Sex Therapy: The Start of an Affair

"He was an absolute dream boat when we first met, which was in college," started Mrs. Dawkins. "He would pick me up off my feet, and my heart would flutter. We'd kiss and, it'd feel like fireworks. There would be this look in his eye that sparkled. But then after... three years, we entered this cycle where we would wake up, get dressed, go to work, come home, mutter about our days, have leftovers and by nine, pass out. There was this space where we had this, like... well, moment where we'd have these passionate love sessions like before and a bit after we were married, but that lulled soon."

"I see," responded Ms. Roland tapping her notepad with a pen. "So you think he cheated because he was bored?"

She swung her arms to either side and pursed her lips. "I suppose so, I just-I don't know what else could be the case. He tells me I'm still beautiful and that he still loves me; and I said, well, if that were the case then go to counseling with me and, you know... here we are."

The raven-haired counselor cocked her head towards the man sitting with his legs wide open twiddling his thumbs. "And do you agree with what you're wife is saying, Mr. Dawkins?" he nodded solemnly, eyes pointing towards the ground. "Well then... what I would suggest is to spice up your lifestyle a bit. Adopt a hobby you two can share-travel maybe. It might bring you two closer together."

"See, that's the thing," the brunette sighed. "We both work very demanding jobs. I work day-shifts and he works night-shifts, and our schedules seemingly never line up to give us a day off together."

Ms. Roland hummed. "So you don't even see each other at nighttime or the daytime."

"We do, it's just not enough time."

"And vacation time is off the table?"

"We simply can't afford to." Ms. Roland hummed again. She squinted through her thinly framed lenses at the couple; Mrs. Dawkins and her crossed legs but pleading eyes while Mr. Dawkins didn't move a muscle. His eyes had probably never even left the dull grey carpeting.

"Then, if it's okay with you Mrs. Dawkins, if I could have a private session with your husband about his infidelity?" For the first time during the session, Mr. Dawkins made eye contact with Ms. Roland.

The brunette cautiously glanced towards the counselor and her husband. "I-I'm sorry, but, why?"

"Well, I think your husband would benefit more if you weren't in the room. He seems nervous, disengaged. Uncomfortable. And I think it'd calm his nerves if he talked to just me in the room." The wife eyed Ms. Roland who only calmly stared back. Then, without saying another word, stood and stepped towards the door. "I'll let you know when our session is done, and you can come back in. That's when we'll discuss what needs to happen forwards." She nodded, opening and closing the door behind her.

Ms. Roland watched as Mr. Dawkins shifted in his seat, straightening his back and closing his legs by a bit. "So," she started. "I know I heard about the affair through your wife and how she discovered it, her feelings and all, but I wanted to hear your perspective on it. What happened? But first, tell me how it started. Remember, my job here is not to judge but to help." He nodded.

Obviously, you didn't get into a marriage thinking that someday you or your partner are going to cheat. But you also didn't think how eventually your marriage would just slowly die without realizing it. And when you do, you feel stuck by circumstance and commitment. Commitment to my job, commitment to my wife whom I definitely loved dearly. But there was a moment where I just... didn't feel it. I didn't feel happy or grateful sleeping next to her and waking up to her. But I thought, maybe that's just what happened in marriages, the honeymoon phase was long over, and that's okay.

Well, anyway. I didn't intend on anything happening, but there was a new girl at work. Funny. Clever. Pretty, of course. (He shifted in his seat.) This petite and curly red-haired temptress fresh out of high school plopped into an internship at my company. Of course everyone flocked to the pretty new girl, but I was the only one to stay in her bubble. Her smile captivated and charmed me, made me feel warm inside. She had a sparkle in her eye and a button nose and freckled cheeks. Well, the days went by and we got closer. We'd smile more around each other and stand closer when we're in the same room. We'd have our moments and make up our own inside jokes and references. We'd have lunch together and the minutes felt like seconds. I didn't know what they put in her perfume, but it ensnared my senses. (Ms. Roland nodded, listening intently).

We'd become friendlier as the seasons passed. Then there was this... moment, that happened. It was a... Christmas party the faculty threw. It was simple; garlands, plastic and tinsel pine trees, gingerbread, eggnog that got "accidentally" spiked at the stroke of 8. It got pretty late, so Michelle, my wife, went home early for work in the morning. I figured I'd bum a ride from a male coworker, I guess. But I stayed, letting the spiked nog flow through my body. I wasn't planning on getting too drunk... and, she bumped into me. Smiling with her perfect pearly whites, she pointed to the doorframe we were under and giggled when I saw that we were, um... standing underneath the mistletoe. (Ms. Roland stared as she removed her suit jacket). But I played it off, calling her goofy. We'd pass by each other a few times smiling. I noticed her face getting flushed as we'd brush past each other.

Before I even knew it, almost everyone was gone except me and her. It was 10 at this point. The lights were dim, the cheesy Christmas music was off. Now, it made sense for her to be there, as she was put in charge of clean-up, while I was there nursing a glass of water to, in my head, take the edge off my intoxication. I was sitting at my desk, but I got up and found her in the lounge collecting torn and discarded tissue paper, wrapping paper, and throwing them away. She teased me, saying, "You look like shit. You sure you're alright to drive?" and I don't know what I said, but it made her giggle. She stepped toward me barefoot-I guess tired from wearing heels all day-and met me in the doorway smiling. Then she pointed above again, and I looked up again foolishly. The same mistletoe. She laughed and giggled, "You know the rules, Matt."

"Yeah, but you know I'm married," I remembered saying, smirking. "I think the rules of Christmas are overruled by God's rule."

"Pfft, god," she giggled. "Is god in this room?" she smirked. "Then again," she said, stepping forward. "Is your... wife, here?" I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared down at this girl. Licking my lips, she drew closer. She put her hands on my chest and stared with those wide, sparkling moss green eyes.

I think I said something like, "I don't think I should do this. I shouldn't be here right now."

And she told me, "Well if you shouldn't, then why are you." Our faces inched slowly towards each other. All those thoughts that ran through my mind since I met her that revved me to fuck my own wife. All I could think about was her, and now here she was in front of me practically giving herself away.

I looked into her soft and kind eyes, and I swore I melted in them. Her hot breath tickled my upper lip. I lost my mind then. I pulled her in gently, arms wrapping around her back, my neck craning downwards. I caught her soft and supple lips in mine and kissed her longingly. I felt something passionate waking up inside of me. It was like having a bucket of ice cold water splashed onto you after a decade of living as a dehydrated, unfulfilled husk.

"That was how the affair began," he finished. Ms. Roland studied Mr. Dawkins for a bit tapping a pen to her glossy plump lips. She could tell he had the looks to hold two women down. His chiseled jaw and biceps bulging out his white collared shirt suggested he took great care of his body. She bit her lip, imagining if there was a 6 pack underneath his shirt.

"And, what did you think you gained from that affair?" the woman asked, crossing her leg, pressing against her moist panties.

He shrugged. "Companionship, I guess. I think I may have liked the sneaking around aspect of it... eating forbidden fruit and all." Ooh, that sent chills up her spine.

"I see... did you love her?"

"Well, I thought I did, but... I didn't. Every time we... did things, sure I was emptied, but so was my heart."

"You can say 'sex' here, Mr. Dawkins," she said flashing a smile. "You can tell me as much as you want, as... graphic as you want."

He swallowed. "Isn't it cold in here?"

She shook her head. "Not for me, that's why I took off my jacket." He hummed. "So, you felt guilty about the whole affair."

The brunet nodded. "Somewhat. Now, I said I loved my wife and I do. There was that sane part of me that knew it was horrible, but then... there was a side of me I never thought was there. Something, well... animalistic. Something that didn't care and shut off the part of my brain that made sense. It craved flesh." Ms. Roland bit her lip, switching legs across from him.

"Excuse me," she said, unraveling her ponytail, her voluminous raven-hair bouncing past her shoulders. "That's better," she smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Do you think I can fix my marriage, Ms. Roland?"

"Well... before I can give my diagnosis, I feel like it's important for you to feel comfortable here. So please, refer to me as Elizabeth, Lizzie if you prefer."

Mr. Dawkins shifted. "U-um, okay... Elizabeth. What do you think I should do?"

"It's hard to say," she sighed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "You two work very demanding jobs, live two very conflicting schedules, and you rely on it. So you can't make time for each other. And from what you've told me, you cheated because of the monotony and lack of emotional and physical affection from your partner." He nodded solemnly. "How is she even able to be here if she works?"

"Well, she took a day off for this."

"I see... your wife really wants to make this work, doesn't she?"

He nodded, "And so do I."

She hummed. "I think I'm going to prescribe you something," she said scribbling onto her notepad. She stood on her heels, walking over towards her patient, and ripped the paper from her notepad. He took the piece of paper she offered him.

His brows furrowed. "W-who am I supposed to call with this?"

"Me, it's my number," she said, walking back to her seat. "Personal number, to be clear. You can reach me whenever you want at all hours of the day and... night," she winked. "I think whenever you're feeling tempted to... taste that forbidden fruit again, you should call me. You're welcome to visit any time you like as well, whether at my office or at my home, my address is on the back."

"Oh, well thank you, Elizabeth," he smiled, standing up. "That's awfully kind of you to offer that, I promise to not be a burden."

"Please, you're my patient; I'm happy to help, and I'd do *anything* for you," she smiled, standing up as well. "Don't be afraid to call," Ms. Roland said, extending a hand. They shook, and the session ended from there.