My name is Diana Winters. I'm a clinical psychologist with a small private practice. Mostly I specialize in behavioral disorders, but I also provide psychological assessments for employers. For example, if a company has an employee who has an outburst at work, or seems to be going through emotional problems, they may send them to me for a professional evaluation.
Mr. Ramsey was involved in an incident at the advertising agency where he worked. He and a female coworker were discovered having sex in a conference room after the office was closed for the night.
In general, I dislike sexual misconduct cases. Often, it's nothing more than some poor guy caught masturbating at his desk. He's mortified, and he doesn't want to talk to anyone about it, let alone a female therapist. He just wants the whole ordeal to be over as soon as possible.
So, when the receptionist buzzes to let me know that Mr. Ramsey has arrived, my heart sinks.
"Ok. Send him in, Cheryl."
I briefly check my appearance in the mirror behind my desk, adjusting my glasses and smoothing my skirt. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind one ear. In cases like this it always helps to appear as professional as possible. Maintaining a strict air of clinical detachment puts everyone at ease.
The door opens and Mr. Ramsey steps in. He's not what I was expecting. Unlike most men in these cases, he's not embarrassed or ashamed. Instead, he's wearing an expression of weary amusement, as though our appointment is merely a mild inconvenience.
I'm momentarily taken aback.
"Uh ... Mr. Ramsey?"
"Yes," he says, extending his hand. "You must be Dr. Winters."
He's tall and fit ... and quite handsome. Probably a few years older than me, a touch of gray just beginning to show in his dark hair. He's impeccably dressed--tailored suit, green silk tie, Italian shoes. I experience a brief flicker of regret at meeting him like this. He's the kind of guy I might go for if we met socially. He smiles as he shakes my hand. His grip is firm and self-assured.
"I find all this a bit ridiculous," he says. "No offense. I know you're just doing your job."
"None taken. I assure you, Mr. Ramsey, it takes a lot more than that to offend me."
"I can imagine." He says, glancing around my office. "People must say all sorts of things to you in here."
"You have no idea," I smile. "Now, if you'll take a seat we can get started."
He slips off his jacket and drapes it casually over the back of the couch. His shoulders are very broad.
"Should I lie down ...?"
"Only if you'll be more comfortable. It's not required."
He sits on the couch and crosses his legs. I sit in my leather armchair opposite him, and pick up my fountain pen and notepad.
"I assume you know why you're here," I say.
"So you can decide if I'm a dangerous pervert?"
I laugh. "No, it's pretty clear you aren't. We're just here to chat about your decision-making process ... about the chain of events that led to ... uh ...."
"... that led to me screwing Natalie Newberry in the executive conference room?"
"That's a blunt way of putting it, but, yes."
"Well, Natalie and I have worked together for years," he explains "I suppose we were always attracted to each other, but for most of that time she was married, so aside from a little flirting nothing ever came of it."
"A little flirting?"
"Just harmless teasing. If she was wearing a flattering outfit, I might say something like 'Hey gorgeous, are you free after work?' and she'd laugh. Or sometimes if we were in a meeting together, she'd give me a sultry look to try to fluster me. We were just playing around. We never took it any further."
I lean forward and press my index fingers to my lips. "What changed?"
"Well ... her marriage fell apart for a start. Her husband was cheating on her and she caught him. I don't know the details. She didn't want to talk about it."
"When did this happen?"
"About six months ago. They must have been having problems before, because almost immediately she contacted a lawyer and started divorce proceedings."
"And your relationship became different at that point?"
"Not exactly. She was going through some pretty rocky emotions, so for a long time we knocked off the flirting. We were strictly business. It was only in the last few weeks as her divorce got closer to being finalized that she seemed like her old self again ...."
His voice trails off. I glance up from my notepad. He's looking at me oddly.
"Um ... is everything ok?"
"Everything's fine," he says. "I was just thinking that this appointment is not what I expected.
You're
not what I expected."
"What were you expecting?"
"Oh, I don't know," he says, giving me a wry smile. "However, I'm not complaining."
I feel a little flutter in my chest, and then immediately scold myself.
Yes, Diana, he's very attractive. And clearly an incorrigible flirt. But you have a job to do. Keep your feelings under control.
"Uh ... tell me more about Ms. Newberry. What attracted you to her?"
"Well, she's smart and self-assured--I've always had a thing for confident women. She was sexy without being sexy, if you know what I mean. She never wore tight clothes or showed any cleavage, nothing trashy like that. Her attire was always impeccably professional. But from the way she carried herself it was clear that underneath her polished exterior she was very passionate."
"So the attraction was more mental than physical?"
"Oh, it was definitely physical as well. She has gorgeous legs and a cute ass. Her breasts are kind of on the small side ... but I like little tits, actually."
He pauses and looks at me uncomfortably.
"I'm sorry, it's weird telling a woman these things."
"Don't worry. You're not going to shock or offend me. This is my job, after all. And it does help me get a better sense of how things unfolded."
He clears his throat and adjusts his tie.
"So, yes, I was physically attracted to her."
"Did you fantasize about her?"
"You mean, did I jerk off to her?"
"It could be that. Or it could be just daydreaming about her in a sexual way. It's not unusual when a man is attracted to a woman for him to incorporate her into his sexual fantasies."
"Then yes, I definitely fantasized about her."
"What sort of things did you fantasize about?"
"I don't know ... what she looked like naked, I guess. What it would be like to touch her breasts, to lick her pussy. What it would be like to fuck her. I'm not being too explicit, am I?"
"No, it's fine. Whatever you feel comfortable sharing. Was there anything specific?"
"There was one scenario ... I can't believe I'm telling you this ... there was one particular scene that I fantasized about a lot ...."
"Tell me about it."
He takes a deep breath.
"Well ... she's kneeling in front of me completely naked while I'm still fully dressed. She's masturbating, rubbing her pussy, and she's sopping wet, really aroused ...."
"She's naked and you're not ... that's an important detail, right?"
"It's ... yeah ... I don't know why, but it is."
"I see," I say. On my notepad I jot down "dominance issues" and underline it.
"So what happens next? In your fantasy."
