Transference Ch. 03

Session 4

Well played, Gina. Well played. It was clear after last week's session in which Gina's display of her barely-covered bosoms had so easily knocked me off my guard that I was going to have my work cut out for me. After clearing my head through the use of some carefully managed masturbation, I felt as though I could look at my situation a bit more objectively. I kept coming back to the same place: Gina's desire to give and receive pleasure was also the very same thing that prevented her from forming any sort of meaningful, intimate relationships. She gave and gave, never asking anything in return, but always hoping to find something more.

Unfortunately, most of us men aren't wired that way. If we don't have to work to get the sex we so desperately crave, then we usually find that putting any extra effort into maintaining a lasting relationship is sort of pointless. I'm not saying that men are incapable of having long-lasting satisfaction in relationships, but Gina generally didn't go after the type of guy that desired that. In one our previous sessions, Gina made a statement that I'll never forget: "I only go after sure things." This got me thinking about how that was possible. Was she that good of a people-reader that she instantly could tell whether she could seduce a man through minimal interactions with him or are us men such predictable creatures that the vast majority of us can be so easily manipulated by sex? I secretly hoped the former was the case, but I feared the most likely answer was the latter.

During that same session, I asked Gina about this tendency to go after the "sure things." I wondered if she ever got it wrong.

"Have you ever been turned down?" I asked, crossing my arms in preparation for what I expected to be an obvious lie.

"Once. In high school. I was so freaked out because I wanted this guy so badly and we had actually fooled around a couple times a couple years earlier. He shot me down and would never tell me why. I ran out of there crying my eyes out," Gina pouted out the story and seemed to grow a bit colder than usual.

I'll admit to feeling a bit of satisfaction in wringing that story out of her, but that quickly went away when she made the next statement.

"But I don't count that one."

I raised my eyebrows and readied a barrage of clarifying questions, but she continued without being prompted.

"No, that one doesn't count because I eventually got him back. A couple years later I gave him a blow job in a hospital parking lot on the morning after his girlfriend gave birth to a kid."

****

It was bit too chilly for a button-down and a bikini top on the next Wednesday morning, so I was glad to see that Gina had elected to wear a heavy coat into the office that morning. She came into my office with a broad smile, removed her coat and plopped down onto the sofa like she was preparing to watch a Netflix marathon. She was wearing a 'normal' casual outfit for a college girl under her coat: blue jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt. She seemed to be in a pleasant mood. I started to feel like I could relax a bit during the session. But not too much. I was not going to give her a reason to start turning on the charm today.

I've noticed over the years that most men Gina's age have a general anxiety around women, although some of them hide it better. I imagine that Gina's presence counteracts this fear. She had this way of putting people at ease and making them feel like they are amazing at whatever they do. This even carried over to me: working with Gina made me feel like I was picking up on cues and thoughts that I would miss with most other clients. I was a better therapist just by being in her presence. All that said, every little minor breakthrough was accompanied by a nagging thought in the back of my mind. I began to wonder if these revelations were just Gina's way of stroking my ego or if they were genuine moments of realization and insight. For a twenty-plus year veteran therapist, determining whether a client is just blowing smoke up your ass or actually getting something from your intervention becomes relatively simple. With Gina, I never figured it out.

One of those important moments happened late into our fourth session. We had been exploring her lack of attachment to men and whether sex allowed her to feel more attached or less attached, when she stopped mid-sentence and said, "I need to tell you something I've never told anyone else."

Usually when a client says something like that, they believe that much of the reason they are here is because of whatever it is they are about to reveal to you. You had better pay attention. I was paying attention.

"Sure. This is a safe place to talk about anything," I said.

She took a deep breath and exhaled and said, "For several years now, I've been working as a cam girl. I do it a lot. And I like it. Is that terrible?"

Sometimes it's best to drop back to Therapy Skills 101, and this seemed one of those times. "Do you think it's terrible?" I asked.

"No, I actually feel like I am helping people. Like for just a few minutes I am helping someone make a connection and talk about anything they want to talk about."

"You make it sound like it's a pretty important job."

"Yes! I think it is! I often think about finding a job where I can help people. You know, like you do. But all I hear is how bad being a cam girl is," Gina said, as she began to lower her head and slump back into the sofa cushions.

We talked for several more minutes about Gina's perceptions of herself versus how others seem to see her and which was most accurate. I decided that this was a good time to bring things back around to Gina's feelings of transference toward me. I sat forward in my chair to match her backwards slouch and asked, "What do you think I think about what you just told me?"

Gina sat for a few seconds and pulled her coat over herself to cover her torso before answering, "I think you don't care." I must have had a confused expression on my face, because she immediately continued, "No, not like you don't care about me, but that it doesn't matter what I do. Your opinion of me won't change. I think you like me for who I am." Sitting under her coat like that, she looked like a weird scarecrow with no arms. All legs and head. I laughed to myself and pressed on a bit further.

"And how do you feel about the thought of me liking you for you?"

"It's nice."

We sat in silence for a few seconds. Silence is one of a therapist's most powerful tools but should be used sparingly. Even a few seconds of silence can seem like an eternity. I noticed Gina began to look uncomfortable and tried to bury her head in her coat collar, like a turtle trying to hide in its shell. She wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come out.

"What is it, Gina?" I coaxed, hoping to get her to follow up with more specifics about her feelings. She followed up, but not anywhere near what I was expecting.

"I want to be honest with you but I am afraid of what you might think of me."

I nodded to acknowledge I heard her concern but didn't say anything. Using the hell out of that silence tool today. I was not going to get thrown off my game like last week. I was going to sit here until she cracked. After what must have been a solid twenty seconds, she lifted her face and looked me dead in the eye.

"I'm so fucking horny right now."

Ho. Lee. Shit.

We learned a ton of stuff in grad school. We learned how to deal with depression. We got anxiety down. Anger is a piece of cake. We even got some practice and education dealing with love and attraction. But this shit right here. This is on a whole other level. At no point in our education did we ever do any role plays that dealt with "so fucking horny." I guess it was time to drop back and punt. I made sure to maintain my composure. I probably hadn't blinked in a good ten seconds. At this point, Gina had gone back to doing her turtle routine, burying her face back in the collar of her big brown coat. I shuffled through my mental Rolodex of canned responses to find one that even came close to a good answer. I finally found something. I swallowed and made every attempt to put on the greatest poker face known to man.

"I guess that's okay."

Seriously? THAT's the best I could do? I had to do better than that.

I stammered on, "Arousal is an extremely powerful emotion. I imagine it's extra frustrating to feel that powerful emotion and not be able to handle it in your usual ways."

Gina nodded.

I wanted to give her a chance to talk, but instead of talking, her next action will be burned in my memory for the rest of my life. I watched in silent amazement as the front of her blue jeans pressed outward and the small mound that began at her waistline slowly made its way lower toward its goal. Gina's legs spread a few inches farther apart and the little mound had now worked itself to the treasure beneath her zipper and had stopped there. Gina's face stayed buried in her coat, which had come up just far enough to reveal her right forearm shoved past her flat belly underneath her jeans. Her hand was working the honeypot more frantically with every rotation and her hips began to grind upward toward the ceiling. The tiniest moan began to emerge from under the coat collar. It didn't take more than a minute for that moan to be squelched by her left hand over her mouth to hold in the gasps and groans. Her body started to shake and her head rolled back and she clamped down on her own mouth even harder. Just when I thought she was going to come out of her shoes, she just as quickly got quiet and sat still for a few seconds before lifting her eyes and looking at me.

I remembered my promise to myself to not let her know how much she was getting to me, but I had a feeling the throbbing bulge in my own jeans was betraying me. I told myself to be cool and tried to pretend like I hadn't just witnessed one of the single sexiest acts I've ever seen.

"S.. So, same time next week?"

I saw the faintest glimmer of a smile and watched Gina nod her head as she gathered her things and walked out the door of my office.