He doesn’t push or look pitying. Just listens, then asks gently, “Can you tell me a bit more about how this week felt? Any moments where you noticed the pattern… either alone or in your thoughts?”
I hesitate, heat creeping up the back of my neck. I don’t mention jerking off this morning. I definitely don’t mention that Cade was twenty feet away on my couch. But the memory of how long it took sits there anyway.
“In the last session we mentioned trying a new approach,” he continues, tone even and encouraging. “Focusing less on chasing the finish and more on the sensations themselves… slowing the pace, switching hands or grip, paying attention to different areas instead of the usual routine. Did you get a chance to experiment with any of that?”
I lean my head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. My fingers tighten slightly on the armrest. Talking about the specifics always feels awkward, like I’m exposing something raw and ridiculous at the same time.
“Yeah… I tried it,” I say quietly. “I wasn’t even fully awake when I started, so I didn’t overthink it at first.” I swallow. “It still took about twenty minutes. Maybe a little more. The edge kept slipping away no matter what I did.”
Dr. Hart nods slowly, no surprise or judgment in his expression, just thoughtful consideration. “Twenty minutes. That’s useful information. Did anything feel different this time,even slightly? Any point where the sensation felt stronger or closer before it pulled back again?”
I shake my head slowly, fingers still gripping the armrest. “Nothing feels different. No matter what I try… changing grip, slowing down, focusing on other spots… the edge just… slips away again. It’s the same every time.”
Dr. Hart studies me for a moment, then sets his notepad down on the desk with a quiet click. He leans forward slightly, clasping his hands together in a gesture that feels both serious and kind. The warm afternoon light from the window softens the lines of his face.
“Rowan, I think it’s time we have a more direct conversation about this,” he says, his voice steady and thoughtful. “You’ve been struggling for a while now, and the physical side alone hasn’t given us the breakthrough we need. For someone with your pattern… where climax feels almost unreachable no matter how long or how hard you work for it…meaningfulemotional connection can be a powerful form of stimulation in itself. Meaningless sex, or even casual encounters, often makes the struggle worse because there’s no deeper bond to lean into. When there’s real attachment, trust, and intimacy with another person, it can shift the entire experience. That other person can dedicate themselves to you… learning what your body responds to, offering new sensations, exploring different rhythms and touches that you can’t create on your own. It stops feeling like a chore you have to endure and becomes something you can actually enjoy.”
I nod along as he speaks, trying to absorb the words, but my mind is already racing ahead. Dating? Building a real bondfrom scratch at thirty-five? I don’t have the time or the patience for that. The whole process… the small talk, the dates, the slow unfolding of trust… only for it to potentially fall apart if the chemistry isn’t there, it’s exhausting justthinkingabout it. And even if I did find someone, there’s no guarantee it would fix anything. The idea of putting myself through all that vulnerability for amaybe,feels pointless. And there’s no one in my life right now that I have that kind of bond with. No one close enough, who could possibly help.
Dr. Hart must sense my internal resistance because he pauses, his expression turning cautious. “What I’m about to say next… I want you to hear it without getting defensive or offended. This is just an observation, okay? Nothing more.”
I frown, my stomach tightening. “What is it?”
He chooses his words carefully. “I know you’ve only ever had sex with women, and from what you’ve described, you’ve never truly been pleasured in a way that felt satisfying or easy. Have you ever considered… that the issue might not be technique or endurance at all… but thegenderof your partner? That perhaps you would respond more naturally, more pleasurably, to someone of the same sex?”
My eyes widen. I stare at him, completely frozen. The thought has literally never crossed my mind, not once.
Dr. Hart continues gently, his tone warm and non-judgmental. “It’s actually very common. A lot of men, and women, don’t realize they might be gay or bisexual until a situation like this forces them to look closer. I’ve worked with many clients who came in with similar struggles, tried this suggestion, and came back months later looking lighter andhappier, telling me they finally had a good sexual experience for the first time. They felt… relieved.”
I’m still frozen in the chair, heart pounding in my ears. The room feels suddenly smaller.
“There’s absolutely no judgment in this room,” he reassures me, voice calm and steady. “Everything we discuss is completely confidential. I’m simply offering it as a possibility. If no woman has been able to bring you the pleasure and release you’re looking for, it may point to a deeper need for connection…possiblywith another man.”
A short, surprised laugh escapes me before I can stop it. I wasn’t expecting that… not in a million years.
Dr. Hart smiles softly, understanding. “I know that’s a lot to take in at once. Would you like to talk about how that suggestion lands for you?”
I clear my throat, the sound rough in the quiet office. “No… not right now.”
He nods without pressure. “Would you feel more comfortable if we cut today’s appointment a little short?”
I nod quickly.
The rest of the goodbye is quiet and professional. He walks me to the door, gives me a kind handshake, and reminds me I can call anytime if I want to process more. I manage a polite “thank you” before stepping into the hallway.
The elevator ride down feels numb. I stand here staring at the glowing numbers as they count toward the ground floor, my reflection in the mirrored walls looking pale and distant. Dr. Hart’s words keep echoing in my head.
By the time I reach the parking garage and slide into my Jeep, the suggestion still feels surreal. Like someone dropped a bomb in the middle of my neatly ordered life and then politely asked how I was feeling about the crater.
…
The drive back to my apartment passes in a numb, automatic haze. I keep drifting at every red light, lost in thought, until some impatient driver behind me lays on their horn and snaps me back to the road. Before I even register the journey, my Jeep is sliding into its usual spot in the underground garage.
Cade’s sleek black Porsche sits right beside it like an expensive reminder that my sanctuary is no longer mine alone. I can’t just walk in, collapse on my own couch, and wallow in self-pity. There’s another human in there now… one who takes up space, both physically and mentally.
I climb out, lock the Jeep with a sharp beep, and head straight for the elevator. Too much to process, way too early. I always take Dr. Hart’s very first appointment slot, so after cutting today’s session short, it’s only half past eight. Far too early in the day to be grappling with the fact that a professional who specialises in sexual issues thinks I might be gay.
I step into the elevator and press the button for the nineteenth floor, leaning back against the mirrored wall as the doors slide shut.
