"Welcome back." I smiled at Mr. Kirche, who blinked his green eyes and yawned. He tried to cover his mouth with his hand, but his arms were slow to respond.
"I'm -uh- s-uh-rry" he murmured through his yawn.
I smiled again to reassure him. "That's quite alright. Take your time. I woke you up a little early because I know how hard it is to come up from your first time that far under."
He nodded in agreement and attempted a smile in return. The lamp behind his head reflected off his scalp where his hair thinned. This was only my third appointment with Mr. Kirche, but his hair always appeared to be the same length, as if he got a haircut each week. I had seen that on men who lined up to get a buzz every Saturday morning, but never in a man who favored a scissor-cut.
He had struck me when we met at his first appointment as a bit old-fashioned. Brown slacks, short-sleeve white-button down shirt. His thick-rimmed glasses lay on the same table as the lamp, along with a glass of water.
"There's a glass of water on the table behind your head if you're thirsty."
Mr. Kirche opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, as if he needed independent confirmation from his tongue that he might be thirsty. "Why, yes!" he said, seeming surprised by the fact that after I said be might be thirsty that he actually was. That was no trick of suggestion, though—it was just a simple observation as I watched him sleep with his mouth still open, drying his tongue as he sucked in air. I'd thought about closing it for him, but often touch at this stage of the process could bring him up too suddenly. When he was fully under, though, you could touch him in all manner of places.
Mr. Kirche sat up slowly, moving his feet to the floor and stretching his arms up in the air, bringing his hands down to rest on his knees. Then, remembering the water, he turned to the table and picked up the glass with his left hand, bringing it to his lips while watching me over the lip of the glass. I could tell he was smiling because the little crows' feet at the outside corners of his eyes deepened.
"Feel good?" I asked.
He brought the glass down to the table, half-full. "Fantastic. Really. Fantastic."
"Good. Good. I think that went splendidly, too." I shifted in my upholstered leather chair, rubbing my thighs together. My tight black skirt hugged my thighs snugly enough that I knew he wouldn't be able to see that I wore no panties. "Unfortunately, our time is just about up."
Mr. Kirche frowned.
"Same day and time next week?" I offered.
His frown dissipated. "Yes. That will work fine."
"Don't forget your glasses."
He nodded, turned to the table and picked up his glasses as he stood. He placed them on his nose and smiled at me one more time with an accompanying nod. "Next week, then."
I had a few minutes, after the door closed behind Mr. Kirche, to prepare for my next session. I decided to leave my panties off—not because there was a reason to leave them off, but because there was no reason to put them on. I took the opportunity to hike up my skirt and give my clit a quick massage while thinking about my next set of clients.
* * * * *
Melissa and Ken Saxton were in their mid-30s, but very fit. Melissa was about five-foot-four, with pert breasts, and a tight ass consistently clad in yoga pants. She wore her chestnut brown hair short—the only thing about her appearance that signaled "mom." Certainly she would fall into the category of
MILF
, even if it wasn't a perk of my occupation as a therapist. Ken, I suspected, would also nicely fill out a pair of yoga pants, but unfortunately for me, he kept things a mystery in some dark slacks. His biceps bulged against the sleeves of his polo shirt. He was clean-shaven with a rugged jawline. His hair was so close in shade to his skin that I thought for a moment it had started out whiter and tanned to that brown.
As this was their first consult with me, I tried to set them at ease with an overwhelming cheeriness. "You must be Melissa and Ken!"
They both smiled, but seemed unsure what to say now that they had lost the opportunity to introduce themselves.
"I'm Dr. Pritchard. You can call me Jeanine."
Again, I took the words from their mouths.
"Please, have a seat!" I stood to the side, and gestured like a game show hostess to the couch previously occupied by Mr. Kirche.
It's always a little tough breaking the ice in a first consult. Often couples have trouble putting words to their sexual problems even within the intimacy of their own relationship, let alone in front of a stranger. I never address the problem head-on, as if I'm rushing my patients. Instead, I try to put them at ease by asking questions that they can easily answer. I start with facts—how they met, how long they've been together, etc. This history is helpful for me to understand the context of their problem, but it also builds their bond and trust in each other as a couple.
Melissa and Ken had met in college, fifteen years ago, and gotten married in their mid-twenties. They had two kids, a five-year-old boy and a two-year-old girl. The one-two punch of nearly back-to-back kids and the accompanying complications of pregnancy, childbirth, nursing, sleeping, and so on, left them with little energy at bedtime and now they were simply out of practice. They no longer thought of each other in sexual terms. This was not an unfamiliar situation.
The trick is that it's partly an illusion of transference. It isn't so much that they don't find the other person sexy—it's that they don't see themselves that way—and then it follows that they don't understand how the other can see them as sexy and they assume that it's just a mutual lack of interest. It's a common problem with couples who have children so early in their marriage, breaking the momentum of a strong libido. I explained this to them, but they still seemed doubtful.
I spent the remainder of their session explaining how my program works—that I would use hypnosis to put them in a trance, and use their receptiveness in that state to gradually restore their self-confidence.
"Are we seeing you individually?" Melissa asked.
"Oh, no. I'm not providing individual therapy in a situation like yours. I'm working on your relationship—and for that I need you both to be here."
The next question was from Ken. "Will you be hypnotizing us at the same time?"
"Yes. Studies have shown that therapy with only one partner hypnotized results in a power imbalance."
Both the Saxtons gave me a confused look, nearly synchronized, mouths slightly open, the top of their heads tilted toward one another.
"That would be bad," I clarified.
Their mouths closed in unison and their heads nodded affirmatively, as if they had read those same studies. They were adorable. I was going to have fun with these two.
* * * * *
My next patient was Marguerite. Marguerite had never had an orgasm, even from masturbation. We had covered all of the particulars in her first session. How did she know she'd never had an orgasm? What had she tried? Did she have any unresolved trauma—physical or psychological—that might interfere with her ability to orgasm? What did she think about when she masturbated?
