Pavlovian Reaction

So I did go to the next meeting, and since my friendship with Pris had gone back to normal I was happy to go with her. As soon as I entered the small room, I immediately felt awkward and wanted to leave. Grey plastic chairs with metal legs were placed in an awfully cliché circle, and since there was no "special chair" I supposed that the woman leading the whole thing sat in the circle with "the rest of us". I was beginning to really be bothered by the whole thing, even the table with soft drinks and snacks to the right made me feel uncomfortable. All the other people who were there and those that arrived later, appeared just as uncomfortable as me, and made me feel even more so.

There were eight of us in total, counting me and Pris, and I wondered when we would start. Pris took a seat next to an indifferent looking guy wearing a full Adidas outfit, shoes and all. I sat next to her, and looked around at the faces gathered in that small circle. None of them seemed interesting to me, which was odd given that they should be the sort of people who were at least interesting. We all sat in silence for a few awkward moments, except two people near the table with the drinks and snacks chatting quietly. The low volume of their chatting just made the silence in the circle seem more noticeable. I was beginning to become very fidgety, when the door we all came through opened and a woman came in. She smiled slightly at us, carrying something that looked like a large folder in her left hand, and closed the door with her right.

"I'm sorry for not being here on time to meet you all. There was a particularly tiresome meeting going on, and for some reason they insisted on me staying till the end, even though I have hardly anything to do with the PR strategy of this organization."

She smiled warmly, but without showing her teeth. She was older, as Pris had said, and it was most evident in the creases around the sides of her mouth, but they made her light smile seem genuine, and somehow motherly. Her hair was light brown, with some natural-looking highlights, picked up in a short ponytail, with a few loose strands around her face, shorter than the rest of the hair, reaching almost to her chin. Her hair was slightly wavy, at least judging by the strands of it hanging by her face, and gave off the impression of someone who casually looks good. The light tan seemed as natural as her highlights, and I found myself hoping slightly that they were in fact natural -- that the highlights and the tan were sun-kissed and not the product of a solarium or a hairdresser.

I could tell her clothes were expensive, but of the quality kind, not flashy. She wore tight black pants, and a tight black t-shirt with sleeves to about half of her bicep, with a wide grey stripe along the middle. Her entire appearance could be summed up as "clean, professional, well dressed, but also modest in all that." I couldn't make out a single brand on her anywhere, even though I had already concluded that her clothes were surely pricey. I wondered how much money she made working for such non-profit organizations, and whether that was all she did. I would have been a very poor lesbian if I hadn't noticed the body covered by those clothes. The t-shirt, though tightly fitting, wasn't of the revealing sort -- it covered her completely up to her neck, and showed almost no skin. However, that skin seemed tight underneath, none of the light wiggling expected of someone "her age" (I didn't know what age that was exactly, but she looked to be roughly around my mother's age, which was 46).

My eyes passed briefly over her breasts, the stripe the t-shirt had made it hard for me to place the size and shape of her breasts more precisely than "smaller than mine". That previous lack of wiggling seemed to be an attribute of her lower body as well. The pants (they reminded me of black jeans, but the material was different) hugged her thighs, and I could see the movement and tensing of nicely toned muscles when she stepped forward.

This was all taken in by me and already half-processed by the time she finished her sentence and closed the door. The one thing that irritated me about her was that she had the air and manner of speaking that psychologists/psychiatrists usually have. She placed whatever she was holding in her left hand when she came in on an empty chair next to the table with refreshments. No one said anything since she came in, but it wasn't an awkward sort of silence.

I realized I might be the only new person that week, and that everyone else had already been through this at least once before. I really, really hoped this wouldn't make her single me out in some way, I would hate to be asked to "say something about myself".

She sat in one of the empty chairs from the circle, drawing it back before doing so. This was so we could all see her comfortably, even the ones closest to her. I wasn't one of them -- in fact I was almost directly opposite her, which made me feel more open than if I was sitting two inches away from her. She crossed her legs, right one over the left, and held her knee with both her hands, fingers intertwined, and smiled. I noticed she had a watch on her left hand, slightly bigger than the thin band with a small circle most older women preferred, but also as not-flashy as the rest of the things on her.

I also noticed something else, although I hadn't realized I noticed it until later, when I went through the whole meeting in my head, namely that she wasn't wearing any rings, including anything that could be a wedding or engagement ring.

She started the conversation with the group lightly, and in the first quarter of an hour it seemed as if we had all come to have coffee with her, nothing else. She looked at me a few times, even though I hadn't joined in on the conversation, and I dreaded her asking me to. I wasn't especially socially awkward, but I disliked situations where I wasn't even remotely certain of what I should do. She didn't ask me anything though, and I wondered whether she knew how much I didn't want her to do that.

After one of the guys there finished telling his story about how he managed to pass one of his finals by studying for 17 hours straight something that should have been studied for at least 2 weeks prior, I began to wonder whether this whole meeting was going to be just people talking about random stuff in their lives. She spoke soon after I had finished that thought, and the laughter of the group subsided after a joke the previous speaker made.

"Now, you all probably remember that last time I told you-" She looked at me, making a slight pause in her speech and my heart seemed to stop beating for a fraction of time. I didn't know whether that happened because I was worried that she'd ask me to say something, or because of the direct eye contact, along with the pause.

She continued, "Well, not you, particularly, I haven't seen you here before." I gulped, getting ready for a question about myself. She went on, "Last time I expressed my dissatisfaction with the fact that we didn't have any time dedicated to private sessions, even short ones. You all appeared to agree with me on that point, so-" She smiled again, this time looking at no one in particular. "I think I have managed to change that yesterday. Now some of you may wonder why that was even a question, why couldn't I just meet up with each of you in my spare time if I was so eager to help?" This described my thoughts perfectly, as the others giggled. "Well, I could have done that, but that still wouldn't have excused you from coming to these group sessions, and I am fairly certain that you wouldn't be as motivated to come to a group session when a private one seemed so much more productive. So -- what I really managed to achieve is for private sessions to actually count towards your attendance, meaning that each private session counts as if you had attended one of these group meetings."

I could feel the entire group perk up upon hearing this. I wasn't aware young adults were so eager to talk to shrinks, but then again, this was a particularly attractive one.

However, I kept an open mind, it was possible that not everyone was eager to have more of her attention because of how she looked, but because of who she was and what she was capable of. I also wondered whether I was to be included in this list of future private sessions, after all this was my first meeting, and she "managed to achieve" private sessions for the group of people that came the previous weeks. I decided not to ask her then, but later, after we had finished, if I was still in the mood to keep going to these things.

She continued talking about light topics and soon everyone joined in as before, and I found myself wondering what Pris thought about the idea of being alone with this woman, in some shrink-ish room, maybe laying on a couch with her leg close to her face. I don't think I was jealous, but then again I don't know how else to describe the 'I'm just as attractive as her, why aren't you thinking of me?' feeling that was present. That was a slight lie though -- I didn't think I was as attractive as this woman, I thought she was beautiful, though not in a typical MILF sort of way, she just had all the qualities I found attractive in a woman.

The "meeting," if you can call it that, lasted for over an hour and a half more, but I didn't know that until it was over and I checked my phone for notifications. It was fun, even though I hadn't participated. I supposed the whole point of them was to get people talking, make them feel like they belong somewhere blah, blah; psychology was not my thing, but the atmosphere in the room was incomparably more pleasant than before the lengthy conversation. Several people got up from their chairs and went to the refreshments table to the right, the psychiatrist along with them (or psychologist, pardon if I use the terms interchangeably by accident, I know they are not the same thing but they fall into the same hateful category as far as I'm concerned). Maybe she wasn't even that, maybe she was just a social worker or something.

She was talking to one of the attendants, who remained sitting in his chair, with that look full of attention she had whenever she spoke to someone directly, or whenever someone was speaking to her. I don't know why, but it still annoyed me very much whenever I noticed it, regardless of who was the recipient of it, even though I should have considered it a very positive characteristic. I turned to see Pris standing and chatting with the group of people gathered around the snacks, and I realized that only I, some random member of this "let's talk it out" club, and "the shrink" were the only people still near to "the circle." The person she had been talking to before started to get up and go towards the others, finishing his speech as he did so.

I realized that I would be left alone with this woman if I didn't do the same quickly. The time it took me to stand up, turn around and grab my hoodie from the back of my chair was enough for the person to leave, and when I turned back I saw that she was standing where her chair had been, and looking at me with a light smile, still without showing her teeth. I don't think that she smiled widely at any time in the past two hours, and still managed to appear affable and attentive.

The smile deepened the creases on her right cheek more than on her left, and my gaze lingered on the right side for a moment. I returned a faint and probably awkward smile, considered going to join the group in whatever idle chatter they were absorbed in. It felt impolite for me to do so, since she was obviously waiting for me to finish picking up my stuff so that she could talk to me. As soon as I had fully turned to her, she extended her arm towards me. I shook it, wondering whether my grip would be too strong for her (I have heard actual complaints about my handshake "being too firm for a woman"), but hers seemed just as firm when she wrapped her fingers around my hand. I couldn't help noticing her hands were soft, and that made me warm up a bit. Apparently my subconscious was able to sexualize the shit out of a handshake.

"Hi, I'm very glad that you decided to join us. My name is Vallory. We-"

This is where I barely stifled a giggle, since the only other Vallory I had ever heard of was in a Borderlands game, and this one couldn't look more different than the other if she wanted. My brain was way ahead of me, and imagined the video game one shaking my hand instead of the real one. That handshake would have probably hurt much more if that were the case. Actually, I probably would have been dead before the handshake began. Her name was most likely spelt Valerie, but I decided to stick with the Borderlands spelling. Although I was fairly certain that this train of thought was completely unnoticeable in my countenance, and lasted for less than a third of a second, I saw her furrow her eyebrows just a bit while she spoke.

"- haven't had the chance to meet before the session started. I decided not to introduce myself to you, or you to myself for that matter, during the session because I thought you'd feel uncomfortable if I'd done that, and it wasn't necessary."

I nodded slightly, smiled wider, and introduced myself. There wasn't any "lingering handshake" moment where I awkwardly clung to her hand and wondered how soft it would feel around my neck; I just let go of her hand as soon as custom demanded. I felt extremely flirty, and in a split second decided that it wouldn't hurt to satisfy my sexual curiosity a bit. The worst thing that could happen was that it'd be extremely awkward to talk to her afterwards, but hey -- it's not like I needed to come here ever again. I kept any flirting to a minimum, nonetheless.

"Before I forget to ask, I'm not here because I need to be. I just came here with a friend." I motioned my head towards Pris, she followed my motion for a second, then turned back to look at me as I continued. "So I'm not sure whether I can actually come to these meetings or not. I mean, does a person really NEED to get arrested for some minor drug abuse to talk to you?" Wow. Smooth. As. Fuck. I really wondered how I wasn't still a virgin.

She cocked her head to one side ever so slightly, and smiled a playful, though not sexual, smile and replied, "I'd rather you come here without having an obligation to do so, if that means that you'd get yourself obligated, if you weren't allowed to come otherwise." There wasn't anything even hinting of flirtation in her manner, but she seemed amused and friendly when I had partially expected her to turn cold and rigid, so I couldn't say I was entirely disappointed. If she was willing to play along, I was more than willing to keep throwing her the ball back.

"That's kind of you and everything, but what about the premium package? I see all the drug dealers get special, one-on-one treatment here. I wouldn't want to miss out." Yeah, I already lost any chance of being suave with the first sentence, so I thought it couldn't hurt to keep going as I did. I smiled as wide as possible, and she was still looking at me with that confident, full look of hers that made my crotch throb every so often. I wondered what that look would do if she looked up at me like that while tracing kisses down my naked stomach.

Don't get me wrong, I really don't make a habit out of sexualizing every interaction I have with attractive women. Far from it actually, I seem to friend-zone women quickly and rarely think they are flirting unless they make it painfully clear. But I have always found older women, especially ones like her, exceedingly attractive. Mostly since I hadn't had any experience with them -- my oldest girlfriend was just three years older than me, and I don't think I had even met a lesbian over thirty, so I didn't even get a chance to satisfy that curiosity. I wondered whether this woman -- Vallory -- was entirely straight. I kept getting gay "vibes" from her, but I couldn't tell whether that was simply wishful thinking on my side or not.

She rolled her eyes, as playfully as before, and even with her playfulness she somehow retained her authority over me, as if saying 'sure, I'll play along, but you should know that I could just as easily not do that'.

She said, "I'm a bit curious whether you would manage to go and find something to sell, do it inconspicuously enough to get caught, all the while managing to get into the just the right amount of trouble to get away with a slap on the wrist and a visit to me. However, I will do my best to hinder that curiosity from being satisfied, since I'm more than ready to consider you a part of this group. It's not as if we were remarkably official, but you can consider yourself equal with the rest."

The way she spoke was amazing to my ears. Perfect pronunciation, enunciation, with a soft and unforced voice and manner, as if she was more than happy to give you her time and energy, and I saw that she had amazing potential as a someone who works with people. That thought reminded me that she was, in fact, probably a shrink; therefore, she was educated in manipulating people to feel comfortable around her, and I felt myself getting slightly irritated. I was irritated further when I noticed she had noticed my irritation.

God damn these people! Couldn't my thoughts be private? If I had hired her to disassemble me and fix things, I'd be glad about how easily she could read me, less time spent on figuring stuff out the less I had to pay -- but I was annoyed. She seemed to notice this, as well, but said nothing, as if waiting for me to say whatever was on my mind. Perhaps I was being unfair; we all use our social skills and a bit of manipulation to get people to like us at first, or to get something from them, so I had to admit that I was basically... what? Mad about the fact that they just knew how to do it better than most people? Either way, rational or not, I was annoyed, and my dislike for them as steady as ever. I decided to tell her how I felt on the subject, with more eagerness in my voice than I had intended.

"Don't people hate it when you talk to them and constantly make guesses about what they think? When you internally examine what they say and do, compare it with whatever patterns you were taught in college and decide what to do and how to act best based on it? It's not like you know someone after ten minutes of conversation with them for fuck's sake, and yet all you people seem to do is just that -- categorize and not even listen after you've done that. You decide that you're probably right and just keep on forcing whatever someone says into that behavioral category you already decided they belong to."

I felt like an idiot for taking such a liberty with her. She didn't do anything wrong in our entire conversation, all grudges I held against her were the work of her predecessors, and I felt very childish because of that outburst. Actually, I still didn't even know whether she even was a shrink, she could just as easily be a social worker, or maybe not even that, just someone who people considered competent to talk to a group of teenagers. She could be a baker for all I knew.

Despite my small outburst, she simply nodded slightly, arched her eyebrows gingerly in sympathy and said, "You may not believe it but I dislike a lot of my colleagues for approaching patients that way. I won't get into details, but I started studying psychology, as a profession, very late in my life, and perhaps that is the reason why I have a different approach, or perhaps my pride simply fancies that I do. I understand though that after years of doing the same job, psychologists assume that they know all they need to after the first impression they get. I don't approve of that approach, but I don't think you can argue and say that other professions behave very differently."