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She quickly and convincingly pointed out that I work rather hard and am, ultimately, paying my bills on time, that I have friends, an appreciation for arts and culture, and so on. ” “I was hoping to avoid it, I suppose.” I tell her the whole notion of having the hots for a therapist is such a sizable cliché that I was embarrassed to admit it.
“I also feel that it is your sensitivity that makes you a great catch out there in the dating world,” she said, to which I involuntarily smiled, blushed and quickly buried my chin in my chest. “I knew you were going to say that.” I smile, shake my head and look around the room, denying acceptance of my own ridiculous reality. “We can talk about this in here.” I look again at her stark blue eyes, prevalent under dark brown bangs, the rest of her hair reaching the top of her chest, which is hugged nicely by a fitted white tee under an open button-down. By showing the patient a level of acceptance, she hopes to facilitate a more comfortable atmosphere for “the work” — her painfully accurate pseudonym for psychotherapy.
I was too insecure and too single to handle such a compliment from a beautiful woman. She jogs often, I’d come to find out, which explains her petite figure and ability to probably pull off just about any outfit of her choosing. “Do you think you’re the first client that’s been attracted to their therapist? “I’ve had other clients openly discuss their feelings, even their sexual fantasies involving me.” “What? I take a second to let the red flow out of my face, and ponder what she said.
In treatment I came to realize that all people have contradictions to their personalities.
There’s the insanely smart guy who can’t remotely begin to navigate a common social situation, the charitable girl who devotes all her time to helping strangers, but won’t confront issues in her own personal relationships.
Then she says, “And don’t think it’s not nice for me to hear that a guy like you thinks I’m beautiful.” Crippled by the eroticism of the moment, and combined with the prevailing notion that no woman this stunning could ever be romantically interested in me, I flounder through words that resemble, “Wait…what? But, as the dualities of life dictate, I’m successfully doing “the work” with a daring therapist, while at the same time not entirely convinced she isn’t in need of an ethical scrubbing.
” “If we were somehow at a bar together, and you came over and talked to me,” she says, then flips her palms up innocently, “who knows? * * * I don’t have another session with Lori for nearly three months, because she took a personal leave from her place of employment.” “Because talking openly about sex is risky at any time, much less with a client.” She explains that therapists are warned any semblance of intimacy can be easily misconstrued. How do I know for sure that you won’t take me if I offer myself to you?“We learn in our training to not personally disclose, for example,” she says, but adds that, occasionally, transparency can be helpful. ” she says a little louder, opening up her arms and looking around as if to say the office is now our playground, and, oh, the rollicking fun we’d have mixing bodily fluids. ” “I wouldn’t do that.” “That’s what I thought,” she says, and tension in the room decomposes.We all throw verbal darts around as though we’re engaged in a massive, drunken tournament at a bar, but the most poisonous ones seem to hit me the most often, admittedly somewhat a consequence of my own sensitivity.I’ve been told it was historically all part of an effort to toughen me up, but instead I was filled with towering doubts about my own worth.It’s the waning moments of my fourth session with a new therapist. My entire body feels tense, not ideal for the setting.Tags: Adult Dating, affair dating, sex dating