“You’re sixteen, you’re my sister, and I’m high-strung,” I said defensively as I resisted the urge to smoke. I was just going to go back inside to talk to Krug anyway, so I wouldn’t have had time to finish my cigarette. Instead, I stuck my hands in the pockets of my black jacket and watched the cars speed by on the street.
“You’re overprotective.” She corrected me with a sly smile.
Yeah, I was that, too, just like any big brother would be.
“Exactly. That’s why I need to make sure Madison’s parents are with her.”
How often did teenagers lie so they could get away with their shit? No way was I going to leave her alone to wait for this “friend” of hers. No, I was going to make sure with my own eyes that she was being honest. Chloe huffed, but when a car pulled up to the curb and honked, I took careful note of Madison’s parents driving and the girl herself in the back seat.
“Call if you need anything. And don’t be late getting home,” I cautioned her sternly, but my little sister just grinned and got up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.
“You’re a pain in the ass, Neil. See you later!” She darted over to get in the car with her friend. I watched until the car merged into traffic and was gone.
Then I sighed and tried to mentally prepare myself for what I was about to do.
I had no more excuses left.
I went back into the clinic and walked briskly to Dr. Lively’s office. His door was open, and there was no one else in the waiting room. I knew he was waiting for me. He’d known me for over a decade at that point; he understood my cries for help, even when they were silent.
“Make yourself comfortable, Neil.” Krug Lively stood next to his desk, looking over a document. His glasses were poised on the tip of his nose, and his gaze was fixed on the paper.
I took a few steps into the room but decided to keep my distance from him. Too close, and I might not be able to speak.
“So, what’s happening? I’m glad you finally decided to talk to me.” He looked up at me and smiled, setting the paper down on the desk. He wasalways asking me to talk to him and now here I was in front of him voluntarily, just like he’d wanted for the last three years.
I heaved a sigh before spilling my guts. I told him everything, man to man, holding nothing back. Not that it was easy, but the fact that I was talking to a mental health professional and not just some random person had kindled a little hope in me. Maybe he could help me figure out what was happening to me.
“It’s called anorgasmia.” Dr. Lively pulled off his glasses and propped himself up against his desk, adopting a casual stance. I was still standing, hand shoved deep into the pocket of my jeans while I stared at him. I cleared my throat and pulled down the asymmetrical zipper on my leather jacket. A sudden anxious feeling left me short of breath.
“And?” I asked, trying to keep cool. This wasn’t like our professional sessions before, where he analyzed me while I tried to tell him about my history. Now I was the one asking questions, and he was the respondent.
“It’s a type of sexual dysfunction. One’s response to sexual stimulation is positive, and one can maintain an erection but cannot achieve orgasm. This type of disorder can be divided into various stages and can be or become a chronic condition,” he informed me, searching my face for a reaction.
He scratched his chin, which was bristly with the hint of a beard, and I considered his words.
“So you’re telling me you think it’s a psychological problem?” I tried to keep my voice firm, controlling my agitation.
“I’m sure it is. Anorgasmia is often a secondary effect of other illnesses, but, in your case, it is almost certainly a result of the sexual trauma you experienced as a child,” he told me confidently.
All at once, the anxiety wriggled out of my control: I began to have heart palpitations, and my right hand started shaking uncontrollably.
“Neil, you are abusing your body, and it is sending you distress signals. It’s rebelling against you. You can’t go on like this for much longer. Violating yourself to relive the memories, perpetuating the cycle of sexual encounters void of affection, human warmth, or emotion, unable to place any trust in your partners… It will destroy you in the end. You’re putting your bodyunder constant physical and mental stress. Is that what you want?” he asked, his tone severe.
I flinched at his words, raw but truthful.
My conditions were monsters that had managed to tackle me and bind me up in chains. I could have avoided all of this long ago but, instead, I had pushed on to the point of no return. The point where a sexual malfunction was added to my fucking pile of issues.
“Could I become…impotent?” I asked, though it was a struggle.
Christ, just the word sent a stab of pain through me. Impotence was a man’s worst nightmare, something that would shatter the image of myself that I had created.
“No, it’s not about impotence; that has an organic cause. You have a psychological problem that could have a more severe impact on your body.” He moved closer and took a deep breath before continuing to speak. “Neil, it’s not about your physical ability; it’s your psychological instability. You need treatment,” he told me firmly.
He continued talking then, but I struggled to follow our conversation.
After what felt like an eternity, I left the office and the entire damn clinic without saying another word.
Before I left, Dr. Lively advised me to avoid sexual intercourse for the time being and concentrate on working out or other energy-burning activities that might “compensate” for the gratification that I was no longer able to feel in the sack. Despite his insistence, I refused to promise that I would come back to him and actually restart therapy, but I also hadn’t denied the possibility that he might see my ugly mug again in the next few days.
