The Therapist's Journey Ch. 09

I returned home after my first summer, got a job, and hung out with friends. It was an aimless existence. I was rarely at home; I mostly crashed with my buddies. It took Mom a day to track me down to let me know a Dallas cousin had died in a car crash. This may sound hard-hearted, but I wasn't all that upset. I barely knew the kid and what I remembered I didn't like. However, the California sister decided that all the cousins required grief-therapy and offered to pay for it. I was dismissive of the idea, but Mom told me it was important to my aunt and finally, mostly to make Mom happy, I agreed to go.

I asked around, heard good things about a psychologist in town, and made an appointment. She was thirty-nine and attractive, but not, as I tried to described Theresa and Sally in this story, drop-dead gorgeous. She walked for exercise, had short brown hair, and could have dropped ten pounds. She was on the buxom side.

About half-way though the first session she agreed that I did not need grief therapy. When I told her I still needed to come for two more sessions, we had a brief discussion about the ethics of accepting money to provide unnecessary care. We decided to donate the fee to a local battered woman's shelter. I tried to convince her that I didn't need to come back and she should keep the money, but she nixed that idea.

I came back for two sessions. We mostly chatted. I found I really liked the woman and thought there was some chemistry between us. After the final session I asked if she wanted to get a cup of coffee. She politely said no and I figured I'd never see her again.

About two weeks later she called and said if I was still interested in that cup of coffee, she was buying. We met at a place near her house, the conversation flowed freely, and she invited me to her home, where we became lovers. I went from a guy not particularly good with girls and had been laid only twice -- on both occasions both the girl and I were drunk -- to being with an attractive experienced older woman who was playing no games and wanted to fuck non-stop. It was heaven.

I learned she had been divorced for eight years. She initially dated regularly with the hope of finding a father for her son, but the relationships always fizzled. She talked about the general difficultly of a blended marriage, but recognized her biggest problem was that she was unwilling to give anyone else authority over her boy. About four years ago she swore off serious dating until he left for college. When her need for sex became distracting she had a discrete married friend to help her out. When she needed an escort an event or party, she called on a gay friend.

Summer was different. While her son attended a camp in North Carolina for six weeks in July and August she took a younger man as a lover. I was that year's choice. I had to agree our fling ended when the summer did and to keep it a secret. Early on -- it was during the first week -- we were making love when she moaned Timmy, her son's name. I should have been offended, but at that time if you were willing to fuck me, it was near impossible to offend me. I thought about it that night. The idea that she might have a thing for her son turned me on. I was not immune to incestual thoughts. I may have thought my yoga-doing aunt was a kook, but I'd noticed she had a helluva body. I came up with an idea. It was a terrible idea. My new lover had exhibited a kinky/adventuresome side. She liked to talk dirty, we had done anal and deep throat, and she had talked a lot about the other things she wanted to do: role play, public sex, bondage, lingerie. I figured she was up for anything and so I hatched a plan if she mentioned her son again.

A few days later she we were doing it doggy-style and she muttered, "Timmy." I said, "That's right, Timmy loves his mother's sweet cunt," she said, "What!," I said, "Timmy loves his Mama's sweet cunt," and she said, "Are you nuts?"

I went into complete defensive mode, explaining that she had called me Timmy twice and I thought it was fine and had decided to play along and she started crying. She told me it wasn't my fault, but I had to leave. I started to argue, but she cried harder and I left, thinking how could I have possibly screwed this up.

She called the next day, apologized, and invited me over. When I arrived she handed me a glass of wine and asked me to repeat what she had said. After I did so she confessed that she was intensely attracted to her son, had been for years, didn't know what to do about it, would I "please please" not tell anyone, and asked if I thought she was a pervert. I was smart enough by this point, at least, not to go beyond vague general consoling and held her in my arms. Eventually I lay with her and we fell asleep.

The next day, slightly hung over, she asked me what I thought. I told her she was fine and that if she was nuts so was I because I was stimulated by the idea of her and her son. I guess I did okay. She took me to her bed and we made love most of the day. She later explained how good it felt to finally get it off her chest.

Over the next weeks she and I openly discussed her feelings for her son and frequently role played. Most of Chapter One and a lot of this Chapter of The Therapist's Journey is based on our role playing while on a beach trip. I encouraged her to take her son as her lover. At the time I thought my motives were pure but in retrospect it's clear I did it in part because it turned on both of us, adding fuel to our lovemaking.

As you can imagine, at the end of the six weeks I did not want to leave. I thought I was in love. She reminded me of our agreement. I cried,. She assured me that once I was back with all those of college girls I'd be okay. The next day I returned to the West Coast and found out she was pretty much right. I hit a party the first night and met a chick whose hard body, blonde hair, and tiny shorts would have left me tongue-tied two months ago. We were bed-buddies before the sun came up.

I only dimly realized it then, but time has given me the perspective to understand that her decision to take a different young inexperienced lover each summer was a way to live out her fantasy of seducing her son.

I returned to my hometown at Christmas but kept my word and stayed away. I spent all but the last two weeks of the next summer on the West Coast. When I returned home temptation got the best of me and I drove by her house to find a realtor's sign with "SOLD" on it.

Over the years I've thought of her often and wondered if she got together with her son. When the internet gave me the chance to look them up, I found him immediately. He was an attorney; his firm's web-site showed he had gone to college in Vermont. I had more trouble with her until I realized she had to be licensed. I went to the web-site of the board that licenses psychologists in Vermont and discovered she received her license there in what would have been his first year of college. I guess that doesn't prove they hooked up, but it's reason to hope. I've always liked to imagine they did.