Therapy

Chapter 1.

Hannah wasn't sure that therapy was for her. Some of her best friends had seen therapists over the years who had genuinely helped them, but her friends had actual problems, serious issues they needed trained guidance and support with. Hannah, however, didn't have anything like that to deal with. There was nothing horrible or sordid to dig up in her past, no particular issues with her parents to discuss. Sure, she'd had ups and downs over the years, and yes, midlife was taking its toll. Things were mundane, weeks bled into months and very little changed. Life had become almost automated: prepare lunch here, pick up the kids there, kiss husband goodbye, empty dishwasher, vacuum-up, apply for renewal passport for child number two, take car to the garage. The list of things to take care of was endless, but none of it excited her.

Of course, there was that one boyfriend from her past that had gotten away. She only ever let herself think about him when she had some time to herself, when she could let her imagination take over, without fear of being interrupted. She would wait until everyone was out of the house, children at school, husband at work. Preparing everything the way she wanted it in order to go back in time and revisit those mind-blowing memories. Opening the window to let the outside air into her bedroom, remaking the bed so that the sheets were crisp and smooth again, putting on music from that time in her life, slipping off her clothes and sliding between the sheets, picking out her favourite toy from her bedside table, and closing her eyes, she let herself think back to the frantic sex they used to have. The extreme desire she had for him. How she often had to physically remove herself from his presence when they were in public together, to prevent herself from doing something indecent. She had always been ready for him to take her, no matter where they were. And when she was with him, her cunt would pulsate like some sort of internal clock, ticking down to the next orgasm he would give her. She would think back to the feeling of their bodies pressed up against one another—young, taut, sweaty bodies, aching to be linked together. Hannah had always loved being penetrated. That feeling of having someone that lights something up inside you, stimulates you on all levels, actually inside your body, made her ache with lust. She loved it when he would suck her nipples, sending wild sensations to her clitoris. He had been one excellent fuck and she hated to admit to herself how terribly she missed his touch.

Masturbation served a purpose for Hannah. It was a way to climax, but it could never replace sex. She never understood why the women in her life would make such a fuss about it. She genuinely felt sorry for them, if that was the best orgasm they could achieve—one that was entirely self-stimulated. But of course, she would never say that to them. With age she'd come to realise that everyone was different. If they loved touching themselves more than anything else, then good for them. Of course, she also knew that a lot of the time they were just fucking men that were just terrible in bed. It made her sad to think that was the case. Hannah had always adored being touched by a man. Not all the men who had touched her had been amazingly skilled at what they were doing. Still, she counted herself lucky that she'd had many more good than average encounters in her past. And when it was good, giving into someone else's touch was the most fabulous feeling. Surrendering yourself to them, letting yourself be played like an instrument. To have someone wanting to make you climax so hard that they'll touch you anywhere and everywhere to make it happen, that was the most beautiful thing she'd ever experienced.

Having come to masturbation later in life, never having felt the need for it before, she could clearly see the benefits, especially as a mother. It was privileged time to herself, to go inwards and focus on her needs, her body. The same body that she'd given up to her pregnancies, to breastfeeding, and to generally being used as a climbing frame by small children. She had been a bit lost at first. It felt odd to be discovering this in her mid-thirties, like learning to lose her virginity, but by herself. So she'd begun investigating toys online, wary of the websites she really didn't want to find herself on. She didn't want the whole experience to feel dirty. She had been naively surprised by how much choice there was, but luckily had found what worked for her quite quickly, sometimes being happy to just focus on her clitoris for a quick orgasm, other times needing to use a vibrator for internal stimulation, which she found more intense. She kept meaning to buy herself a dildo to add to her collection as well, but kept forgetting to get around to it. Anyway, no matter what toys she bought, masturbation would never compare to being fucked.

And so, on the morning that Hannah decided to take the leap and contact a therapist, despite not being completely sure what she would talk to them about, she also took some time to masturbate.

As her climax faded away, her breathing beginning to slow, she opened her eyes and blurrily took in her current reality: the bed she shared with her husband, her older body, and the fact, as per every time she masturbated, that her ex wasn't here, beside her, enjoying the view. A tinge of sadness threatened to ruin the whole experience, but Hannah abruptly batted it away, shoving down all her memories of him back into the well-worn box that they lived in, in her mind. She proceeded to pick herself up, still a little tingly and damp, only stopping to reflect on the specifically shaped stains she'd created on the sheets, quickly reminding herself that they would dry off to nothing before her husband arrived home—and even if they didn't, he'd never notice, men just don't. She pulled the duvet back across the bed and picked up her now inanimate toy that had become so slippery that she had to use both hands to keep from dropping it on the way to the bathroom.

Hannah's wasn't the cleanest of homes, because so often she just couldn't be bothered to do it all just to have someone else, or frequently several people, come in and ruin her hard work, but she kept her sex toys sparkling clean, spraying them with a special antibacterial spray then washing them with soapy water. She'd only ever had one UTI in her life, and that had felt like someone had rubbed chilli sauce on her labia and she didn't want that again. Cleaning the phallic vibrator with her hands under the hot running water, she appreciated its form, and as she closed her eyes, she could imagine that it was a real penis—albeit a very rigid, silicone one. She shook her head as if to physically dislodge this thought from her mind. There was no point in getting excited again, real life was waiting.

Chapter 2.

Sat in front of her computer Hannah didn't know how to start looking for a therapist. What was she meant to be looking for? She scrolled down the directory of local therapists. Some of the profile pictures were downright awful—taken with smartphones in bad lighting. "Can you trust someone with your mental health, if they can't take a good photo?" she wondered. Some profile pictures were images of trees. "Was this meant to represent life?" she thought. Other people didn't look particularly inviting, some looked too inviting, and slightly motherly, she definitely didn't want that. Hannah sighed and began scrolling impatiently through the seemingly interminable list when suddenly a black-and-white photo of a man caught her eye. She hadn't really considered having a male therapist. The photo had obviously been taken by a professional. It looked good, but more importantly so did he. There was something about him that she was instinctively drawn to. She quickly scanned his profile, managing to skip all the vital information that she truly needed—tariff, specialisms, location—and proceeded to click on his email address.

She began typing, not really knowing what she wanted to say. "Hi," she wrote. "I'm not sure where to start. I don't have much going on in my life right now, but my friends keep telling me that it might be worth talking to a professional about my life at the moment. I don't have any big issues. I listen to all the right podcasts to help with my mental health. I think I'm pretty emotionally stable, but, of course, it's hard to know when it's you, and my friends haven't reported back that I'm a nut job so far. Sorry, I shouldn't use language like that, should I? I can be a bit direct at times, is that ok in a professional setting like this? Anyway, I do occasionally have sexual thoughts about this ex. The one that got away! But everyone has one of them, right? I think maybe I'm just a bit bored in life, but then everyone is, aren't they? I don't know. Could I be having a mid-life crisis of sorts? I suppose that's probably what I need to work out... Anyway I'm just rambling now. Thanks for reading this. Kind regards. Hannah."

After pressing the send button, she hesitated for a moment. "Oh god," she thought, "that was a mistake! Why did I do that? What was I thinking?"

Later that day, Hannah was in her kitchen-diner, staring into space, not really focused on anything, her children were playing nearby when her phone pinged and an email notification appeared on her screen. She clicked on it without registering that it could be important.

"Hi Hannah, thanks for getting in contact," it read. "I know it can be really tough to make the first steps of contacting a therapist. I'm really glad you reached out. I'd be happy to work with you. I have a free appointment next Monday at 3pm, would that suit? If not, just let me know and we can arrange a session at a different time. Hope to speak to you soon. Elliot".

"Fuck!" Hannah exclaimed louder than she meant to.

The youngest of her two children turned to her and sternly said, "We don't say 'fuck' Mummy!"

Hannah smiled. "Yes darling, you're right. Mummy's sorry." She threw her phone down on the kitchen counter and tried to focus on making the children's dinners, telling herself that if she wanted to, she didn't have to reply.

"Hi Elliot, thanks for your email," Hannah typed. "Monday at 3pm would work fine. I'll see you then. Hannah". She lay in bed. One of the children had crawled in with her. She could hear her husband typing away in his office. "I wonder if he watches porn when he stays up late working?"

Chapter 3.

Elliot's office was stylishly decorated, very Scandi-chic décor and grey-tone walls. It didn't feel like a therapist's office, it was like walking into somebody's lounge. He invited her to sit on a sofa that looked brand new. "Have you been in these offices long?" Hannah enquired.

"No, I've just moved in actually, do you like it?" Elliot replied.

"It's very cosy, did you decorate it yourself?" Hannah realised straight away that she was flirting with him. Not excessively, but she knew full well that when she found someone attractive, she used a specific tone. It wasn't purposeful, it was instinctive, and because of that she didn't know how to override it. Plus, she'd never had to in the past.

She found herself studying his face as he answered her question and then proceeded to talk her through all the administrative stuff linked to therapy that she wasn't hugely interested in. He had a very kind and welcoming manner, she felt at home in his company, already. She fixed his gaze and realised just how beautiful his eyes were. Hannah didn't often notice people's eyes, but his were a deep blue. He didn't look away the whole time. Maybe it was something they had to learn to do—part of the job.

"... and so if I do perceive there to be any danger to you or someone close to you then I do have a legal obligation to inform the authorities," he continued.

"What?" she blurted out, suddenly aware that she'd not been paying attention to anything he'd said for the past few minutes. "I'm sorry. Yes, of course, I understand the implications. Don't worry, I don't want to kill anyone. And my husband is the most docile man you could meet. There's no risk there." Hannah blushed. "Concentrate goddamnit!" she told herself.

Elliot smiled. "So then, if that's all ok for you, shall we get started?" Hannah nodded. "What brought you here today Hannah?" He continued to look her straight in the eyes. His gaze felt oddly intense and Hannah realised she was getting flustered. She willed herself to focus, to keep her mind on the reason she was here, to think of the money she was wasting getting distracted by him.

"Well, as I said in my email, I'm not sure really," she said, gathering herself. "I suppose I'm just a bit bored of life really."

"Ok, and how long do you think you've been feeling this way?" Elliot asked.

Hannah cupped her chin in her hands and tried to reflect on her feelings. "Look, I think the choices I made in life that have brought me to where I am now, were probably the wrong ones. I think I chose stability over excitement in an attempt to be a good and proper adult. In an attempt to prove a point, that I could do it. But I feel like there's a younger, more exciting version of me trying to get out constantly, and that generalised frustration is starting to spill over into my daily life now."

"I see," said Elliot.

Her hands shot up involuntarily to cover her mouth. She hadn't expected to say anything like that. She suddenly felt awful.

Seeing this, Elliot said, "There is no need to feel bad, Hannah. If that's how you feel, then keeping it in isn't going to help you. I understand that there is often guilt around these types of admissions, especially as a parent, but please don't beat yourself up. That's not the purpose of these sessions. Just try to be honest with yourself." Elliot had begun methodically rolling up his sleeves as he was saying this—folding the material over once, then again, and again. Hannah tried not to look at his forearms, which were slender but muscular. She felt hot. Was the room stuffy? Was it a bodily reaction to blurting out her true feelings in that way? Or was it his arms that were having that effect on her?

After the session Hannah walked home in a daze. "What happened back there?" she wondered. In less than an hour, she had managed to question the reason as to why she married her husband, admit to feeling frustrated in her current life, and unexpectedly fantasise over her therapist's physique. She knew he was good-looking going into this, but she hadn't expected him to be quite so alluring in person. And yet, despite her attraction to him, she felt like she could tell him anything. It all felt very confusing and exciting at the same time.

Her walk home wasn't long and the weather was nice, there was a cool breeze and the sun was out. She enjoyed walking alone at her own pace for once. "I must pick up some bananas on the way home, we're almost out, and if we don't have any in the house, the children won't eat any fruit this week," she said to herself. Mum mode had now been fully reengaged.

Chapter 4.

Hannah's husband was a lovely man whom she cared for deeply. They had two children together, after which he had volunteered to have a vasectomy, aware that neither of them wanted any more and that she had taken sole care of contraception for their entire relationship. Now in her early forties, she didn't want to take any more pills that messed with her hormones and her weight, or have another painful IUD inserted that had given her the heaviest periods she had known when she was younger. She just wanted things to be simple. She was aware how much her husband enjoyed sex with her, and she had a need for penetration, so it seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement for them both. No more condoms on that one week of the month, no more worries about slip-ups and unwanted pregnancies. It had proven to be a great solution, they could fuck whenever they wanted without having to check a calendar, as long as there wasn't a rogue child in their bed that night, of course. After ten years together, neither of them particularly wanted to do it elsewhere in the home anymore. The bathroom never felt all that clean. The kitchen felt too accident-prone. Since moving into this house, they had decided one Saturday evening to fuck on the new rug in the sitting room, only for them both to come away with carpet-like burns and a vow not to try it again.

The evening after Hannah's first therapy session, she put the children to bed, surprised at how easily it went for once.

She took her clothes off, went into the bathroom and washed her face, something she did every single evening. However, this evening as she cleansed her face, working the product into her skin, she felt different. Something about it felt more sensual than usual. "Maybe I'm ovulating?" she thought. She was always much easier to turn on when she was ovulating. Thank you nature! Still, it wasn't usually her face-washing routine that did it for her. She splashed the water onto her face and looked up at the reflection of herself in the mirror, expecting to see the slightly tired woman she always saw of an evening staring back at her. Instead she caught her own gaze in the mirror and looked at herself inquisitively, she looked quite radiant for once. She smiled at her own reflection, "Well this is new," she thought. "Maybe therapy is good for me."

Face cream applied, hair brushed, teeth cleaned, she walked into her husband's office, completely naked. "The kids are down for the night. Do you want to fuck, darling?"

Her husband looked up from his computer screen. "Oh! I didn't see you there, Han! Yes, of course. Give me five minutes to send this email, ok?" Hannah let out a little sigh and walked back out of the room. She got it. Life gets in the way when you're older. She shouldn't compare this situation to those lived in her youth, to that frantic sex she had so loved with her ex. Looking back, she realised they had little to no responsibilities. They didn't even live together. God it was perfect! "Why do we ever move in with one another?" she thought. "House prices, that's why." She said, nodding in agreement with her own conclusion.

She lay down in bed, and waited. Five minutes went by, then ten. "Well this is bullshit," she muttered to herself.

She was aware that if she waited much longer she would probably fall asleep despite the early hour, then no doubt wake in the night extremely horny and frustrated, with her husband snoring next to her. She began touching herself. Now wasn't the time for noisy toys, but she could use her fingers. She had never been able to make herself climax just by rubbing, but she could keep herself wet until he joined her in bed. "Maybe I should have just straddled him on his office chair," she thought to herself and groaned.

A further fifteen minutes later, her husband threw himself through the bedroom doorway, sideways, whilst unbuttoning his shirt, obviously aware that he was arriving lot later than promised, and trying to make up for lost time. The scene made Hannah laugh. "Don't hurt yourself! It's fine, just get into bed for god's sake." Now fully naked, he pulled back the sheets hurriedly, letting cold air into the previously warm environment, and lay down next to her. He reached out to touch her body with hands that were icy cold. She squealed. He instantly retreated and apologised, putting his hands over his mouth, breathing heavily on them to try and warm them up.

"Is that your vagina I can smell, Han?" he asked.

"Probably. I had to keep myself occupied while I was waiting for you."

"I'm sorry, something came up. Nothing as interesting as your vagina, of course. It just couldn't wait until tomorrow."

Not for the first time, she wished he'd just call it her "cunt". Unfortunately, he had always refused to, so she'd given up asking. "Vagina" felt so sterile.