Psychotherapy Revelations

Over the years I've seen a handful of therapists for a variety of reasons, mostly related to family or romantic relationship challenges and some struggles with anger and frustration. Pretty standard stuff for men my age, in my estimation.

These experiences were always helpful in one area or another, whether it be developing some specific skills or just a bit of added perspective that helped me deal with whatever mental challenges being faced. I can't say I ever felt revolutionized by any of them though, which is what I always was hoping for. Naively, I wanted to believe I would have some sort of epiphany. Or I wanted my therapist to say, after a few months of exploring and understanding my condition, "here's your problem." Like a medical doctor writing a prescription for something that directly treats the underlying issue, I wanted specific solutions because I tend to be a problem-solver. Oh your anxiety? Yeah here's how you fix that. Bang. Job done. Or that conflict with your sister? Just say this next time. Boom, problem solved.

But it doesn't work that way, does it? Instead we spend months talking about how I feel, what I want (assuming I can even fully understand or articulate those things) and along the way the therapist gives me their best tips or ideas on how to maybe only just marginally improve. And sometimes the tips or ideas aren't even directly given. They're formed as questions or presented as alternative ideas for me to digest. They end up like thoughts to carry in my back pocket for later.

The more surprising benefit I've found in therapy is the part where I get to share myself guilt-free, which in itself becomes a guilty pleasure. Wait, you mean I can talk about honest thoughts without the fear of judgement? And I can much more confidently rely on the professional feedback of my therapist than I can of some friends? This is amazing.

So when I starting seeing my most recent therapist, a 52 year old woman who specializes in sexology, I felt better prepared for what to expect and what to gain from the experience. I entered my first session honest with myself that I, at least in part, just wanted to get some things off my chest. I wanted to share myself in ways I haven't always been able to with my partner. I wanted someone to bounce ideas off of and help process out-loud my inner desires.

After a handful of sessions, we finally got into the some of the uhm, dirtier details. It was hard for me to even know where to begin. Despite the fact that I eagerly signed up for this, and pay good money for this, all of a sudden I wondered what the hell I was doing. I'm sitting in someone's office on an Ikea couch in front of a bookshelf full of books on family counseling and art therapy and I'm about to talk about how I want my fat-ass neighbor milf to sit on my face or why I fantasize about masturbating in front of a group of women. I mean what the fuck?

But she took it all in stride. She poked and provoked my fantasizes like a good journalist all the while maintaining a neutral face as if we were on a podcast. What a validating experience.

"Well, it's normal to fantasize about things you may not actually want in your real life," she responds after I yet again express embarrassment for some made-up context I recently masturbated to.

"You're allowed to have these fantasies, and you will always have them, because their taboo is precisely what's exciting."

I stare off into space while processing what she's saying.

"Look, society teaches us what is and isn't ethical to do in a sexual context. Some parts of society are obviously more conservative than others. So for some people, it's taboo, and therefor potentially highly erotic, to simply have sex at all, or just to be seen naked. Then there are people who can't get off without, I don't know," she ponders, "getting peed on or being humiliated, not that there's anything especially 'weird' about those fetishes."

"huh. So I'm not some perverted sicko?" I say half laughing.

"Far from it."

I scratch my head demonstrating my physical discomfort with self-acceptance. But I've convinced myself, or someone convinced me, I'm a sicko. I'm not supposed to get off to stuff like this! I'm supposed to just want regular sex with my girlfriend, stare into each other's eyes and say I love you.

Still in the midst of processing, she says, "Before we wrap for the day, I wanted to also call-out something else. In a lot of your fantasies you are doing some variation of exhibitionism. Not necessarily in front of complete strangers, like sex in public, but like, this fantasy of the neighbor watching you masturbate, or the cleaning lady walking in on you masturbate, or having a private audience for masturbation," each mention of the m-word turning me a deeper shade of red, "I'm wondering if we should try to unpack what underlies this theme of being seen." Suddenly I'm wondering if there's a witness protection program for therapy over-sharers. "How does that sound?" she asks.

I unconvincingly nod and say "sure."

"Great, let's do that," she says closing her notebook while I race to get out of the room in search of oxygen

===========

A week later I walk in feeling like I'm on my way to confess to a priest. Or like an addict going back for another AA session. Have I had any "relapses"? Yes of course. In fact, after smoking some weed Sunday afternoon, I got incredibly horny and not only recorded myself jerking off, but I imagined it happening *in* my therapist's office! You can imagine the post-nut shame I felt.

"Hi Alex, good morning," she says as she greets me. I sit down on the couch hoping she's completely forgotten what we discussed the week prior. She's wearing nice fall clothes. A pencil skirt with leggings, and a seemingly hand-knitted scarf with a long-sleeve shirt.

"How was your week? Tell me about something that aroused you."

I replant myself on the couch again displaying my discomfort.

"I uh, ha, uhhhh"

"Look, Alex, we're here to talk about this topic, are we not?" I sense her frustration with my embarrassment.

"Yeah definitely," I admit, looking down.

"So let's do that."

Fuck, she's right, I'm thinking. There's nothing gained from sitting her sheepishly.

"I masturbated on Sunday thinking about... um..." I swallow despite my mouth being nearly completely dry. "I masturbated thinking about... masturbating here."

"Here?" she asks.

"Yes," I confess. "With you. I mean, with you in the room."

"Right, I get it."

Ok now I feel more like a sicko than ever. I wonder will I get kicked out? God, I hope so. I wonder how hard it is to change your name. Maybe move to Mexico?

"How was your orgasm?" No one had ever asked me something so personal and yet so frank at the same time.

I repeat the question. "How was my orgasm?"

"Yeah, how was it? I mean, was it stronger than others you've recently had?"

Immediately I flashback to the several ropes of cum I unleashed beyond the towel I had laid down and stains on my comforter I ended up having to clean.

"Uhhh, I think it, um, yeah, I think it was relatively strong," I respond still unable to make eye-contact. Fuck, I'm getting kinda hard just thinking about this. This is so weird.

"I think you should go into greater detail, Alex," she deadpans. "Let's pick it apart."

I roll my eyes, take a deep breath, and sit forward, elbows on my knees. "I... remember thinking about, I guess... I guess I was just imagining a nice session where I shared how I felt and some sexual attractions I have," my mouth now as dry as a bag of flour, "and you were really sweet to me. You made me feel comfortable, and you encouraged me to like, practice, or something."

"Practice?"

"Yeah, you like, suggested it'd be an exercise to help me overcome my fear." We both chuckle at how realistic my fantasies can be.

"And then what happens?"

"I uhh, well I guess I follow your instructions? I don't know, it's not fully story-boarded," I laugh again and she smiles while tucking her semi-gray hair behind her ear.

I think for a moment and continue, "I remember feeling encouraged. Like, you wanted me to do it almost more than I did. But you weren't necessarily, like, completely blown away either. I mean you seemed so comfortable with it in my fantasy. Me being completely untethered and fully my erotic self was acceptable and not weird somehow. It was hot. It felt super taboo but it was also... validating." I pause staring off for a second. "I came incredibly hard." I sigh.

She takes a note with her pen. I assume she's simply underlining her previous note of "Sicko."

"It sounds like you want permission to be yourself," she offers. "Specifically in sexual situations."

I'm now totally hard and wondering how I can inconspicuously adjust my penis and tuck my erection under my belt.

"Yeah maybe."

"I think in the right context, you can be yourself without anyone's permission." She starts to take off the scarf, revealing that her shirt is actually low-cut. I guess I'm not the only one getting hot in here.

"I don't mean to be uh, quite so predictable?" she says with a hint of doubt. "But your fantasy is telling you things you already know. You sexual self is valid, your sexual self is normal, and you might just need that little extra push from a partner, but you should also work on getting there yourself." She sets aside her notebook and sits forward.

"Look, it should go without saying that it would be unethical for me to have any sort of sexual or romantic relationship with a patient. But my studio is meant to be a safe space for people to share who they are, good or bad, and hopefully, when they walk out the door at the end of the session," she herself stares off and plays with her hair for a second, "hopefully they feel more themselves, more accepted, and ultimately better prepared to handle whatever it is that's holding them back."

For the first time, I feel like I'm about to have that epiphany moment I've always wanted. She continues.

"For you, I want to get to the next level." She starts to gesture with her hands. "I want to get to that level of honesty and intimacy you are so clearly uncomfortable sharing. Here we can practice that, develop that muscle, so that the next time, or the next 100 times you're in a difficult moment and unsure whether to be yourself, whether to be honest with your partner, what have you, you can both better sense the risk, if any, and then take confident steps towards sharing yourself."

Suddenly I feel the shame starting to subside, at least a little, and I'm more compelled by her speech than anything I've heard from her before. I'm ready to drop my fears and follow her lead.

"So, we've talked about your masturbation so much, I think it's clear that's a great next step."

Wait, what? I'm both panicking inside and at the same time, suddenly even harder than I was a moment ago, something I didn't think was possible.

"Let's have you do that. Here."

I immediately put my hands up as if to slow things down for a second, "Wait, I didn't mean for things to go in this direction when I shared that with you." Or did I? Do I understand at all what's going on inside my own head? She cuts me off.

"I'm sure you didn't. And I don't go around asking patients to do things they don't want to do, but we've been talking about your solo-sexual practices for weeks." I quickly start to realize I have no defense to what she's saying. "So much of what you struggle with is that part of you that says, 'no, I can't' I want to work on getting you to say yes. That starts here with something, well, frankly, you've already practiced it mentally. You know how to do it, so let's do it. And once we get through that, we can get into the real work."

I absolutely cannot believe what's happening. I wonder if I should just make a run for the door.

"Now, let me be clear," she slaps her hands on her thighs as if to signal enthusiasm, "there are boundaries. We will NOT have sex. There will be NO touching because ethically, I cannot allow that, and also, I think we should stay true as best as possible to what you've described thus far."

I'm speechless yet my penis is throbbing. I've never been more confused in my life. But then I check back in with myself because like, 30 seconds ago I was ready to follow her lead. But this isn't where I thought things were going... She's making a lot of sense but I never actually thought something like this would come to pass.

"Hold on, you told me last week that sometimes fantasies are just that, not necessarily something you really want to perform in real life," I counter.

"Yes, I did. And that's true. But it doesn't mean they AREN'T desires. It's a gray area for sure, and ultimately, you must make your own decision. But based on what we've done so far, I see it as very useful next step."

It's starting to feel like a stalemate. I'm hesitant to do or say anything.

She goes in for the close.

"There's a part of you that wants this, and there's a part of you that's not sure. But we're here together to make that part of you that wants this more comfortable. I want you to trust this shared space, I want you to believe in this work, to believe in yourself, and I want you to..." her voice trails off for a moment before she clasps her hands together, looks down, then looks back up and says, "I want you to stroke yourself here, in front of me, bring yourself to orgasm, and make whatever mess is necessary to feel good."

"Fuck me," I say with exasperation.

"I already said I won't," we both break into laughter.

"I know, you know what I meant."

She stands up, and goes to close the blinds. I sit frozen wondering what the fuck is happening. My penis, still throbbing, suddenly does feel like in need of attention.

"Here, let's make you comfortable," she says as she goes to hang my coat and offers me a towel from her gym bag.

I take my shoes off. I then close my eyes as I start to undo my belt. My jeans, are tight enough that I struggle for a moment to get them off. My boxer-briefs have a huge wet spot and my penis, although laying to one side, is so hard that's impossible to avoid noticing.

"Oh, it looks like you're ready to go, that's great," she says, completely shocking me with how comfortable this appears to be for her. I remove my tee next. I'm almost shaking with nerves. It's a little cold so I decide to keep my socks on. I stand up to remove my boxers, but pause as soon as I grab the waistband. One last moment to make sure I know what the fuck I'm doing. Nope, it's too late. We're doing this. I want this.

As I pull them down, my penis lowers with them before flopping back up and hitting me in the lower abdomen. My natural lubricant is dripping onto the rug. I nervously apologize.

"Don't worry, it's fine," she assures.

I sit back down on the couch and with not a lot of confidence start to spread the lubricant around my penis.

"Wait," she says. "Is this your usual technique? Just kind of sitting there?"

"Uhh no I guess not, though this is not where I usually do this so I don't know..."

"Of course, yes, I just want to make sure you're demonstrating the real thing, Alex. I'm here to see you and I want to see the real you, the real act, and so given the circumstances, I know it's a little bit awkward, but I want you to do your best to bring me inside, or make this space, your fantasy." Her legs are crossed, her hands clasped over her top knee, her attention undivided. "So if you want to stand, lie down, whatever helps, do it."

I stand up, with me knees bent slightly in a wider stance, and point my penis down somewhat while beginning a more consistent stroking motion. My face is a bit strained, almost like as if I were exercising. She rests her elbow on her knee and her chin on her palm, taking a studious form.

"Does that feel good?" she asks.

"Yes."

"yeah?"

I nod in affirmation.

My breathing picks up.

"It looks amazing. Keep going. You're doing great."

I eventually sit back down on the couch. I reach both hands down touching underneath my testicles and running my nails along my inner thighs with my legs wide open. I angle my penis to the left as I stroke more. I bite my lower lip trying to enjoy some closeness to the edge of orgasm and not cum too soon.

As I get close and closer to the edge I lean my head back, before arching my back, and pointing my penis straight across the room.

"Oh my god," I say out loud.

"Do you think you're ready to cum?" she asks getting up to grab the towel.

"Yeah," I say with somewhat of a whimper.

"Ok let's have you cum then. Let me just put the towel here in front of you."

I look down to check my aim before cocking my head back again and lifting my left arm to sustain myself against the wall behind me, my body now fully stretched out.

"Oh that looks really great, I think you're ready to let it out, aren't you?"

"Yeah I'm ready. I'm ready to cum."

She's now kneeling on the floor beside the towel she placed there, as if to be ready to catch what ever starts flying.

I let out a long moan and my legs start trembling. I stop pumping and tighten my grip around the base of my penis momentarily preventing the escape of my ejaculate. I can hear her exhale as the room goes silent.

When I release my grip, my penis explodes and a long rope of cum flies across the room. My right hand starts shaking my penis almost uncontrollably and I thrust my hips as I let out two more strong loads.

"There we go, that's a good boy," she says, shocking me. I finally look at her taken aback that she called me a good boy, but I'm still too lost in my orgasm to have words or to interact in any normal human way. My body is convulsing. She's already cleaning up the sticky mess I made on the floor. I can feel tingling in my scalp and my toes are curling. I finally relax and allow myself to lay back more comfortably. I close my eyes trying to look like I'm just resting but I'm embarrassed. I'm hoping when I open them I'm back in my room, alone.

I can hear her footsteps as she throws the towel back in her gym bag.

"That was fantastic," she says as I sit up a bit and finally open my eyes, reluctantly accepting the reality that, well, I've done it. "You did SO well, I feel like you really brought your erotic self into the room and gave me a wonderful introduction to that side of you and I think this is a great starting point."

Starting point? I think to myself. She hands me the box of kleenex from the side table, something I assumed would only every be used for tears.

"I understand if it still feels a bit awkward, especially the immediate moments after, but trust me, I feel great about this and am SO proud of your progress. Let's meet again next week and we'll uh, go from there." She seemed to have twice as much energy as she did when I entered the room.

I quickly get dressed in silence while she takes her final notes and continues affirming my progress and the success of today's session. As I walk down the stairs to my car I feel spent, awkward, relieved, unsure. I stop to have coffee and breakfast at a diner nearby. I stare off into space nearly the entire time processing what the fuck I had just done and how surreal it was.

As I get home and walk in the door I can still feel how drained my balls feel yet now that I'm alone again, I'm starting to get hard. I enter the shower to wash off the stickiness, fully erect again, and I masturbate to completion as I replay what happened this morning in my head.