He knows you better than any man you ever dated. How could you not experience some transference? Ooh, that comfy couch, soft lighting, and the smell of mahogany. Plus, he’s not going to be poking and guessing; he’ll be asking, “How does that make you feel?”
I don’t care what kind of oath Dr. Feelgood took, either. He, at some level, at one time or another definitely fantasizes about bending you over, and treating like the dirty whore you think you are. No harm in it, actually. It makes the sessions spicier.
Come on. You’re telling him (or her … oh, my) your darkest desires. You may be ten years into a marriage with a clueless bed warmer. The doc has it all scribbled on his legal pad. Then, after you leave, he tells his dictation machine how much of a lovely mess you are.
Well, there are some technical difficulties involved in dating your therapist. Unethical? Absolutely. Hot? Fuck, yes. I say they balance each other out, so if you got the itch, go for it. The question is, how does one broach the subject while riding the leather horse? While answering those probing questions, take some notes from Sharon Stone (the 1992 version). Talk sexy. Squirm a bit. Curl your toes. Touch yourself. Describe, in detail, the fantasy tryst you’d have with a man who, oddly enough, resembles the guy next to you, peering over his reading glasses.
Unless he’s a total freak, he’ll be able to resist pouncing on you in his office. Take things to the edge there, but don’t jump. Next, you’ll need to do some stalker-ish things. Hang out by his office at the end of his day, and follow him to where he unwinds. After a full day of listening to women talk about how their men won’t go down on them, he’ll need to go down on a tumbler full of Jameson. Wait till he’s halfway through one, then plop down across the bar from him. When he sees you, smile and wink. Let him do the approaching.
He’ll keep the conversation light. Don’t mention therapy at all. He will, eventually. Touch his arm, playfully. Smile, and laugh at his clever wit. Ask him to tell you stories about some of his other patients, while keeping it anonymous. Tell him how smart he is, and how you wish you had a man who truly understood you.
By the time you finish your second libation, he’ll be ready to provide internal massage services. Yay, you! Keep in mind, there are drawbacks. You might do-the-sexy three or four times, then he’s going to begin freaking out, and seeing his therapist, who will tell him to knock it the fuck off. He’ll tell you this. You’ll still do it a few more times, until he totally loses his shit. Then, you’ll need a new therapist. That’s OK. What a great story you’ll have for your girlies!
Heck, you might learn a few things about yourself along the way. He listens to fascinating fantasies all day. Maybe he has a few tricks up his sleeve—things you haven’t considered. It might be nice to have meaningful post-coital discussion while mopping up. You’ll be more grounded for the next non-therapist, to help tolerate the grunting and inattentiveness toward certain erogenous zones, including your dirty mind, you devil.