She shrugged. “I never had many friends. The two I felt most comfortable with didn’t know what to say. Neither did I. The counselor tried, but I just sat there. I did what I was told, made up the work I’d missed, and didn’t make any trouble. People just kinda left me alone.”
I tried to keep her talking. “What about your mother?”
“The bitch left me alone, too. Good thing. For both of us. I wanted to stab her with the big knife from the kitchen. I’d get so worked up I could hardly eat and sometimes what I did eat came back up.”
My eyes strayed to her curves. She caught my look and smiled. She crushed out her cigarette, sat back and crossed her legs, slow and sexy. I feared I had revealed too much and felt my face grow hot. I’ve always been a blusher. That’s the main reason I lie so seldom.
Fascinated, I watched a different person assume her body. The feral gaze of the sexpot displaced the helpless child and the All-American ‘girl next door.’ The control of the conversation shifted. The act of smoothing down her blouse provided an excuse to run her hands across her prominent bosom.
When she answered, her voice dropped an octave. “You’re right, Sue. I lost so much weight that even the sour bitch got worried. But after a while, I started eating again.” She cupped her breasts, stared into my eyes, and pushed out her full lips in a sexy pout. “I think I developed well enough. Don’t you?”
I gripped my pen so hard my knuckles turned white. I kept my gaze steady for a moment and then glanced at the clock. “Do you think that’s a good place to stop for the day?”
She looked at the couch, back to me, and pushed out her lips even further. “Not really. Don’t you want to, well, ‘go on’?”
My eyes widened at the obvious sexual innuendo. I needed to regain control but couldn’t think of a way. My personal feelings were getting in the way of my professional duties. If this continued, I would have to let her go as a patient. I cleared my throat and said, “Until next week, then.”
She walked to the couch and bent over to put on her shoes, giving me a full view of her extraordinary bottom. She turned her head to make sure I was looking, then straightened up and sauntered to the door. I remained glued to my chair. She turned, winked at me, and left.
Regaining the ability to move, I got up and locked the door. My next patient wasn’t due for twenty minutes. My panties were damp and I could smell my own arousal. I lay on the couch, lifted my skirt, reached inside my pantyhose and panties, rubbed my clit and thought of Vanessa cupping her breasts and pouting with those full lips. It only took a few moments for me to come. When I caught my breath I went into the ladies room down the hall. I wrapped the soiled underwear in a paper towel and threw them away. I wet another one, rubbed some soap into it and cleaned myself as well as I could. As I washed my hands, I muttered, “Oh my God, this has got to stop.”
Session 03
Bill, my own therapist and a classmate from med school, sat there silent, looking at me. Because he was my best friend, I allowed myself to step outside the bounds of strict professionalism. In other words, I let my frustration show. “Well, dammit, say something.”
He sighed. “Sue, you’re one of the smartest people I know. You already know what I need to say so why make me say it?”
I darted my eyes down and to the left. “I’m not obsessed with Vanessa.”
I heard the friendly derision in his voice. “You also know that the downward glance to the left always, and I mean ALWAYS signifies a lie. If you’re not consciously lying to your old pal and your therapist, you’re lying to yourself. She’s all you’ve talked about since you started treating her. You’re clearly obsessed. Combined with the tender feelings and the need to ‘save’ her, well,” he shrugged, “speaking in the vernacular, you’re in love with her.”
I remained silent. He pressed on. “You must stop treating her immediately. For your own sake. At the very least, she clearly has a character disorder and you know what that means; manipulative and narcissistic. And Christ, I never heard of a nonpsychotic patient with such severe mood swings. Are you sure she’s not bipolar? If not, you have to consider that she may just be playing some kind of sick game. She discovered your carnal interest in her, took control of the session, and offered you sex right there in your office. She has no reported history of drug or alcohol abuse and she’s not on prescription meds. If she’s not psychotic, she is severely neurotic and in that case, I’d say she uses sex as her drug of choice. It’s her response to stress.”
I stared at him for a few moments. “I’ve considered the possibility that she’s bipolar, but I won’t make that diagnosis until I’ve seen a lot more of her. And if she’s just playing a neurotic game, I got her to reveal her hand. I can use that knowledge to take back control of the therapy.”
He shook his head. “But at what cost? You’re putting your career on the line. Having an affair with a patient is the easiest way for a psychiatrist to lose her credentials. Not to mention giving the patient a cause of action for malpractice. Do you want to be discredited, bankrupted, and mocked all because of one brief encounter with this woman?”
I reared up. “I won’t give her the chance. You know how firm I can be when I make a decision.”
That deflated him. He cast his eyes down and, when he spoke, I could barely hear his response. “Yes, I remember when you turned me down. And yes, I still think about what could have been between us.”
I softened my tone. “I don’t want to hurt you again, but I don’t dwell on that aspect of our relationship. I have the ability to put such things behind me and move forward.”
He closed his eyes and remained silent. I continued. “I know. I’m too competitive and that’s not good for my emotional health. It makes me seem cold and distant. But that’s MY defense mechanism and I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve already put my last session with Vanessa behind me. I’m not in any danger now. Really. I think the incident has given me the knowledge to treat her.”
Bill shrugged. “What do you plan to do?”
“A character disorder is essentially self-delusion, a lie. I’ll confront her with her failure to seduce me and probe her sexual history.”
He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “As you wish. Good luck. But if the situation bites you in that sweet ass of yours, don’t forget I told you so.”
***
That session with Bill was on the Monday after “the session.” When I invited Vanessa into my office on Wednesday, I noticed from the way she dressed that she fully intended to carry on where she had left off. She wore her makeup simple, but she had drawn her eyeliner past the corner of her eye, a sure-fire advertisement of sexual availability. Her skirt was tight enough to show the outline of her garter belt, the smoothness of her rear indicated no panty lines, her neckline plunged to exhibit plenty of cleavage, and on her feet she wore high-heeled sandals. A sultry smile complimented her outfit. She intended to seduce me or continue playing the seduction game.