Therapist

by Jaden Wilkes

  I stand and come out from behind my desk. “Let’s discuss this like two rational adults,” I tell her and reach for her hand.

  She pulls away and grabs her purse. “I don’t know if I can right now,’ she admits and looks like she’s about to cry, “it’s been a very emotional week and I don’t think I can stay.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I tell her and check the wall clock. She’s only been in my office for fifteen minutes. It’d be really obvious to everyone if she storms out of here right now. “Listen, why don’t you come sit with me on the couch and we’ll just talk. No notes, no sex, nothing but two friends spending some time together.”

  I know I’ve gotten to her when she blushes. She feels embarrassed for her outburst, as well she should.

  I sit and pat the cushion next to me. She drops her purse to the floor and takes a seat next to me. I stare at her, brush a strand of loose hair off her face and say, “There’s my girl. Now don’t you feel better?”

  “I do. But I always feel better when I’m here with you. Everything makes sense and then I leave and I feel like it all falls apart.”

  “That’s because of you, not me,” I tell her. It’s true, right now anyways. I have zero desire to fuck her today. It could be from the stinging ache in my groin or Mistress’ words echoing in my ears, all I know is I’m not going to give Erica what she wants.

  “My girlfriend thinks you’re manipulative, that you’re damaging to me,” she confesses and gives me a nervous sidelong glance.

  Rage begins to ignite deep in the pit of my stomach. Patients are never to discuss our appointments with anyone. It’s part of the sacred covenant I have them agree to when we first begin treatment. Special treatment, I mean, of course I don’t care who the normal patients talk to about my work.

  “Is this the one you broke up with? What exactly did she say?”

  She nods, “Yeah, I broke it off with her right after our last session. She wanted to have sex when I got home but I couldn’t get into it.” She pauses and goes a deep red. “She went down on me though, with you...still inside. It was a powerful feeling, to know she was licking your cum from my pussy. That turned me on.”

  “Did you fuck her after that?”

  “I did. I used a strap-on and pretended I was you. I fucked her senseless, I’ve never had that much...vigor.”

  “It’s ok Erica, you don’t have to use polite language with me. You can tell me that you fucked her cunt like a rutting stag, it doesn’t offend me,” I tell her. Quite the opposite actually. I’ve gone from zero to sixty in the course of a couple sentences. The idea that the angry girlfriend sucked her dry of my ejaculate is driving me crazy. My cock makes an attempt to get hard, but the pain is too distracting.

  “I know,” she replies, “it’s just with your accent you make everything sound so formal.” She laughs and glances at my cock.

  “So go on, what happened after you fucked her?”

  “I was overcome by my orgasms. I felt so much power, it must be intoxicating to be you...to feel that all the time,” she says, but I don’t react. I want to hear more about the break up. “Well, afterwards I had all this crazy confidence so I told her she was dragging me down. Maybe not right now, but she would eventually.”

  “And how did she take the news?”

  “Not well, she figured out right away that you told me to dump her. She started shrieking and screaming at me. I almost called the cops at one point.”

  “What was she screaming?” I ask. I don’t really care about Erica’s emotional state, I simply need to know what the angry girlfriend had to say about me. She might go on my list of suspects for people who could have reported me to Doctor Stevenson.

  “She said you were a manipulative psychopath who was trying to ruin my life so you could use me for your own needs. She said you were a dangerous man with nothing to offer me but a pile of heartache. She also said she was going to make sure you stopped this type of thing and that you were probably doing it to other patients. I told her to get out, she was crazy but I started to wonder something Doctor Dane.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, but mull the words over in my head. She is definitely a suspect now, the angry girlfriend. I need to find out who she is and if the snotty little bitch called my office.

  “Are you doing this with other patients? Am I not the only one?”

  I’m uncertain how to answer her. Of course I want to be honest and say no, because ultimately it doesn’t fucking matter who I am sticking my cock into...that this is never going to go beyond a doctor-patient relationship. But the angry girlfriend has me nervous. If I upset Erica and she runs back to the girlfriend, then the two of them could join together in a vindictive pair and ruin my reputation.

  So, given the circumstances, I put my hand on her thigh, squeeze and say, “There is nobody else. I am not doing this with any other patient.”

  She smiles and lays her hand on mine. She glances at my cock again and I see how confused she is so I say, “See? If I were just using you, I would have fucked you by now. But I really do care about your mental state. I want you to get better.”

  “That’s what I told her,” she says triumphantly. “I knew you cared about me. And even though I’m only working part time at the agency, I still want to see you.”

  “And I want to see you too,” I say and look at the wall clock, “but for now our time is up.”

  She pouts and runs her hand up my leg to my cock. It’s semi hard, I am unable to handle the pain of it pressing against my suit pants. I wince when she strokes me and says, “But I was hoping for some of this today.”

  I stand up, knocking her hand away. Even though I’m walking on eggshells around her because of the angry girlfriend, I still need to maintain my authority. “Maybe next time, or not. It depends on how I’m feeling.”

  “Ok,” she replies, gets up, grabs her purse and turns to leave. As she opens the door a single thought occurs to me.

  “Wait,” I say, “this girlfriend...what does she look like?”

  “She’s very beautiful,” Erica says and swells with pride, “She had black hair with perfect skin and nails. She’s a hostess at a high-end club in the West End, so she’s impeccable with her style. She’s very elegant, I don’t know how I managed to hook up with her to be honest.”

  She could be describing Mistress. I frantically try to unravel the timeline, my last session with Erica, and my first time with Mistress. I can’t seem to grab hold of the threads though; every time I think I have a moment pinned down, it wiggles away and eludes me. I need to get more sleep and cut down on the Xanax and booze. This should not be happening to me.

  “Doctor?” Erica asks, “Can I go now?”

  “Oh yes, sorry. I’ll see you next week,” I reply and sit at my desk. I open my notepad and begin to write in order to focus my mind. Erica leaves and I’m alone in my office, nothing but the hum of fluorescent lights and the low rush of traffic outside, but I still can’t focus.

  I look down and see that I have been writing the same phrase over and over, the one I’ve been obsessed with lately.

  ‘He needed inside her with the desperation of a dying man needing a cure. In this case there simply is no cure.’

  This time however I have scribbled over the one spot so many times I’ve gone through several sheets of paper. My hand is sore from the exertion but I need to get rid of this insanity. I pick the pen up and begin to draw a spiral, a deep black hole from which nothing escapes. The speed of the pen picks up and I keep drawing through the torn paper and written words.

  Eventually I obliterate the text underneath and sit back to admire my work.

  At that moment Beatrice sticks her head in the door and says, “Doctor Dane?”

  “Yes?” I ask and she walks to the desk. She sees what I’ve been writing and looks at me.

  “Are you ok? Are you sleeping enough? You seem tired and...stressed out lately,” she says.

  “I’m doing ok, I’m just taking notes a
bout my last session,” I lie, “now what’s on your mind?”

  She looks at the notepad again so I flip it shut. She furrows her brow and says, “All your appointments have been cleared for the day. I called them all but each one says they were told not to come in. Do you know anything about this?”

  I have a flash, a vague recollection of me calling each of them to say I have a family emergency. But it wiggles away from me and I say, “I know nothing.”

  “Are you sure you’re ok?” Beatrice asks, “you’ve been a little off lately...and then yesterday when you brought that new woman around. Is she doing this to you?”

  “Doing what? I said I’m fine,” I retort. “Now please leave me alone so I can finish up the notes I need to take.” I hold my notepad against my chest protectively so she doesn’t see what I’m going to write.

  I know what I’m going to write, that same phrase over and over. I just need Beatrice to leave so I can start.

  “Ok,” she says at last, “just know that if you ever need me, I’m here for you. I care about you.”

  I let her go, there’s really nothing else to say. She closes the door on her way out and I lay the notepad on the desk and begin to write.

  Wednesday, April 9th Late Afternoon - Anna

  I’m hunched over my desk drawing circles over the handwriting on my notepad. I’ve gone through several this morning and have had to ask Beatrice for five new ones from the office supply cabinet. All my appointments have been cancelled today so I have a lot of free time on my hands. To write.

  This spiral is particularly dark and three-dimensional. I feel like if I tried hard enough, I could reach into it and find myself in another place.

  My door opens and Anna walks in. I am dumbfounded, not only did I tell her we were finished, but I know I have nothing on my schedule today.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand and slam my notepad face down on the desk.

  Her eyes widen and she stops abruptly. Her voice croaks as she says, “I’m here for my usual time.”

  “We ended things, don’t you remember?”

  “What are you talking about? Last session was the same as any other.”

  “I told you to never come back. I told you we were done.”

  She hesitates before she says, “You never told me anything like this, Doctor. We even held each other after we made love.”

  I snort and say, “I would hardly call that making love. I wasn’t even sure if you were fully into it.”

  “Of course I was, you know I love it when you dominate me like that,” she replies and slinks towards me. She lays her hand on my cock and adds, “Daddy.”

  I harden immediately but push her hand away. I cannot allow myself to fuck her. The pain of Mistress’ previous injury has reduced to a dull roar but the threat of future pain for disobeying her keeps me in check.

  “We cannot do this, you must leave now,” I say and gesture towards my notepad, “I have important work to do.”

  “Why are you being like this? I dressed up for you,” she purrs and leans against me. She opens her long rain jacket to reveal a leather corset with a number of stainless steel rings. “I brought rope and a small crop, I was hoping to talk you into really trussing me up and breaking my ass in...again.”

  Oh how I want to. I want to wrap her up until she cannot move, until she can barely breathe, and use her body like she’s a machine built for my needs alone. I moan quietly, breathing it out so she can’t hear it and manage to push her away. Mistress would destroy me if I gave in.

  “I can’t,” I say, “this is a really bad time for me. I have so much work to do.”

  “Maybe later?” she asks and closes her jacket. “Maybe somewhere different? How about I go a few blocks over and get a room for the day, at that Hilton on the corner? How about I text you the room number and you come to me later?”

  I want to go more than anything in recent memory, but I cannot. I am certain Mistress sees me wherever I go, whatever I do. “I honestly can’t. I’ve had a family emergency come up which is why I am wrapping up my work here before I go.”

  “Oh no, I hope everything is ok.”

  “I will be fine, I just need to get more sleep or something.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take me up on my offer? You can sleep afterwards, leave me tied up next to you as you catch up.”

  The idea appeals to me. Sleeping next to a woman as still as a corpse appeals to me. Full on body contact, naked skin on skin, intimacy and talking in the dying hours of the night appeal to me. It all does, but I know I am unable to let her in.

  But I tell her, “Sure, why not give me a shout when you’re there? I’ll swing by later if I can.”

  She smiles, a radiant glow of acceptance lights up her eyes. I feel dead inside. “Do you have a piece of paper to write your cell number on?”

  I grab the notebook and tear off a small piece. I write the number down and hand it to her. She reads it and looks at me questioningly. She says, “Um, how am I supposed to read this?”

  I take it back and the entire page has been covered by my spiraling black ink. “Hang on,” I tell her and pick up the notebook, flip through it and realize every page is like that. Back and front, they are all completely black. I take one of my business cards, write the number on the back and hand it to her. “There you go,” I say and see her out.

  She walks down the hall like she’s just won a marathon. Her hips swing with each step in smug awareness that she will claim her prize.

  I watch her, knowing I will knock the wind out of her sails when I don’t return her text. This pleases me on some level. I’m tired of women attempting to control me once they’ve given me a taste of their cunt.

  I close my door, look around the room and announce, “That was a set up by the way. I don’t intend to go at all.”

  I pause, almost expecting a reply. When I hear nothing, I stretch out on the couch and close my eyes. I can almost feel Mistress in the corner, watching me like a hawk. I keep my hands to myself like a good lad, though. I know she’ll be proud of me.

  The skin on my balls where she tore into stings and forces me to lay with one foot on the floor so I can keep my legs apart. I must be sweating and exacerbating the injury. It’s just an unpleasant reminder of the things she can do to me, given that I am powerless in front of her.

  I almost want to cry. If I allow my mind to reach that Zen like stillness they claim you can find during meditation, I can almost cry. I want her to ride me like some crazy four-armed Hindu goddess, feeding on my tears and tearing into me as I come. I want to cry almost as much as I want to come, the release would leave me breathless.

  My phone buzzes on my desk and interrupts my daydream. I am annoyed, wondering how Anna got to the hotel so quickly.

  I get up and read, “Where were you on the weekend?”

  It’s Silvia. Fuck, what does it take for her to get the hint? I don’t want to go back out to their version of reality. The suburbs are like some bizarro world where the strangest things can happen. I want no part of it. Mistress would not be happy.

  I shove the phone in my pocket and stretch out on the couch once more, foot on floor and legs wide apart. I let myself fall into a deep sleep.

  *****

  I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep. I wake with a start and sit up on the couch. Something woke me, I can still hear the echo of a noise in my ears.

  I stand and listen at my door. I can hear voices whispering, somebody says my name and I’m certain it’s Doctor Stevenson. They are just out of reach, talking about me.

  I pick up my notepad from the desk and open the door. Just down the hall a couple of the other doctors are in a small group with Doctor Stevenson and Beatrice. I look behind me, it’s just after two in the afternoon. There’s no reason for this impromptu gathering.

  “Bea, sweetheart,” I say and smile at her when she turns my way, “I was just looking for you. I need some of my session notes transcribed if you don’t m
ind.”

  She looks at the other doctors for direction, Doctor Stevenson nods at her and she tells me, “Sure, I can do that.”

  She walks down the hall, the other doctors watching me as she reaches for my notes. I smile at them and they look down nervously. I make them uncomfortable, my superiority makes them uncomfortable. I like that I unsettle them.

  She takes the notebook back and stands with the little group. They start talking again, louder this time, about some new restaurant down on Cambie Street.

  I step back in but leave the door open a small crack. They are huddled even closer and Beatrice has my notebook open. They are talking hurriedly, Doctor Stevenson is the loudest and punctuates his conversation with hand gestures. He glances my way and I step back, away from the crack. I slowly shut the door and go back to the couch to sleep. I am exhausted, my bones feel dense and my heart is thick with unleashed emotion.

  They must have been marveling at my expert note taking.

  I feel the urge to use the washroom. I had been lying to Erica the time she wanted to use ours. We do have one available to the public, but I hate the thought of my special patients wiping themselves and flushing it down the drain after they’ve been with me. It’s easier to stomach if they are far away from me.

  In the washroom I almost don’t recognize myself. I do look tired. My hair is lank and greasy, my skin sallow and I have dark bags under my eyes. It doesn’t look like I’ve eaten for days. My suit still fits me like a glove though, so it’s just the effect of my drawn face that makes me look like I’ve dropped a few pounds.

  I walk back past the reception desk where Bea and the new girl are busy with my notebook. They look positively conspiratorial so I stop and say, “I know you’re talking about me.”

  “Doctor Dane,” the new girl exclaims and jumps, “I didn’t hear you coming.”

  “I can see that, bent over talking about me,” I hiss and wag my finger at them.

  “Alexandre,” Beatrice says in a soothing voice, “we are concerned for your well being. I have been for some time now. Your behaviour is getting more and more erratic and I don’t know if you’re coming or going these days.”