Hold for four seconds.
I can do this. I am a strong woman. I do not let my urges control me.
I’ve been repeating that mantra for over a decade now, but this is the first time my urges are about wanting to jump someone’s bones. Usually they’re about rage or protectiveness, or even justmy need to run. But since meeting Ryan, they’re purely focused on wanting to fuck him.
What is wrong with me? It’s not like I’ve never been hit on before. I need to get it together and refer him out. That is the only way to move forward. I obviously can’t work with someone who makes my panties wet and who I think about while masturbating. Someone I haven’t been able to get out of my head since he offered to get on his knees and lick my damn pussy.
I continue with the repetitions of deep inhales and exhales. Pressing myself back, I notice where my body is supported by my chair.
Shit, that usually works, but today my skin is thrumming with electricity, and the pressure is making it worse.
I’m so screwed.
Finally, at five past the hour—when I can’t delay any longer—I buzz Charlotte to send him in. Ryan Rivera strolls in with the kind of cocky arrogance that speaks of having never been turned down in his life. Except that’s not fair or true. I know why he’s here in the first place: the family pressure, the perfectionism, the depression and suicidal ideation, the desire for a happily ever after while also feeling like it will never happen.
I’ve been so wrapped up in my countertransference that I’ve forgotten this man was in a mental health crisis only a few weeks ago. I am the worst therapist ever.
“Good morning, Ryan,” I greet him pleasantly, forcing a calm, professional expression. “Care to take a seat?”
He nods at my welcome and plops down on the seat across from me. His intense gaze burning me up already.
“Can we address what happened last week?” I ask, wanting to clear the air and bring the situation back under control.
“I’m sorry,” he replies instantly. “I got carried away and I’m so sorry for causing you discomfort. You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting but I understand if you don’t feel the same. I still want to continue coming to you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or make this inappropriate.”
I stare at him for far too long, blinking as I process his words. Ryan is nothing if not a complete surprise. He never does what I expect. Whether he’s hitting on me or taking accountability, he is completely unpredictable.
“Well, okay, then,” I say, falling over my words, because in all the ways I imagined this session going, none of the scenarios were anything like this. “Did you have something in mind you would like to talk about today, or should we look at what was happening for you last week?”
He smirks at me, but his eyes tell another story. “Wouldn’t that be inappropriate?” he asks with a slight smirk and a darkening of his irises that holds promises of fulfilling my darkest desires. “Wouldn’t it make you uncomfortable if I told you that I have never been harder in my life? I don’t think I should tell you all the things I wanted to do with you.”
His eyes dip lower for half a second before meeting mine again. My throat goes dry because apparently all the liquid in my body hasbeen redirected to my pussy. I have to resist the urge to glance down and see if my nipples are poking through my blouse. Ryan inhales deeply and gives me a knowing look, like he’s fully aware of how deeply he affects me. But he couldn’t. I’m not showing anything. Am I?
“I meant, what was going through your head when you felt the need to act on your desires?” I reply, subtly clenching my thighs together and silently begging my unwelcome arousal to calm down. “What were you feeling in that moment?”
He lets out a low chuckle and leans back in his chair. Silence stretches on, and I let it. Silence is just another tool in my arsenal of how I get patients to open up. I’m usually the one comfortable in it, watching my clients squirm while they avoid saying the thing they need to for them to start moving forward.
Not Ryan, though. He is the picture of ease.
“I don’t think I can tell you what I was feeling or thinking,” he finally says. “But I guess there’s the physical reaction that was happening in the moment, and what was happening underneath that. Which is what I really want.”
“What is it you really want?” I ask. Equal parts dread and excitement fill me as I await his answer.
His eyes lock on mine, his expression full of promise and sincerity. “I want forever,” he says plainly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I want to find the woman of my dreams, marry her, have a bunch of pu—babies, and live our lives together. Honestly, I was close to giving up, but I’m not doing that anymore. I no longer feel passive about my future.”
The look of steely determination he gives me takes my breath away. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so certain. And the fact he hasn’t given up on finding his happiness shouldn’t hit me so hard. But it does.
Not just because it’s exactly what I want for myself and will never have, but because a part of me wants that with him.
What the hell is wrong with me? This is only our sixth session. I barely know the man sitting across from me. But a voice deep down inside begs me to be with him. To climb on top of him, claim him as mine. Part of me wants tobitehim and leave a mark on his beautiful skin.
Fear slithers down my spine when the voice ignites those urges in me, and it’s another reminder of why I have spent years blocking it out. I’m dangerous. And as much as I can try to push it down, I can’t forget exactly why there are more reasons than just my ethical obligations for why I can’t have a future with this man.
I suggest practicing some grounding techniques before continuing, not for him, but for me. I need to get myself together. There’s a twinkle in his eye when he breathes in through his nose, and it’s almost as if he can smell what he’s doing to me. Which is insane. I’m insane.
The remainder of the session goes by easily. He speaks about his future and how he wants to put things in place now so he can be ready for it. He speaks about letting go of the pressure put on him and finding someone he wants to spend his life with, rather than focusing on the demands of his family of origin and his job.
In some ways, nothing has changed; he still wants the same things. But in another way, everything has changed. He’s not the despondent man I met in his first session. He’s no longer passively suicidal, and he doesn’t seem depressed. He seems hopeful.
