Seducing My Therapist

I started therapy with the firm intent to seduce my therapist. He was an old philosophy professor of mine and when I got back into town, a decade later, I looked him up. An exchange of emails ensued. The psychoanalytical practice he was thinking of opening sent my mind on a wild goose chase. Suddenly, all I could think about was the erotic pleasures of confession. The perverted idea I had made myself of Freud replayed itself in my mind like a twisted joke. Couches everywhere were taunting me. I dreamt about his cock, hard and wet, pushing up against me. I started masturbating to the idea of philosophical discussions.

That was it! I decided we would have an affair. I became his first client. The fact that he was building a private soundproof office in the basement of his home is what sealed the deal. Every single aspect of a taboo relationship was falling into place: he was older, unavailable, had once been my professor and would now become my therapist. The perfect bad idea – impossible to resist.  

Before we even had our first session I sent him an email telling him that it might be a bad idea for him to be my therapist since I was already attracted to him, doing so, I hoped that attraction would be a the forefront of our minds, which would inevitably create some sort of charge between us. Tension was my aim. 

His home office wasn’t finished when we started seeing each other, so at the beginning we would meet somewhere else. He rented an office that was already being used by someone else during the day and we would meet there after hours. We would often forget to turn on the lights and as the sun would set we’d continue to talk in the dark, our only source of light streaming in from the parking lot. He told me I was beautiful. He told me I was charming, but I didn’t quite have the guts to make the first move. I was afraid he would say no, but the possibility is what kept me coming back for more. 

One night I brought a bottle of wine with me to thank him for taking me on as a client. I even stashed a cork screw in my purse in case he’d like to open it right away. Unfortunately that plan did not work, being the responsible person that he was he would save it for when he got home. Determined to rack the odds in my favor, I pulled my chair closer to his. My legs crossed, my foot dangled between his legs. While we talked he held the tip of my shoe in his hands. We started kissing each other hello and goodbye, always on both cheeks, he’d take off his glasses and I would hold my lips against his skin a second longer than necessary. 

One day, while I waited for him to arrive, he pulled his car in next to mine and motioned for me to follow him to another location. We drove to his empty house, his office still wasn’t finished and I can only guess why he suddenly decided to bring me to his home. He lead me to a door that lead straight to the basement, where his soundproof office would be. A private entrance to a room that would one day hold the confessions and secrets of countless strangers. 

We walked passed the room that was in the middle of being constructed and found ourselves at the other side of the basement where he had temporarily set up his office. I took in my surroundings, making mental notes of the objects he used to decorate his space and the books on the shelves. I took note of the mattress on the ground in the neighboring room and I knew that if there was ever a time to make this happen that night was the closest I would get. 

The thing is, I needed to pee. I asked if I could use the bathroom and he showed me the way upstairs. Alone in the bathroom, I realized that I had started my period. I did not have the necessary supplies with me and I found myself having to ask him if his wife had any tampons. I stood at the top of the stairs, called his name, and with him looking up at me, I asked if he had what I needed. He told me that his wife was pregnant, so he didn’t know if she would still have some in the house. 

He took me to the master bathroom on the second floor where he eventually found and gave me one of his wife’s temporarily discarded tampons. He left the room, and while I unbuttoned my pants, squatted and inserted a phallic shaped object into my cunt in my therapist’s house, I was assimilating the fact that his wife was pregnant. It felt strange, here I was standing half naked in her bathroom, wanting to seduce her husband and simultaneously inserting an inanimate object that belonged to her into my vagina. An object she no longer needed, because she was pregnant. 

That was the last time that I saw him. We shared a cigarette outside, kissed each other goodbye and I left without putting my plan into action. Sometimes, the possibility of something is much better than the actual reality.