Christy, the Sex Therapist Pt. 01

1

Marcus checked the address on his phone and knew he was walking in the right direction. He found the building, entered the elevator, and exited a few seconds later. He stepped out into the small atrium on the 10th floor. He turned left, then left again, and found the room he needed.

He opened the thick glass door and entered the waiting room. The walls were painted a light, pastel blue. There were five or six chairs, but Marcus was the only person in the room. Faint strains of classical music streamed from a seemingly-forgotten transistor radio. Freshly cut flowers were vased on a table in the corner of the room. Some innocuous glossy magazines collected dust on another small table. Marcus guessed the magazines would've been about travel or architecture. They usually were. He couldn't be bothered to check.

There were three consultation rooms leading off from the waiting room. One of them had a sign on the door which read "THERAPY IN PROGRESS. DO NOT ENTER FOR ANY REASON UNLESS THE BUILDING IS ON FIRE." Marcus suspected this was where the really serious headcases went to get fixed up, perhaps patients who were beyond the reach of regular psychology.

He was waiting to meet a sex therapist.

Was Marcus a headcase? He wasn't sure.

As he waited, his mind reached back five years when the relationship he was in at the time hit some serious waves. His girlfriend at the time started withdrawing from the relationship, and Marcus couldn't work out why. He also felt that if he pressed the issue with her, he'd push her further away. They'd been together for about nine years and, only a year and a half earlier, they'd bought their dream home together. Mortgages are the modern-day marriage, right? Marcus thought they'd be together forever.

About two months before the relationship finally died, his girlfriend moved out of their dream home. Temporarily. Her investment property was between tenants, and she said she needed to do some minor repairs while it was unoccupied. Marcus offered to help but his girlfriend said no -- she had it under control, she said, and besides, it would give her some space and time to do some thinking. She said she would come back after two or three weeks, once she had a new tenant lined up. Marcus wasn't sure exactly what was on her mind, but he suspected it was something about their relationship.

Through their mutual circle of friends, Marcus began learning about how his girlfriend was accumulating furniture in her investment property, and how she started hosting parties to which Marcus wasn't invited. It sounded like she was getting pretty settled under a new roof. He felt paralysed and unsure. He felt relationship doom was just around the corner, but there were nothing but question marks in his head.

Needless to say, she didn't come back. She rang Marcus one night and suggested it would be good if she came over for dinner. Marcus cooked her favourite meal. After they'd eaten, she broke Marcus's heart. She said she wasn't coming back, and she needed to be 'by herself' for a while. She told Marcus there was no need to move out of their home any time soon, but the walls were decorated with art, photos and memories of their time together. He couldn't look at it. Any of it. He had to get away. He found a rental property near his work building, and in a thick fog of depression, he borrowed a car from a friend, and moved his personal belongings out of his abandoned dream home to his new rental.

Marcus was suicidal. He spoke to his doctor, he cried in the office, she prescribed him some medication and suggested a psychologist he should see. Two weeks later (he'll never quite know how he stayed alive), he was in the psychologist's consultation rooms. Over time, and with a lot of hard work on Marcus's part, the psychologist helped him to get his life and his emotional state back into some kind of balance. Eventually, his ex-girlfriend was more or less forgotten, and it was only their overlapping circle of friends that kept reminding him of her.

If Marcus had to live through this hellish period of his life, he wanted to learn something from it. He wanted to learn more about himself. It wasn't enough for him to be able to function in society again, he wanted to know what made him tick. He wanted to know what made him human. He wanted to know what made Marcus Marcus.

The first thing Marcus accepted was that he was bisexual. He didn't need any psychological assistance to reach this conclusion; to Marcus it was already self-evident. Marcus was at a low point in his life, the absolute lowest he'd ever felt, and there seemed no point denying truth to himself anymore. He'd never been in a relationship with a man, and he didn't want to. But he couldn't avoid the fact that in the later years of his relationship with his ex, he began gravitating more and more towards gay porn, and away from straight porn. Firm tits and wet pussies still got him hard, and he already suspected that glossy thick red lipstick would be his kryptonite for the rest of his life. But he couldn't deny that he loved cock, too. He couldn't deny that he checked out guys at the gym and wondered what it'd feel like to be bent over and dominated. He even jerked off at night imagining hot scenarios in the locker room, spraying his cum all over the bedsheets. He'd never admited any of this to anyone before. At all. But he now admitted it to himself. He owned his bisexuality, and the relief he felt within himself was indescribable.

Over the course of a few years, Marcus talked with his psychologist about many things. They talked about friendships, relationships, emotional connection, and personal motivation. They talked about travel, culture, art and history. They talked about diet, exercise, alcohol and drugs. Marcus learned a great deal about himself. He'd moved a million miles away from thoughts of suicide. While he hoped he'd never again live through an experience as raw or as scarring as the relationship breakup, and he was self-aware enough to recognise he'd built emotional 'walls' to protect him from future pain, in some ways he was glad of the experience. He believed he was a better, more mature and more connected person because of what he'd been through, and he was able to see, with the clarity of 20-20 hindsight, that his ex wasn't right for him. He knew he was better off without her.

But he wasn't perfect, right? Nobody ever knows absolutely everything about themselves, do they? Even though Marcus could see so much more of the submerged part of his personal iceberg than before, he knew he'd never see it all.

Marcus and his psychologist also talked about sex. At one session, his psych asked Marcus how often he and his ex had sex. Marcus replied that they started off having sex maybe 3 times a week or so, but the frequency eventually dwindled until they stopped having sex altogether.

"Why'd you stop having sex with her?", the psych asked. "Did you lose interest? Do you think she did? Were you just too busy?". He put his reading glasses on and began taking some notes on a notepad.

"Probably a bit of all three", Marcus replied. "She had a busy job, probably 60 or 70 hours a week, and towards the end, there wasn't much time for me in it."

"Yeah I get that. But were you still attracted to her?"

"Absolutely I was, but I probably didn't let her know that often enough. Maybe when we stopped having sex, she might've thought I'd gone off her, or something. Nine years is a long time. I never cheated on her, and to the best of my knowledge she didn't cheat on me. Maybe we could've been more adventurous. Maybe we should've just fucking talked to each other."

"What would you have said to her? I mean, if you could wind back the clock?", the psych asked.

Marcus paused to think. "I'm not sure. I mean, it isn't enough to say to someone 'I love you, and I think you're hot', but then not want to fuck them, is it?"

The psychologist tapped his pen on his notepad. "Why didn't you want to have intercourse with her, Marcus?" Psychologists like to probe, don't they.

"I mean, it's normal, isn't it, for the fire to go out? I mean, eventually, that is? You move into a phase where you mature together and prepare to put down roots and grow old together. You can't always be on fire in the sack. But it's true to say I stopped trying, but then again, so did she. Later in our relationship, she never came home from work and clawed me like she used to do. She was just so preoccupied with work, and I felt crowded out. But I never lost my sex drive. My libido is quite healthy."

"How do you know that?"

"I masturbate. Probably a bit more than most people. Three or four times a day, usually. I watch a lot of porn."

Of course, the psych picked up on the porn angle. He cleared his throat. "Do you think you substituted porn for sex?"

Marcus paused again. This was a challenging conversation, but he was learning a lot about himself. There was no point being in this room if he wasn't prepared to be honest with himself. "Maybe. I don't know. I mean, masturbating is easier, right? You only have to look after yourself. Maybe that's selfish. The other thing is, my ex's blowjobs were terrible and she wasn't interested in anal. In contrast, porn looks perfect."

Marcus looked out the window and noticed a pair of birds perched on the telegraph line outside the psych's office. He continued.

"I remember one day when she went out to buy the week's groceries. As soon as the car pulled out of the drive, the laptop was on and my pants were around my ankles. I thought to myself I've got a good hour here, so go nuts. I was jerking off watching a chick with massive tits getting railed in the ass. I was just about to cum when I heard the key turning in the front door half an hour earlier than I anticipated. I was quick enough to pull my pants up and to shut the laptop, but the unmistakable noises of porn kept coming out of the speaker. And because I was right on the brink, I came. She could see the tent in my pants. There was no hiding it. So she clearly knew I wasn't asexual, and that I hadn't lost my drive, but that my drive had been ... shall we say ... redirected."

"What happened? How did she react?"

"She looked down, saw my pants, and without any emotion at all, she said 'the groceries are in the car, help me bring them inside'."

The psych took all of this in. "Do you think she might have felt something at this point? Even though she gave you no clues at all, what do you think she might have been feeling?"

"Surprise. Perhaps rejection. Sexual rejection. I guess. But in my own mind, I never sexually rejected her. She was always sexy as fuck to me. But if she did feel rejection, I can see why. Having said that, I felt pretty sexually rejected too, and maybe that's why I started watching so much porn. I guess the fire went out for both of us, but just because the sex disappears, does that mean the relationship has to?"

"No, of course not", the psych responded. "Plenty of people are in sexless relationships. They either enjoy it, accept it, tolerate it, or they find sexual outlets elsewhere. Or the relationship ends, and it sounds like this is what happened in your case. Do you regret not having a conversation about this?"

Marcus reached for the tissues. "Yes, of course I do." He blew his nose. "But I never would've known where to start. She was pretty conservative in bed, but she couldn't possibly have thought the same about me. I wonder if she has similar regrets about not talking to me. Probably not. But in any case, it was hard to find the right environment to have a conversation about this anyway. She'd 'temporarily' moved out."

"Did you love her?"

"Yes. I wanted to be with her forever."

"Even though you didn't have sex with her."

"Well, yeah. I thought there might be a way to make it work. And until she 'temporarily' moved out, I thought this was what we *both* wanted. It didn't seem like an issue for her, she didn't mention anything to me, so I didn't want to rock the boat by bringing something up that didn't need to be brought up."

The psych took his reading glasses off and looked directly at Marcus. "Do you see where I'm going here?"

Marcus wasn't sure. He waited.

The psych continued: "I wonder if you loved her so much, you couldn't have sex with her."

A bomb went off in the back row of Marcus's brain.

*

At their next session, the psych returned to this theme. They talked more, and Marcus wondered if there could be some truth to what his psych said. Maybe he can't have sex with people he loves. But why?

Marcus pushed forward on his quest for knowledge about himself. The question was worth pursuing. If this was true, then *why* was it true?

The psych turned to his laptop and pulled up a website. "Here you go, Marcus. I recommend you go and see Christy. She's a specialist in a range of psychological issues around sex. If you really want to dig into this issue, I think she'd be a really good person for you to meet. Her rooms are not too far from here. I'll print off her details. You don't need a letter of recommendation from me, you can just make an appointment on her website."

At the end of the session, Marcus settled his bill with the sexy trans receptionist. He imagined her bent over, leaning on the desk, her dress hiked up, and his cock buried way deep in her asspussy. He imagined pulling out at the very last minute and coating her face with his seed.

Nup, there was nothing wrong with his sex drive.

He continued waiting in the waiting room. Classical music, pale blue walls, freshly cut flowers. Christy was running a little bit late for their first appointment. They'd never met each other. Neither of them knew what the other looked like.

*

2

The elevator dinged, and Marcus heard the sound of the doors opening. Footsteps. Someone was approaching. The glass door swung open.

She spoke. "Hi ... umm ... Marcus?"

Marcus stood up and nodded. They shook hands, and Marcus felt Christy's long red fingernails scrape lightly across his palm.

"I'm so sorry I'm a little bit late. Come through."

Christy's room afforded a beautiful view of a distant mountain range to the south of the city. There was a small desk with a computer on it, a small bookshelf, and two couches that faced each other. The walls were painted that same calming meaningless insanely bullshit pastel blue.

"Nice to meet you, Marcus".

"Thanks, yeah, you too."

Marcus looked at Christy. She was in her early 30s, he guessed. Long black hair, in ringlets. Deep, clear blue eyes. Massive breasts -- surely those tits couldn't possibly be real -- and a fat ass that would send men to their deaths. Christy had a tattoo sleeve on one arm that went all the way up to the side of her neck, she wore a short black leather skirt which was straining at the seams to contain her incredible ass, and her lips were painted with the thickest, glossiest, red lipstick Marcus had ever seen. There was a small tattoo of a heart underneath her left eye.

Christy looked at Marcus. She didn't see anything especially attractive, but she didn't see anything that repelled her either. She noted his loose-fitting t-shirt, his shorts that covered his knees, his long goth socks, his Doc Marten boots and the thick tattoo of a brick wall on his left forearm. She noticed that he was a little bit chubby, but she didn't care. Christy was a professional. Her job was to provide counsel and advice. Fucking her clients was out of the question.

Marcus was here to learn about himself. This experience was nothing to do with his body, this was all about his mind and his soul. Having said that, there was no denying that his therapist was incredibly fucking hot. Given he wasn't here for anything other than to engage in therapy, it might've been better for him if his therapist was a 70 year old man wearing beige and grey.

Christy invited Marcus to get comfortable on one of the couches. Christy herself sat on the other. She crossed her legs, cleared her throat and began to speak.

"Can I get you anything before we get started, Marcus? Would you like some water, perhaps?"

Marcus had brought a bottle of water with him in his backpack. "No, I'm good. Thanks." Looking at Christy, he felt a little parched. He pulled the water bottle out of his pack and took a swig. He rested the bottle on the small table next to the couch, he might need it again. He wasn't sure how this next hour would play out, but he assumed Christy had been around this particular block hundreds of times before.

Christy had a form that she asked clients to fill in on their first visit. She took a copy of it, attached it to a clipboard, produced a pen and gave the information combination to Marcus. "Could you please fill this in for me, Marcus?". It was basic stuff -- name, address, date of birth, and so on. There were questions about marital and relationship history. It was the kind of information any doctor would collect about a patient. Marcus took his time and made sure to write legibly and clearly. Once the assignment was complete, he tucked the pen inside the clip of the clipboard and returned the form to Christy.

Christy looked over the form and rested the clipboard on her lap. "Thank you, Marcus, I appreciate that. So, before we get started, I just wanted to ask, do you feel comfortable?"

Marcus was in no doubt. "Yep, I'm totally comfortable. I want to learn as much as I can about myself with you, including about my sexuality and how it connects to my libido. I'm really hoping you can help me with this."

Christy shifted. "Yes, I think I can. I mean, we haven't discussed why you're here yet, but if it's related to sex, then that's what I get paid for, right?". Despite her appearance, she was completely professional. "You know, some people can find this experience unnerving and difficult. I understand that, but I want you to know you'll only get out of this experience what you're willing to put in."

Marcus agreed completely. He took another sip of water.

The conversation started. Christy asked Marcus about his upbringing, his parents and siblings, about school, about higher education and about his career. She asked about his friends and his hobbies. She asked about his relationship history, and she asked whether he was in a relationship right now. "No, I'm not", replied Marcus. "At the moment, I'm just looking after myself."

Christy made a note on the clipboard. They started talking. "So there's one thing I don't ask on the form, because it makes some people feel a bit uncomfortable, but it's a question that will help immeasurably. Can I ask, what's your orientation?"

Marcus knew exactly what she meant. "I'm bisexual."

Christy responded immediately. "So am I. What makes *you* bisexual?"

Marcus responded. "Well, I don't know, maybe that's part of the reason I'm here. When I was at school, I always lusted after the popular hot chicks and I jerked off every night wondering what it'd be like to fuck 'em, but I also watched football practice. I remember thinking at the time 'is this normal?' and so I stopped watching football practice because I thought that's what society wanted me to do. But it didn't stop me cumming to the thought of dicks in my face and it didn't stop me eating my own cum imagining it belonged to the football team captain. And nowadays I watch a lot of porn. Straight porn, but also gay porn. For a long time I thought something was wrong with me, but now I know there isn't."

Christy leaned forward. "Yeah, being bisexual is totally normal. There's absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to have sexual experiences with both men and women. But are you worried there might be something else 'wrong' with you, Marcus?". She actually used the air-quotes. Marcus wasn't sure what was being implied.

Marcus responded. "So why are *you* bisexual?". He didn't feel familiar enough with Christy to call her by her name. And he wasn't meaning to pry, he was really just trying to anchor his own position.