7 comments/ 19938 views/ 23 favorites Transference By: Transference "Hey, Nancy, check this out," I said, flinging the condom onto her desk. "Oh. . .my. . .God," she exclaimed. "Uh, you appear to have a not so subtle admirer." "No kidding. The least he could have done was include a gift card to a nice restaurant with it," I laughed. "But the flowers are lovely. Keep the rubber in case you need it, Nancy. I haven't had a play partner in ages." I brought the flowers to my office, and put them by the window. Inwardly, I was thrilled. They made me feel special. I thought about calling him to thank him, but I was not sure whether it would be appropriate. I was conflicted, so much so that I had to schedule another session with Janice to get my head right, or at least try to. Later that afternoon I was back in Janice's office, lying on her couch. I told her everything about my last session with John, including that we kissed passionately and that I had to finish myself off by masturbating after he left. "So that is why your office always smells like pussy after he visits," laughed Janice. "But seriously, kissing him was wrong, and you recognize that, right?" "Of course," I replied. "I feel terrible about it, but I'm conflicted, because we really want each other." "Has it occurred to you that perhaps the shame that you feel with regard to your sexual feelings are impeding your ability to treat his issues? It might be making you unconsciously defensive, because you are fighting the sense of control that his attraction has brought to the dynamic." "I don't know," I said. "I do feel shame, but at the same time I think I'm thrilled that he is so into me. It is flattering. I guess on some level, part of me wishes that he would get over me, while part of me hopes that he never does." "Well, I know that you are a fairly new therapist and therefore are short on experience. And as I mentioned several days ago, if you don't think you are helping him, you can always refer him to me." I mulled it over for a minute. Although I really didn't want to stop treating John, I was not terribly confident that I could deal with his erotic transference as, quite frankly, he had me metaphorically wrapped around his cock. I felt that I should have been able to handle the situation, but I was struggling. I decided to let Janice help. "Thanks, Janice. I'll call him to tell him that I have referred him to you," I said. "Just be aware that this guy is hot. He might be fucked up and prone to anxiety, but he can make your toes curl." Later that evening, I called John to let him know that I felt that it was in our best interest for me to refer him to another therapist. Although it was a total lie, I told him that the office had given me several new patients, and that we had to shift assignments to some extent. He sounded initially crushed by the news, but I spoke at length to him about Janice and how good she was with her patients. By the end of our call, he was okay with the change, albeit not totally pleased. He agreed to start his visits with Janice the following week. I told him that I enjoyed working with him, and wished him the best both personally and professionally. Over the next few days, I had a few meetings with Janice about John, so she could be prepared for his visit in the following week. I reviewed what we had worked on together, and went page by page through his file with her. This included my chart notes as well as the writing assignments that John had completed for our sessions. "Oh my, this guy can write," said Janice, after reading John's writing. "I've had a few people do writing exercises for me as a part of therapy, but I've never read anything like this." "Yeah, I cannot believe he works in financial services. He should be writing romance novels," I said. In the days after I transferred John's file to Janice, I still found myself obsessing about him. I was going to miss his attention, his handsome good looks, his beautiful mind, and his cravings for my flesh. Yep, I have to admit that I was flattered that he was fantasizing about me. I was doing the same about him. Thinking about him as I masturbated in the evenings became a regular routine for me. I had copied many of his poems before transferring his file to Janice, and I would lie in bed reading them, while jilling myself. When I would reach the point where I was about to come, I would stop, and let the wave recede before again working myself towards the brink. Edging to John's poems was a hobby that occupied the entirety of many of my evenings. I could recognize that my feelings for John were leading to irrational thoughts and naughty ideas. I would think about calling him and asking him for phone sex. I know that he would have done it. I would think about asking him to go out for coffee, after which we could return to my apartment and, well, see where that led. But part of me knew that he was also struggling mentally and emotionally. I knew about his struggles with depression and anxiety on a level that few people in the world, if any, could comprehend. Damn, I knew everything about John, down to his deepest fears, and the truth was that I loved him. I loved his entire being, and I missed him. Over the next few weeks, I continued my practice as usual. It was the regular routine of dealing with people who were depressed, had marital issues, or people who were just too screwed up to cope with reality. I guess it all equated to job security for me, but it did make me wonder about the mental health, or lack thereof, of the general population. It still does. One day Janice, on a whim, asked me out to lunch at an establishment by which we worked. I had not talked to her for awhile, so it was nice to catch up on things with her. Most of all, I wanted to know about how John was doing, although doctor-patient confidentiality would restrict how much she could disclose. We were friends, so I knew that she would bend that rule a little. As expected, she did. "So how is John doing?" I asked. "He's doing well, considering what he has been through. He still has episodes of panic disorder, most often in the mornings, but he is improving. And, oh, I have to say that he wants into your pants something fierce," she laughed. "Why does that not surprise me?" I added. "In our sessions, he can't stop talking about you," she said, pointing her finger at me. "Let me just say it bluntly: he wants to wear you out, whether it is missionary, doggy, reverse cowboy; he has told me it all. Frankly, hearing him talk about you is hot for me. Even I get excited by listening to him, and I have been a therapist for twenty years. But to tell you the truth, I think that he is so screwed up from his prior relationships that he would fuck or fall in love with anything, which is why we have him at our office. He is a mess." "Are you about done with your sessions with him?" I asked. "No, but we will be going to a bi-weekly schedule starting next week," she replied. "He is planning to return to work next month. His mood has improved a little. My goal is to see him improve enough so that we are only having sessions on an as-needed basis." I was happy that John was doing better, and was thrilled that he still thought about me. I still had his phone number, but I was always afraid to call him to see how he was doing. Since I was no longer his therapist, calling him did not seem appropriate. But I craved to hear his voice. I craved to be around him. I craved to experience his mind. Even Janice could sense it. "You still feel an attraction towards John, don't you?" she asked. "Of course," I admitted. "What do you think about him?" "You know, he is a special guy. He is attractive, smart, has a good job. He has his issues, but who doesn't?" "Has he tried to come onto you?" I asked. Janice laughed. "Not really. I think he is hung up on you, to be frank. Just from knowing both of you, I can tell that you two have good chemistry. You are kind of like an obsession to him. Do you feel the same about him?" I thought about it for a minute. "Yeah, I guess so," I admitted. "I'm not proud of it. Maybe it is just that I have been single for so long, but I think it is more than that. Outside of his medical problems, the rest of him is perfect. He is everything that I would find attractive in a guy." "Hey, I do a lot of therapy with couples and groups, even people who are simply friends. Although John is doing better, I think that his feelings for you are still a barrier to his long-term wellness. What do you think about having a session in my office involving both you and John?" "I don't know," I replied. "Would I be psychoanalyzing him with you, or would you be psychoanalyzing the two of us?" "You don't even need to think of it that way. It will be a therapy session, not a laboratory experiment. We'll just talk. The three of us. It might be good for both of you." I thought about it silently for a minute. I did want to see John again. I felt that there was some unfinished business between us, because I had been unable to counsel him as skillfully as I would have liked. Maybe airing out my feelings about him would be beneficial. "Okay, I'll do it," I said. "Good," said Janice. "I'll let John know. What I want you to do in the meantime is write out what you felt your therapy sessions together meant. I'll have John do the same. Does Monday at 4:00 work for you?" "Sounds good," I replied. As I drove back to the office after lunch, I wondered about what I was getting myself into by agreeing to have a therapy session with Janice and John. I felt that it could go either really well or really badly, but I wasn't sure which. The whole prospect of going through with it was daunting and somewhat confusing. Things became clearer as I prepared for the session. I wrote out what I liked about John. I liked his appearance. I liked his smarts. I liked his sense of humor. I liked spending time helping him with his problems. However, I also felt guilt. I felt that I failed him as a therapist by referring him to Janice because I could not adequately handle my countertransference directed toward him. I felt that this made me lesser as a professional. I felt guilty that I secretly enjoyed hearing him discuss his fantasies about me and, to some extent, encouraged him to do so, whether it was appropriate or not. Quite frankly, I got off on that. The more I thought about those things, the more I felt comfortable about discussing them in front of Janice and John. On the day of our session, I felt myself consumed by an almost nervous anticipation. I was frantically thinking about what clothes to wear, what perfume to wear, and how I should style my hair. I wanted to look good for John. I wanted him to think that I still looked pretty. It had been over a month since Janice had taken over as John's psychologist, so it had been awhile since we had seen each other. Eventually I decided to go with white, thigh-high stockings, a snugly fitting, knee-length black skirt, and a white blouse. Accentuating the ensemble were black pumps and a pearl necklace. After a couple of sprits of Clive Christian perfume across my neck, I was ready to go. When I arrived at Janice's office, John was already there. He looked very handsome in black slacks and a white dress shirt that hugged his fit frame. His wore a blue tie that matched his icy blue eyes. He looked wonderful, and it was nice to see him. "Well, hello, John! How are you?" I asked. "I'm doing great, Dr. Green," he replied with a smile. "And yourself?" "Pretty good. Janice invited me to come over and have a chat today. Isn't she nice?" I laughed. We proceeded to exchange pleasantries for a few minutes, after which Janice brought the session into focus. "The reason why I have set up this meeting is to have a discussion about the therapy sessions that two you had together. I know that there was some mutual attraction involved, correct?" "Well, I've admitted my feelings about Dr. Green openly to both her and you," said John. "But mutual attraction?" I had to chime up and confess. "Yes, John. I could never quite say it to you, although I'm sure you sensed it, but I'm attracted to you. Like, in more than just an 'I think you are handsome' kind of way. You make me melt. That is why I had you start having your therapy sessions with Janice." John lowered his head and looked towards the ground. He was clearly deep in thought. "I don't see why your feelings are a problem, Dr. Green, since they are mutual," he replied. Janice then took the floor and explained to John about transference, countertransference, and what it meant for the therapist-patient relationship. She explained it much better than I ever could have. Then she had a question for me. "Dr. Green, what, in your behavior, has elicited this response in John?" I was initially dumbfounded by the question, but certain things started to come to mind. "I never stopped John from writing erotic poems to me. I kissed him. I encouraged him to explore his fantasies about me." "And you see how these extended discussions of sexuality prevented him from receiving adequate care, right?" "Right," I said. "But I liked seeing Dr. Green," John interjected. "I was receiving adequate care." "It may have been adequate, but it was incomplete," said Janice. "Because Dr. Green was unable to address her own countertransference toward you, John, she had reached a barrier beyond which she could not proceed with regard to addressing your well-being." All three of us continued to try to unravel this whole mess over the rest of the hour. I understood things quite well at this point, but I could see that John, if anything, was more confused and, at times, quite hostile to the things that Janice was saying. It made for a long, exhausting hour. I think we were all glad when it was over. When we were done, John and I got up and left Janice's office. I had some things to wrap up in my own office, so I headed over there to take care them. It was not more than a minute or two later that there was a knock on my door. I walked over to open it, assuming that it was Janice wanting to debrief the session with me. But it wasn't. It was John. "Is there something wrong, John?" I asked, sensing distress in his eyes. "Yeah, Dr. Green, there is. I don't know who that doctor thinks that she is, but all of this analysis of erotic transference and the like is bullshit. It is doublespeak to deny us the feelings of love that we both feel towards each other." "No, John, she had clear, valid points," I said with a sigh. "When you see her again in a week or two, I would discuss them with her." Then, without so much as a warning, John grabbed me by my shoulders and planted a deep, sensual kiss on my lips. I initially resisted and tried to utter a "No, John," but it was of no use. I relaxed my posture, parted my lips slightly, and let his tongue penetrate my mouth. It had been weeks since we kissed, and the feeling was just as good as I had remembered. And the cologne he was wearing smelled so good that, in my escalating haze, I wanted to devour him. "John, you gotta close the fucking door," I whispered strongly, in a brief moment of rationality. He closed the door and locked it, after which we resumed making out in my office. A billion thoughts seemed to enter my mind as endorphins flooded my brain. I knew that I had again crossed an ethical line, but this time I didn't care. Making out with John was electric. With our tongues probing each other's mouths, I reached down to feel the bulge in his slacks. His hands, in reciprocation, caressed my breasts through my blouse. My nipples were erect, and I was moistening between my thighs. We kissed for about five minutes before I could no longer stand it. "Sit on the chair," I whispered softly in his ear, pointing to the chair by my desk. "Unbutton these and pull them down, before you do," I said, pointing to his slacks. He complied without a word. Seeing his slacks drop to his ankles was mesmerizing. He then sat on the chair in his underwear, with the tip of his hard cock slightly protruding from its waistband. The tip of his member was slightly glistening. It had to be precum, I thought. I walked over in front of him, and slowly started to unbutton my blouse. I unfastened my bra from the front, exposing my breasts to him. I didn't bother taking off either my blouse or bra completely. I just wanted to undo them enough so that he had full access to my tits. When I was near him, I turned around with my ass towards his face. "Help me unzip," I said, referring to the back of my skirt. Once my skirt dropped to the floor, I rolled down my panties and stepped out of them as well. I then turned around facing him and, dropping to my knees in between his legs, rolled his underwear down to his ankles, exposing his gorgeous cock. It was neither big nor thick, but it was beautiful, with veins mapping desire all the way up the shaft towards its purple, bulbous head. I ran my tongue just once from the base of its shaft all the way to its tip, before looking John straight into his eyes and begging, "Let me get on you." He simply nodded affirmatively in silent obedience. I sat on his lap facing him, with my legs straddled around his. My pussy was pressed right up against his cock, with my wet, engorged labia lapping the sides of its shaft. I gradually started rocking against him, as though I was giving him a lap dance, albeit one without clothes over our genitalia. Waves of pleasure rippled through my body as I ground my clit against his cock, and I could tell from his moans that he was enjoying himself as well. As we rocked on the chair in unison, he took my breasts into his mouth, sucking my nipples softly. He was a marvelous lover. We ground our sex against each other for several minutes before John asked for more. "Can I put it inside you?" he asked sheepishly. I so wanted him to. Believe me. There was nothing more than I wanted at that moment than to fuck his brains out. But there was a problem. "John, I would love that," I huffed, as I continued to grind against him. "But I can't. I'm not on the pill. I can't risk getting pregnant now." I know that he was likely disappointed (I certainly was), but the circumstances dictated that we had to get off via the lap dance rather than from fucking. As we continued to grind each other, I was reminded of the irony that weeks earlier he had given me a condom with some flowers, but I foolishly gave the contraceptive to our secretary Nancy. Oh my, how I wanted that condom back. . . . We rocked our sex against each other for several more minutes, and soon I could feel myself about to come. With one of my nipples still in his mouth, I tossed my head back and started to flush a deep red, while ramming my hips and pussy against his rod. The orgasm was all-consuming and one like I had never experienced before. It was as animalistic as it was spiritual. My orgasm initiated a chain reaction, as John soon let out a deep moan, and I could see his cock pumping his white seed all over my abdomen and down the outside of my pussy. As he was still spurting, I bent towards him slightly and kissed him deeply and passionately. Arm in arm, we continued to kiss for what felt like an eternity, as cum dripped off of our frames and onto the chair. After our dalliance, getting dressed and becoming mentally composed again was no easy chore. Somehow, we made it work. There were no tissues in my office, so I cleaned up the cum with my panties. I gave the panties to John as a present, which he seemed to appreciate. On my way home that night, I had a hard time figuring out what happened that day and why it happened. On so many levels, I didn't want to know. For the first time in a long time, everything in the moment felt just right. Transference I did not hear from John for a few more days. At first I thought that maybe he had finally gotten over me, or perhaps moved on to seduce someone else. After all, that would be congruent with his past history, which I knew everything about. I thought about calling him, but I wanted him to make the first move after our last tryst. It would tell me more about what kind of man he was. Well, about a week later while I was working, I received a call from our secretary Nancy, who said there was a gift for me at the front desk. I walked down and saw a beautiful vase of roses, like the one that I had received many weeks earlier. There was also a package and a card attached to it. I opened the card and it simply read, "There won't be any excuses next time to prevent us from getting closer. Call me. Love you madly, John." I then opened the package and it was an unmarked box filled with what must have been five hundred condoms. Without saying a word this time, I brought the flowers and condoms back to my office. I sat in my office for about ten minutes, admiring my gifts, and thinking about whether I should call him. With a surrealism that felt as though I was living in the third-person, I watched as my hand picked up the phone and started to dial his number.