Truth
In Session
The Lay Psychiatrist gets an unwanted erection which escalates
I am the Lay Psychiatrist and I am losing weight, feeling on some mornings like a normal man who does not have to turn sideways to go through a standard doorway. I have been hard a lot lately, though I don’t make a display of it, send pictures of it to strangers and that kind of nonsense. I’m no Carlos Danger.
I don’t know why this has been happening, because I lost interest entirely for awhile, and now, Boom. It stretches out and crawls down my leg like a rat snake. I was blushing crimson when I opened the door. The woman was a shapely blonde with calculating eyes. On the phone she’d said she was tired of men who wanted her for just one thing. She didn’t specify what that thing is.
She saw the erection before she saw anything else in the office, but she didn’t look directly at it so long as I was facing her. She waited until I asked her to sit down, and as she settled gracefully into the yellow chair, her nostrils flared a little.
“There’s nothing I can do to stop it once it decides to do this,” I said. “It’s beyond my control.” “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” she said. “That which is beyond your control you can’t change. But perhaps you aren’t going to the meetings.” “You said on the phone that you wanted to talk about sex?” “I said I want to be loved and appreciated as a person, not as a sex object.”
I was behind my desk now and feeling more relaxed. The erection was waning, as if it had deliberately embarrassed me when I stood up. God knows it did embarrass me this time. This woman is troubled because she is treated like a sex object and I open the door with a nightstick in my tailor made wool flannel trousers. It is smooth fabric so there is no resistance, as there is in Levis, which are rough fabric and a closer fit, so that you have to make room for it to travel that far. On the other hand, the tightness of the space produces more sensation, especially if the inside of the thigh is hot.
“I feel like the men around me want to have sex with me, and that’s it,” she said. “No matter what I accomplish, they have a single minded focus on their dicks.”
“Vulgar,” I said, and let it hang there without elucidation. “There’s no completion of the soul without the unification of heaven and earth.” I wasn’t sure what that meant but I’d heard it somewhere and remembered it.
I studied her aura by turning my head slightly sideways and letting my peripheral vision see what cannot be seen directly. Girls who get a man’s attention by exhibition don’t want the sex as much as the attention. Even now she is sitting there with her legs apart. She’s wearing jeans, but still … “I want somebody to love me for who I am and not because I’m good sex,” she was saying, and she continued on but I was captivated by a stirring in my pants, as the trouser snake was making small whimpering noises, and the client was sure to hear it if I didn’t do something fast.
I tried to appear to be stretching my neck as I cut my gaze down to where I was again painfully erect, so that I had to unzip the fly and let my member spring free, vibrating back and forth like a tuning fork. I tried to stay calm when I saw that there was a face on the head of it. “Fish,” it said.
At first I didn’t understand. I tried to make it too complicated, when it was simple. There was a goldfish in a bowl on my desk and it wanted it. “Will be you quiet if I give you the fish?” I asked.
“What did you say?” The woman stopped mid-sentence and was staring at me. “And what are you doing with that goldfish?” I had caught it by the tail and was holding it just out of reach of my cock, which was searching blindly and open mouthed, like a baby bird. It had a face but the eyes were not open yet. “I was feeding my cock,” I said.
Her jaw dropped. “Let me see,” she said. And before I could protest she’d popped out of the yellow chair and come around the desk just in time to see the tail of the fish disappear into the now sentient mouth. “My god! What in the fuck is that?” she demanded.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Some kind of rapid evolution.”
My Johnson has always had a certain independence from my brain, but this evolution into language intelligence was freakish and disturbing. It’s embarrassing enough to have an unwanted erection, without its talking, because it never thinks first.
“Well hello, kitty,” she said, and I saw that it had opened its eyes. It was not blind anymore, but had clearly defined dark lenses the size of pinheads. “It’s like the little critter in Alien,” she said, “but without the razor teeth. Ah, look. It’s smiling at me.” I did look and she was right. It was smiling. “I like to be choked,” it said. “Is that wrong?”
I know what you’re thinking. We take an oath to not cross certain lines with clients. But I’m a layman, and if my dick wants to dance, I say, let it dance. And dance it did. She squealed with delight as it coiled and sprang at her hand which she pulled away just in time. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said.
I could feel the blood rush to my faces.