“Sometimes we need to escape, from life, emotions, an ex. But the big question is how to do this without being told I’m “dissociating” ( I actually used air quotes explaining this to my therapist).” I said with frustration wrapping my voice in a blanket. “Like honestly why can’t I just have a good wrestle in the leaves between me and a partner without someone saying it’s vulgar or inappropriate?”
“What kind of wrestling are you talking about here? There are plenty of innocent forms of wrestling that would be fine in public.”
“Maybe it involves a skirt and no panties or maybe it involves some hand work. What does it matter, it’s my life, my choices; shouldn’t other’s be respecting me for that?”
“Vivian, there’s a line that needs to drawn,” her face was contorted as if I had said something vastly wrong.
“The panties were a joke.” I said to calm her freight, “It’s not like I go around letting just anyone see these goods.” I laughed as her tension eased. “In all seriousness though, you blame me for dissociating yet I’m not sure what even means when all I want to do is forget the possible idea of having thoughts or emotions over something.”
“Why do you want to forget?”
“It’s easier,” I said with a puff of hot air.
“How is it easier?”
Was this a trick? Emotions were bad enough when they come flying in like a monkey out of Oz, but to actually conjure them up? That’s like asking for ice cream when you have weighed in tomorrow at Over Eaters Anonymous. You know you shouldn’t do it, you know the will is breaking, all the bad thoughts of shame and unjust blaming come railroading your thoughts, but damn that ice cream is good. It’s an instant fix that is needed in the moment, like something you have no control over once it starts building.
“Because if I remember, I have to face all the other stuff that comes along with it and that’s messy.” Just like the melted ice cream, it’s so fucking messy.
“So you decide to cover it up with sex?”
“I…Well…” Damn it! She was right, sex was my cover up. Any form of sexual tension was the cover up. “Well, sex is a good thing.”
“But it can be unhealthy.”
“So can chocolate, but you don’t see people quitting that.”
“Tell me why you like sex so much.”
I sat with a grin slowly forming across my face. The orgasms, the power, the feminine feeling, the wantedness, the desired look, the moments of control over the ending of the night. I love the way someone moans at their peak or that final grunt that ends all. I also love standing up, hunting for my clothes and making the hasty exit too. The saying of ‘what isn’t there to love’ feels vastly true, but then again explaining it seems to cause for a psychoanalytical approach, which I’m just not in the mood for, so I settled for a simple explanation. “Because it’s human nature. You wouldn’t ostracize a female in a committed relationship for having sex two or three times a day let alone a week, but yet society feels we should do that to a female who is single. Why the double standard? Would you ask these same questions to me if I was in a relationship, most likely not because it wouldn’t be seen as a “problem” (damn the air quotes).”
She sat across the room staring at me, analyzing me to the point that I started to feel like she was boring holes into my forehead. I couldn’t take it, so I stood up with grace and elegance among the heated despair I had for this conversation and made my way towards the exit. “I think I need a new therapist,” I said taking a deep breath.
“You are right, you do.”
“You are right, I wouldn’t ask those questions to a woman in a relationship. I also wouldn’t ask out a patient, but since you are saying you want to leave my care I can do that now too.”
“Life can be vast contradictions, we may want something, but we know we shouldn’t take it. You, however, have shown me that my desires to toss you onto this couch and comfort you into submission are also a form of hypocritical thinking.”
With a blank stare I glare at this person I have spent the last few weeks looking at and for the first time, I actually saw her as a human. Diverting my eyes from her to the couch my interest peeked and I let go of the door handle. “Guess I would have to be extremely quiet” and before I could say anything more her lips were to mine. I couldn’t even register her movements until ecstasy took over and I was laying on the couch.
“You are no longer my patient, but since you paid for the full hour I mine as well do a job.” And just like that my legs were over her shoulders and I could feel the cool touch of her tongue as she pressed down into me. I squirmed with each new glide as she lapped up my juices. This was wrong and right at the same time. I needed to be fucked, I needed to not think, and if she had paid any attention over the last few weeks I was sure to be satisfied to the full extent until my hour was up.
*THIS IS PART OF THE BARE ESSENTIALS SHORT STORY SERIES COLLECTION. PLEASE DON’T FORGET TO SUBSCRIBE FOR NEXT WEEK’S INSTALLMENT.*