3 comments/ 34974 views/ 9 favorites Erotic Transference By: Cold_Eyes "You know, Nate, after all this time, I've forgotten to ask you about your romantic life. So?" I had looked forward to this moment and, at the same time, dreaded it for so long. Crimson shades run up my neck and I have no way of keeping them from going further. This always happens. And it only makes my embarrassment worse. "Nothing," I whisper. "Okay, well, anything in the past I should know about?" "No." "So nothing at all?" "No." "All right, how about interests. Romantic interests?" How about you, Nell? But I can never tell you that. Nell's skirt is rather short today and it's riding up her crossed legs. It's hard for me to keep my eyes from running over the length of each one. But that's not why I love her. Doctor Nell Calkins, for the last six months, I've poured my soul out in this room, your office. I've divulged every secret, no matter how deep it was buried. I've revealed every foible, no matter how shameful. You know more about me than anyone else in this world. How could I not love you? But Nell is a psychiatrist, a very professional one at that. If I tell her the truth, I don't know what would happen. I've never told a woman the truth before anyway. Her eyebrows arched. Was she getting impatient? "Um, well, there's one girl I really like." "Who?" "Bijou. She's in one of my classes." "What do you like about her?" I think of her long billowing sweaters and skirts that hang from her delicate frame. How her hand brushes against mine when she wants me to look at her work. The way her voice is so soft I can barely hear her accent. And how I am absolutely in love with the pale skin of her face. How can I put this into words for Nell? "I don't know." "There must be something that makes her different if you like her." A long silence. "What about other girls? Do you think any like you?" "Yeah, there were a few that liked me. But I never liked them. They just kind of latched on to me. I don't even know why they liked me." "Well, what happened?" "Nothing," I lie. It's the first time I've lied to Nell. I could talk to her about anything but that. I had talked to her about everything but that. But I should be honest. She has to know if she's going to help. "Except one time." "What time?" She touches the eraser of her pencil to her lips. She would have to dredge it out of me. But when Nell asks prying questions, I don't feel intruded upon, because I do want to tell her everything. "This one girl, I thought she was okay, I guess. She hit on me sometimes, and she asked if she could kiss me." I could feel myself turning red. "And I was curious about it, so I let her." "Now that's the kind of thing I wanted to know when I asked you about romantic interests, Nate. So tell me what happened." "I did tell you what happened." I wriggle in my seat. "You seem awfully uncomfortable about it. I think there is something else that happened." She waggles her clipboard, drawing her skirt up her legs a tiny bit more. I'm not just lying to her, I'm lying to myself. I didn't throw out that first hint because I wanted to help her in the "therapeutic process." I did it because I wanted to get closer to her. I wanted her to accept the part of me that I was most ashamed of. "She tried to take my shirt off, so I told her to stop, and I ran away." "Why did you do that?" I have no choice but to be brutal about it now. "Because I didn't want her to see me naked!" "Huh, gymnophobia? You're afraid of nudity?" "Well, I mean, I can be naked. It depends. I feel less embarrassed around people that make me feel safer. But even then, it's weird. I don't even like to take my shirt off in public. And I feel kind of weird being naked even when I'm alone." "Hmm, maybe it's not just a plain old phobia if that's true. Maybe it's related to your anxiety issues. Have you had any other experiences? Any other times you were afraid of being exposed?" "Well..." She's hit on a second incident that I don't want to relive. "Back in high school, I was at the beach with some friends. I was wearing these loose baggy trunks and standing in the ocean. A big wave hit me and pulled my shorts off. By the time I saw where they were, they were too far out to get back. I had to run back to the beach, and it was the most embarrassing moment in my life." "I see. I want to go back to the girl you were talking about earlier. Would you have gone further if it weren't for that?" "I couldn't say. It happened so fast, I just didn't know if I liked her enough to go further. And then the whole nudity thing, I couldn't handle it." "Maybe it's erotophobia, then, sex in general. Though, I'm reluctant to say it's a phobia, really, given your issues with anxiety. I think maybe it's just that you're especially anxious because it's the most personal form of contact between two people." As usual, Nell explains me better than I can. I let out a sigh, my eyes wandering back to her legs while she scribbles. If Nell asked if she could kiss me, I would let her. She's the only woman I would let see me naked, the only woman I would let make love to me. Bijou, perhaps, but she is only nineteen. Still a girl, not a woman. And here I am talking about sex to the one woman I can't have. And I'm watching her scratch her leg, watching her skirt ride up even more so that I can almost see all of her thighs. When she uncrosses her legs, I catch a glimpse of her white panties. A swelling sensation begins. Being reminded about my one "sexual" encounter also reminded me of all the sensations that came with it. And on top of that I was telling it out loud, to Nell. This is another problem – I am sensitive, easily aroused. I have to cut the tags out of my shirts, I can smell foul cologne from a mile away, and I sneeze when the sun gets too bright. And, of course, I'm easily aroused down there. When sex is mentioned, it lingers in the air like some kind of inscrutable odor. That odor all too often reminds me of my solitary kiss. The smell of raspberry from her hair, her belly undulating from her rapid breathing, her tongue exploring my mouth. I had sprouted an erection the second our lips met. And I always think, if kissing felt like that.... My arousal only made things worse. I didn't want her to see me naked, much less see that I was hard as stone. It was just so irrational, though. She was unbuttoning my shirt – what else would she be expecting? But my mind always shoots back to that incident on the beach. I neglected to tell Nell that being exposed had given me a raging hard-on, and the thought of the girl undressing me had done the same. Whenever I relive the moment, I can't help but think of how foolish I am. What if someone had seen that? What if someone sat in on my sessions with Nell? My mind immediately conjures a guy with a popped collar and backwards cap, saying "Christ, dude, just get laid already! You're making way too big a deal out of this, you goddamned pussy!" "...you need some pussy," Nell says, breaking the silence. I jump in my seat. "Whuh?" "I said, 'I don't mean to be pushy.'" I exhale, relieved, but almost a tiny bit disappointed. My thoughts had flown so far while she sat writing. Now I snap back to the present and feel my member crawling down my thigh. I crossed my legs just in case. "But, can you tell me more about Bijou? Would you have gone through with it if she had been the one kissing you?" "I don't know. Yes, I guess. I mean, I would be nervous but I think I could do it." "Yes, I know Bijou. She's a nice girl." "What? How?" "I'm in an evening class with her. I can tell she's a nice girl. But I know why you like her. She makes you feel safe, doesn't she? She's a lot like you." For the first time, I feel Nell knows almost too much about me. But I can't deny that she's entirely correct. "Yes," I whisper. The corner of her lip turns up. "Even the fear of nudity." She leans over, pulls a canvas from behind her desk, and turns it around so I can see. I jump in my seat just like before. It's a portrait of Bijou clutching a sheet of cloth to her nude body so only her shoulders on up and a hint of leg can be seen. I can see the brush strokes. They make a painterly image of Bijou, but in a bad way. Like a failed attempt at Impressionism. The crudeness of it doesn't do her justice at all. "Do you like it? I know I'm not an artiste, probably not even half what you are, but I think I'm coming along." "Oh, yeah, it's very nice." That was the second time I had lied to Nell. "Thank you. The model that week didn't show up and I managed to convince her to pose for us. She wouldn't go fully nude, though." She puts the painting aside. "Anyway, that's besides the point. Now what I'm thinking is that we need to try something new. You've been coming here for months. I think we have made some progress here in this room, but that's where it seems to stay. And you've told me that the medication is having less of an effect than it used to. I don't mean to be critical, but I think maybe it's time you're pushed headfirst into the water rather than dipping your ankles in and trying to acclimate to it forever." "What do you mean?" "I mean that we need to solve this problem. I hadn't realized sexuality was such an issue with you, but I guess I had just assumed the problem and never looked into it. I have to apologize for that oversight. But what I'm getting at is that I think if you could become comfortable with your own body, especially in intimate settings, it would help you in every area of your life. If you can break that boundary you fear most, everything else will be a breeze." "Okay." "Well, we have a few minutes left. Why don't we try something to get you started? I just want to help you get used to revealing yourself, so to speak. I know this might sound unprofessional, but I did do a little bit of sex therapy back in my younger days. I want you to undress." "What?! Right here?" My heart raced even though I'm sure I just misheard her like I had earlier. "First step, we'll make it easy," she says and holds her clipboard over her eyes. "I won't look. It's a win-win situation. You can start off easy, just being naked in an unfamiliar setting in someone else's presence. And I can maintain my professional decorum because I won't see a thing." "Are you serious?" She keeps the clipboard over her face. "I expect to hear a zipping sound soon, Nate." I force a lump down my throat. It's okay, she can't even see me. It's nothing. Besides, how long have I fantasized about something sexual happening with Nell? I flick open the two buttons on my polo collar. It's nothing, it's nothing. It's just the same as taking a shower. I pull off the polo and drop it to the floor. I unbuckle my belt and finger the button on my jeans. It's nothing. I pop the button open, unzip, and drop everything. The second my pants hit the floor, my penis pulls itself into the air, hard as can be. That vicious cycle of embarrassment and arousal has started. Damn, why couldn't I be normal like the guys who couldn't get it up when they were nervous? "That's it. See, wasn't so hard now was it? Why don't you get comfortable, walk around a little?" All I can think is, "I'm nude in Nell's office." My inhibitions are making me queasy, my sense of normality is scratching its head, and my libido is shouting with joy. But it all comes back to that simple statement. I kick off my shoes so I can pull my pants all the way off and walk circles around the chair. My erection bobs in time with my steps. You know, this doesn't feel half bad. "Oh, I've got an even better idea. I want you to get more comfortable. I want you to imagine Bijou seeing you like this." She pulls the canvas back up and sits it on her lap, dispensing with the clipboard. Despite her amateurish appearance in the portrait, she seems to be stepping right out of it. "'Allo, Nate," she says, then glimpses my nudity and gasps, covering her mouth with one hand. I give her a sheepish smile and cover a certain part of my body as well. "I am sorry, I didn't realize." She emphasizes the last syllable of each word, as always. Her hand travels down to mine. "You know, it's nothing to be ashamed of. I am naked underneath this sheet too." She lets go of the cloth. My eyes shoot all over her exposed figure while she moves my hand away. I stare at the erect nipples on her tiny breasts. Her hand wraps around me, so gentle yet so stimulating. "How is it?" Nell asks, jolting me out of my fantasy. I become aware, all at once, of my hand making gradual strokes along my member and Nell's self-exposure. She's holding the canvas to her torso, which had pulled her skirt up so that the length of her thighs and her panties were quite visible. I remove my hand, not wanting to leave a mess on her floor. "It's okay." I couldn't believe I had lost myself like that right in front of her, even if she couldn't see anything. The portrait of Bijou still stares at me, though. "All right, our time is nearly up. Tell me when you're dressed." I throw my clothes on and tell her I'm ready, crossing my legs again to make my problem less apparent. She drops the portrait. "That's good, Nate. Very good. Actually, this has given me a great idea. I want you to pose for my class." As before, I don't trust my ears. She goes on, "It'll be good for you. And I'll tell you what. I won't be there so we can maintain a professional relationship. Everyone will see you once and that's it, you'll be done." "I can't do that." "I want you to try. No, I want you to do it. I'm going to tell the professor that you're coming in next week. I'll make sure she makes you feel comfortable with the whole procedure. I can just ask one of the students the week after if you kept your word." --- Somehow I find myself sitting on a bench in a locker room wearing only a robe. The art professor, Doctor MacConnelly, has one hand on my hips and another on my head, demonstrating the poses I need to hold. This is all Nell's fault. I couldn't say no to her, especially because I let myself believe she would let this whole thing go further. Whenever I leave her office, I wonder if she thinks about me. I always hope she does – that she thinks of me with some fondness. I know I'm probably just another sad sack of neuroses to her, though, most likely one of her milder cases. She no doubt deals with raging maniacs; cases that require great effort to solve and far more attention than mine. I know that she's just trying, as she put it, to kick me straight into the water. She's not even going to be in the class tonight. Professor MacConnelly leads me out the door toward the classroom. I calm myself – these people aren't going to see you again anyway. And they've been painting nudes or near-nudes the entire semester. It's nothing. As the professor shepherds me through the door, though, everything changes. All eyes are on me. Even though it's a small class, it might as well be a sold-out crowd at a baseball stadium. I see Bijou. She covers her mouth to stifle a laugh, then waves to me. Of course, if Nell had painted her, she would be in this class. I don't know how I hadn't realized that. But then my eyes fall upon Nell herself. The liar! I nearly jump out of my skin. I can't believe she's here. When I talk to her this week and every week after, I'll feel just as naked in front of her as I will today. But, at the same time, it gives me a feeling of ease, as if I have a cheerleader in the crowd for me. Someone who will be able to fix things if they go wrong. The professor sits me down on the stool in front of the class. "Go on," she says. I untie my robe, only able to do so because I feel as if I've entered a dream, as if this can't possibly be real. As the robe parts, the professor grabs the opening and pulls it from my shoulders. "Here, I'll hang this up for you." That's it, I'm nude. I didn't even get a final word in the matter. I have to sit with my head pointed to the left and my back to the class. This isn't so bad, I guess. All they can see is my back. But I can see two girls out of the corner of my eye, a blonde and a brunette. They're sitting almost to my side and I know they can see nearly everything. They start whispering to each other while I shake in nervousness on the stool. My hands grip the sides of the stool for balance. The professor comes over and moves my hands behind my back where they're supposed to be, saying "Be still, now. Hold your pose." My eyes dart all the way to the left so I can see the two girls. One of them smiles at me. I can't tell if they can see all of me. Deliberating about what they can see, though, is fueling that vicious cycle. I look back to my lap, trying to ignore the girls. My penis wriggles against my bare leg. Watching my sprouting erection is only making it worse, so I move my eyes back to the left. The blonde pops a button on her shirt and runs her fingers down her open collar. The brunette is playing with the end of her brush, touching it to her lips. Her tongue slips out and licks the brush handle. Then she puckers and slips the handle into her mouth, fellating it. I swallow nervously. She winks, noticing me give off a slight tremor. I had never taken a class that used nude models, but I had heard stories from some of my friends. They said that there were always a few girls who tried to get the male models riled up. That they would tease and giggle and flash while the guy was captive in front of them while he attempted to keep himself from getting too excited. That's all it is, they're just fooling around with me. Don't play their game and you'll be fine. But now that I know the two girls are trying to get into my head, it's only making the situation worse. They've got to be imagining more than just painting my body. Their impure motives are pushing lewd thoughts into my head. I look away again only to find my member inching down my leg. The friction from my skin isn't helping the situation. A feeling of warmth washes over my entire body. I had taken a triple dose of my meds before I came to the class just in case, which apparently just caught up with me. I feel half-drunk. I stop my little shifting motions as the medication calms me. I wonder what the girls are up to. Though I know I shouldn't look over, I do anyway. The blonde has another button undone, showing a hint of cleavage and the top of her bra. Her legs are spread apart enough to allow a peek up her skirt. The brunette is sucking her brush even harder, the handle making a bulge in her cheek. I've lost the battle. My dick climbs into the air until it points straight up. The blonde taps the brunette and the two giggle. A blush crosses my face. There's no doubt that they can see it now. Professor MacConnelly distracts them for a moment by checking up on their progress, but they are back to tricks before long. "Second pose!" calls out the professor. I seize. I'm supposed to be facing the class for the second pose. The professor says again, "Second pose, dear." I'm still frozen. Professor MacConnelly's hand grips my shoulder as she leans toward me from behind. "Is that," she points with her free hand to my erection, "the reason you don't want to do the second pose?" More giggle from the two girls. I panic. The girls can see me and the professor is pointing her finger right at my hard-on. I can't turn around – visions of the beach incident are already creeping back into my mind. I slap my hands over my crotch and leap off the stool. The tiles beneath my feet are sand. The students are bikini-clad girls, laughing at my nudity. My member is stiff from my exposure. I'm running to my bag to get a towel I can use to cover myself. The students are my first paramour, reaching for the buttons on my shirt. Pushing her hand away, covering myself with the towel. Both things brought me great relief, but I secretly wish that the gaggle of beach babes had run off with my towel, that I had let my kissing partner strip me. Erotic Transference "Nate, no!" Nell manages to block the door right before I can grab the handle. "You're doing so well, don't give up now." Professor MacConelly appears next to Nell. "You know, it's common for male models to get aroused. It's nothing to worry about." Giggling from the girls again and whispers from the other students. Despite their reassuring comments, all I can think about is getting out of this room. I try to nudge Nell aside while I keep myself covered with my other hand. "Stop!" Nell says almost under her breath. Her hands fly to her blouse and undo the top few buttons. I stand transfixed as her shirt comes open. "Nell, what are you doing?" whispers Professor MacConnelly. "I told you this might happen. This will help him. Just go along with me here." As Nell shucks her blouse, she announces, "Our model is just a little shy, so anything you can do to make him feel more comfortable will be much appreciated." Comfort – hell, anything besides Nell – is gone from my mind. The meds are hitting me even harder now and everything but my enchanting therapist ceases to exist. She unzips the back of her skirt and lets it fall to the floor. While my eyes feast on Nell in her white cotton, my dick beats against my cupped hands. Her hands reach behind her back and the tension on her bra releases. She lets it slip from her shoulders. I bite my lip as my dick makes an audible slapping noise, jumping between my modesty-preserving hands and the skin of my stomach. Nell's skin has a few incipient wrinkles, creases, and spots, but they are like mirages layered on top of an unfading beauty. She bends forward, her panties sliding down her legs. I'm still attempting to process the fact that we're standing naked in front of each other when Professor MacConnelly finally speaks. "You don't have to do that." "No, it's fine. If he has to be nude, I have no problem joining him." "Well, all right. I can't say I object to seeing the human form or I wouldn't be teaching this class." The professor smiled. "As long as it helps Nate." My attention is distracted from Nell's body as one of the guys in the class calls out, "Yeah, fuck it! I model all the time, it's no big deal." He throws his shirt to the ground. "If it helps you, I got no problem strippin' down." His face, and his effeminate voice, seem familiar. I definitely have a class with this guy, but I can't remember his name, just that he's more than a little flamboyant. As he peels off his jeans, the two girls pipe up. "We'll do it too!" I swallow, watching them begin disrobing. "Uh, professor, do we have to, you know?" asked the only other guy in the class. "If you feel comfortable with it." The guy becomes shifty-eyed, no doubt peeking at the two girls who are now down to their underwear. He removes his shirt and drops his pants, but keeps his boxers on. I look over to Bijou, who seems unsettled to have found herself in a room full of people undressing. She hesitantly stands from her stool. I can empathize with her situation. She is stuck between this sudden group energy, telling her to play along, and her sense of modesty. Her face encapsulates the dilemma – a shade of red creeps over her skin, her teeth bite down on her lower lip, yet the corners of her mouth are turned up in a smile. Her hands move up her sides and pull her skirt down. This reveals nothing, though, as her lengthy sweater conceals the area where the skirt had been. Her fingers curl and lift the hem of the sweater until it passes above her head. I feel disappointed when she sits back down, making it clear that she has removed as much as she can. However, it is the first time she has shown her waif-like figure to me, even if it is still covered by her bra, panties, and translucent leggings. She looks up from her easel at me as if to ask if this was good enough for me. "So, will you stay, Nate?" the professor asks. I nod and trudge back to the stool. I take my seat as Nell takes hers. "Second pose now, dear." I scan my unclad audience. I remember the old trick – "Think of them in their underwear." This is far better, though the exposed bodies of Nell and the girls would ensure my erection persisted. I unclasp my hands and let the thing free. As I slide my fingers to my knees to get into the pose, I give myself a little pinch just to make sure. Nothing happens. No pointing and laughing from them, no panic attack from me. I'm just sitting on display as if it were the most natural thing. And the view from here. Nell, Bijou, the two girls, they're keeping me distracted as well. When the professor moves back into the cluster of easels to give the students advice, the two girls titter. My gaze shifts from Nell and Bijou to my right. The blonde and the brunette both have stunning bodies, the likes of which are probably the target of every frat boy but the property of only the smoothest. The blonde is groping her own tits, making a point of flicking her nipples until they harden. The brunette has given up on her painting and is stroking her brush and making an orgasmic face. Her mouth opens wider as her strokes get faster. She mouths "Oh yeah" as she shakes the brush, causing droplets of paint to fly off the end. The brunette then puts her finger to her lips, cleans her brush, and touches the bristles to the blonde's chest. They trace a line down to her nipple. The blonde peers down in surprise at the brush that's now tickling her hard point. Not too much later, the brush continues its path downward over the blonde's stomach into her pubic hair. It dances through her trimmed bush and lands right on her clitoris. The blonde, eyes wide open, gives a little worried tug on the brunette's arm. The brunette leans closer and whispers in her ear. The blonde nods and allows her legs to be spread further and the brush to work harder against her clit. Her head tilts back, her skin flushing. The brunette is intent on giving me a show. She takes two more brushes and traces the blonde's lips with their handles. The blonde stifles a moan as the brunette penetrates her. The brushes move faster, causing her breathing becomes ragged. She's pushing her hips into the brushes now, her stool rattling. The blonde is giving a few final thrusts when I hear a loud "Ahem." The professor is standing over the guy in his boxers, giving him a dirty look. He's situated just behind the two girls. I have no doubt he knows what had been going on when he removes his hand from his only article of clothing. The brunette swiftly withdraws the brushes from the blonde while the professor whispers to the guy behind them. I glance down. My embarrassment had been replaced by pure arousal for the last few minutes. My dick confirms this with its now obvious twitching. It holds still for a moment and releases a bead of pre-cum that dribbles down my shaft before it resumes its twitching. Self-consciousness takes hold again. I had gotten used to being nude, even with my erection. But the thing is shameless about making itself noticed now, repeating its performance and letting another drop of fluid free. It is being honest, though – I have never felt such a need to touch myself before. I look toward the other side of the room. Everyone is painting studiously. The flamboyant guy has a hard-on of his own and I hope that it's not from looking at me. My eyes flee from that sight and land on Nell and Bijou, sitting beside each other. Seeing my two loves side-by-side in their states of undress only sparked further arousal. Fluid escaped from my head again. Damn, could a guy cum without touching himself? "Five minutes left, class," the professor announces. It takes me that long to realize that I have just had the most erotic experience of my life. "All right, we're out of time. You can take your work home with you if you want to add some finishing touches." I hop off the stool, still in disbelief, and walk over to where my robe is hanging. Professor MacConnelly appears beside me and slips a few bills into the pocket of the robe. "Thanks for your time." When she walks away, I feel a slap on my ass. It's the flamboyant guy. "Good job, man." As soon as I turn around, though, his presence is replaced by the two girls standing on either side of me. I feel a peck on each cheek, then a pinch on each ass cheek. "It was fun working with you." The brunette winks and the two walk off. I throw my robe on at last and leave the room, stealing one last glance in to see Nell and Bijou still adjusting their skirts. --- I pop open the locker and it brushes against my hardness. I hold it and run my thumb over the shaft. Maybe I should find the bathroom before I get dressed. I hear the door open. I cover myself as I see Nell walk through the doorway holding a canvas and purse. She's fully dressed except for her shirt, which remains unbuttoned. She always wears flats to the office, but today she's in spool-heels that put her at my height. "You don't need to cover yourself anymore. We've just stared at each other completely naked for the last hour." Staring into my eyes, she reaches down and moves my arms aside. "Yeah, sorry, just kind of a habit." She's looking right at my erection. "Well, you look like you enjoyed that. You should be proud. So how was it?" She squeezed my arm. "Oh, it was, um...." I struggle to reveal to what extent my humiliation had turned into arousal. I'm still nervous, just standing next to her like this. I finally blurt out the next thing that comes to mind. "Can we do it again?" I almost clap my hands to my mouth in horror. She says, "My, my, maybe there's a little exhibitionist under all that anxiety, huh?" I can only respond with a muffled grunt of assent. "Here, sit." She puts her arm around my shoulder and we descend onto the bench. She motions toward my crotch. "I want to know if I'm keeping you like that. Or is that for Bijou, or the two other girls?" It throbbed and emitted an outpouring of pre-cum. "It looks like it is for me, isn't it? Nothing to be ashamed about if it is." She paused. "God, it looks like you really need some relief – it's been like that for so long. You know, if you want to give it a little rub, that's okay. In fact, I think it would be good – even more progress, all in one day." "Okay." My hand closes around my hard-on. If there was anyone I'd do this for, it was Nell. And with how horny I am, my inhibitions leave my body. I begin my rhythm, sliding my hand up and down. Her head is perched on my shoulder, her eyes staring downward. "That's it, Nate. Just get comfortable." I stroke faster, already aroused from the events of the art class and even more so from the fact that I'm pleasuring myself while Nell holds me. I can see her generous cleavage held in by her white cotton bra. I know it won't be long. "Here, do you want me to help you?" I nearly explode at her words. Of course, how could I say no? I merely nod, though, as if I'm not too excited about the proposition. Her hand reaches toward my rod and picks my hand from it. The sleeve of her blouse is unbuttoned, allowing the cuff to brush against me. She clicks her tongue and stands to remove the shirt. "Here, stand next to me." As I do so, she produces a bottle of lotion from her purse. She squirts some onto her open palm and holds it against the bottom of my shaft. The coldness of the lotion mixes with the warmth of her hand to create an incredible sensation. As her hand glides over my cock, I let out little moans. I think of how well she always seems to know me in our sessions. This is no different – her hand knows what my dick likes better than I do. "Am I doing it right for you?" "Oh, god, yes." As I answer, she moves in and pecks me on the lips. She hugs me and kisses me again. I let her tongue pass into my mouth while she holds my member still against her stomach. I'm too aroused to let her stop despite the feeling of our tongues touching. My hips thrust forward, fucking the ring her hand is making and rubbing against her stomach. When the kiss breaks, I rest my head on her shoulder. She continues to suckle on my neck. I look down her back, my hands reaching toward her skirt. I fiddle with the zipper. Is this it? Are we going to make love right here? Does she even like me? Is this still somehow part of the therapy? While I anguish over the situation, my hands subconsciously pull the zipper tab down. None of it matters. Her breasts are pressed into my chest, the warmth of her body envelops me, I can't stop thrusting against the soft skin of her hand and her stomach. I'm going to cum. I push her skirt down, desperate to to grab a forbidden part of her body. The garment drops to the floor. I squeeze her round cheeks, clad only in her white panties. She whispers in my ear, "You can feel me down there, if you want to." One of my hands reaches further, down her backside between her legs. The cloth of her panties feels more torrid the farther I go. Holy shit, she's enjoying this too. That realization, however, sets me off. I thrust against her one last time as my cock goes rigid. "Oh, fuck, yes!" I yell, squeezing her tight. My cock throbs against her stomach as I cling to her. Time seems suspended for those few seconds before I release. And then the torrent bursts forth. I jerk against her which pushes her back against a locker door. My hips wrench and I hear metallic bangs. Cum squirts up her stomach as well as mine. A wet sticky feeling grows with each spasm. I release a few final drops, then let out a gasp and fall back, spent. I look up at her. Her eyes are closed. She's standing against the locker in her underwear, her stomach covered in my juices. "Fuck, Nell. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that." She opens her eyes. "It's okay, Nate. It's fine, you did fine." "Here, let's find the bathroom." I take her hand and scan the room for the entrance to the bathroom. Once I find it, I pull her in that direction. She sighs. "I knew this would happen." "What?" "Erotic transference." "What's that?" I ask, pushing open the bathroom door. "Transference and counter-transference. You've developed feelings for me. And I've developed feelings for you. But they're very dangerous ones." "Huh?" "I don't love you, Nate." I feel crushed, even though I didn't expect that she actually had any romantic feelings for me. "Well, I do, but it's not normal love. It's like a motherly love." I rip a paper towel from the dispenser. I'm entirely confused at this point, so I instead concentrate on cleaning her stomach. I wipe a drop of semen off her before it soaks into her panties. "Thanks, Nate. What I'm saying is that I've developed a sort of parental affection toward you over the last few months. But it's not just that...it's a, well, a sexual attraction too." "Whuh?" I'm taken aback and fling the towel in surprise. "That's why I lied to you and showed up here today. Hell, that's why I suggested this in the first place. Here." She took a paper towel and dabbed the sticky spot on my stomach. "Look at yourself in the mirror. You are a handsome young man, and you shouldn't be so ashamed of your body. You got paid to model today. And you've got me all worked up over you. That should make it obvious that you're attractive." "I guess, I mean, I just never thought...." "That's why this is dangerous. It's a case of maternal erotic transference. I have all these protective feelings, and sexual ones at the same time. And young men can easily see their therapists as mother figures. I've taken care of your emotional needs – it's natural to develop an attachment." I shiver as she cleans off the tip of my softened member. I understand what she means, but I don't want to. I hold her against me. "But why does it have to be so complicated? If we have these feelings...." She smiles. "Complicated – I'm a psychiatrist, Nate. What did you expect?" "I, I do love you, though, Nell." Although she had figured that out, saying that for myself feels liberating. She puts her arms around my back, pulling me closer so that my head rests on her shoulder again. "That's the problem. All these different feelings mixing together. It's really dangerous." I wish she would stop using that word. "It's going to become something Oedipal. Something that's not healthy for you. And I'm a married woman, Nate." I pull the tie from her hair, causing her bun to fall apart. Her dark auburn locks splash over her back. I grab a clump and hold it to my face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." "No, I should be sorry. I'm the one who's supposed to know what to do here." I feel a droplet hit my shoulder. She sniffs. "But you've got me so confused. We made so much progress. I got you to come to the class and help you face your fear. But what I did went too far. Now I'm afraid that I've hurt you – that I've trapped you. You can open yourself, sexually, around me, and that's helping you open up more than anything else has so far. But in the end it's going to hurt both of us. There's my husband, and I need to maintain a professional–" It's Nell's turn to pour herself out to me and I can't listen. I feel bad about it, but all I can do is run my fingers through her hair. All I can think about is how good it feels to hold her. All I can feel is her bare skin against mine. Lust returns to my loins and my member starts crawling up her stomach again. Our worries seem meaningless. I interrupt her stream of words. "Do you think we might be able to do it again? Just one more time?" "What?" "You know." I kiss her neck while I shift my hips back and forth a little. "Oh, Nate. I don't think this can happen. I don't know what to do. I think we have to stop seeing each other." "Nell?" "I don't think we – I don't think I can work through this. Look, I'll recommend you another therapist. And you can write to me if you want to, but I don't think we should see each other for a while." "But Nell..." I couldn't accept that I had lost her. The woman I had given all my troubles to. The woman who had put me in a situation that scared me to hell and made me like it. The woman who I had let touch me for the first time. "Please don't do this." "This is what I was afraid of, Nate." "Maybe just a little more time together." I press my hips against her. My hands run down her back, finding her ass once again. My erection pokes her stomach. "Nate!" She broke my hold and pushed me back. Seeing what I had just done, I realize she's right. "I'm going to go back to the locker room and get my purse. I'll give you the name of another therapist. And from now on, I want you to try to think of Bijou. I want you to have a healthy relationship. Please, be brave and ask her out, and try to forget about me." Her eyes look as watery as mine feel. Her glasses are fogged up. I nod. She hugs me and gives me one last peck on the cheek. "I'm sorry." --- I sit in my room, looking at the canvas Nell had used. It shows that same crudeness as her portrait of Bijou. Even more so because I'm sitting on a stool, completely nude, displaying a prominent erection that has little white dribbles on it. I open the paper with a psychiatrist's name written on it, then crumple it and throw it against the wall.