety I was feeling about what I might experience over the next hour.
Alan was already in the waiting room, his face tight and tense, and I wondered whether the anger that had been simmering in him all week might be ready to boil over. I kissed him softly and took a seat at his side, wrapping my hand in his.
Bang on the dot of five, a short, slightly overweight man stepped into the waiting room.
"Mr. and Mrs. Rogers?" he said inquiringly, looking directly at me.
We shook hands. His hand felt kind of limp in mine, not, I thought to myself, what I would expect from a marriage counselor. Nor, my mind went on, did he look like I had expected. He was balding, appeared to speak with a slight accent, and I pegged his age as being mid to late fifties
"This way, my office is just down the hall."
The office was bright and airy with the greenery of a multitude of pot plants bringing softness to the room. Alan and I settled, rather nervously, at either end of the white leather sofa, facing which was a large armchair which, I surmised, was where Dr. Lindemann normally sat. Sure enough, he closed the door, strode across the room briskly, and sat, collecting a notepad and pen from the glass table positioned next to the chair.
"So what brings the two of you to see me today," he said, swiveling his head to look meaningfully at each of us in turn.
I looked at Alan as I fidgeted on the sofa. My hands were in my lap and I seemed unable to keep them still. I paused, refusing to meet the piercing green eyes opposite me, as I considered how to respond.
"I guess we're... well, we seem to be arguing about sex a lot," I blurted out.
He smiled back at me. "Well, that's normal for most married couples at some point in their relationship," he responded, exuding an air of calm. "Can you tell me, more specifically, what it is that you argue about, Mary?"
I took a deep breath and looked, rather forlornly, at Alan.
"Maybe Alan should answer that," I said quietly, "but honestly I don't seem to be able to satisfy him. No matter what I do, it always seems to be wrong."
Dr. Lindemann looked at Alan expectantly.
"Is that correct, Alan? Why do you think that?"
Alan shifted on the sofa, turning to look at me briefly, as he gathered his thoughts.
"Ummm...well, first off, we very rarely have sex..."
"That's not true," I interjected heatedly, "we do it..."
Dr. Lindemann looked at me sharply and held up his hand.
"Mary, please. Let him finish," he said, firmly. "Go on, Alan."
"As I was saying, we rarely have sex," Alan reiterated, "and when we do it's always rather perfunctory."
"I see," he said, his head turning to me. "Mary, what are your thoughts about what Alan just said?"
"Well, I'd say we do it around once a week which, according to my friends, is typical and I certainly don't agree that it's perfunctory. That implies that I'm just being mechanical and routine and I'm not. I love Alan and I want him to enjoy my body."
"Seriously, Mary? Are you kidding me!" Alan retorted. "You think a three-minute hand job is what most husbands want from their wives?"
He looked pleadingly across the room.
"Look, Mary was a virgin when I met her. I took her virginity during our sophomore year of college."
I blushed as Alan continued. "Everything she knows about sex she has learned from me."
I shook my head, responding quietly, "Maybe that's part of the problem, Alan. Have you ever considered that it might be you that doesn't know how to have sex and not me? Maybe the reason I'm not into it is that you just don't know how to stimulate me?"
Alan looked shocked by my response. Quite clearly he had never imagined that our problems might lie in his abilities as a lover.
Dr. Lindemann quickly jumped in. "Please. We won't get anywhere trading accusations. Let's have a civil, reasoned conversation around the issues that the two of you seem to be facing."
Alan
