My Favorite Client

“You’re so messed up,” Kat scolded me when I told her that I had fooled around with Nate. “That is not what the therapist’s couch is for. But of course, you’ve decided not to be his therapist any more, right?”

I started to twirl a lock of hair around my finger, a nervous habit that she spotted off the bat. “Oh god, you’re still his therapist.”

“It’s not that easy to leave. It would be like dumping him, which could set his therapy back by months. This is actually working.”

“In what universe?” 

So I proceeded to tell her about the events of the day before, starting with what happened after my blouse inexplicably dropped to the floor.

I had to admit that I half-way expected Nate to be rather mediocre in bed. Yes, he’s amazingly attractive, but I couldn’t simply forget the fact that he was seeking therapy because his wife wouldn’t have sex with him. Call me naive, but I just thought that if you’re married to someone and the sex is good, then you would jump them every moment you’re alone.

I soon learned that the lack of sex going on in Nate’s home had nothing to do with his prowess. And so I continued to lie to myself -- willing myself to believe that these depraved acts with my client were giving me insight into his problems. Sexually proficient. Check. Yay me, I could now successfully cross that one off my list of questions.

At first his moves were tentative, but that only added to my desire. His touch wasn’t demanding like Adam’s; it was soft and slow, making me hot beyond my wildest dreams and craving that we take our relationship to a decidedly more personal level.

“Tell me how you like to be touched,” he whispered in my ear as he ran his hand along the inside of my thigh, touching the front of my panties and then daring to move the thin, lacy fabric aside when he felt me getting wet. He teased me by skimming his hand lightly over my pussy. God how I wanted him to move his hand inside me. 

My breath was rapid, but he was totally in control of himself. His mouth delivered light kisses down my neck as his hand moved gently over me with feather-like touches. This was going on too long. I asked him, rather I begged him to touch me there because I couldn’t stand it any longer.  

And when he obliged my request, he did so with deft expertise, moving his finger slowly inside me and then crooking the tip of it so that it massaged my g-spot making me cum immediately. 

“Oh my. I totally didn’t expect that,” I said breathlessly afterwards.

“You didn’t think I was capable?”

“That’s not what I meant. It just happened so fast.”

He kissed me sweetly. “Wait ‘til I’m inside you. You’ll be happy to know that I don’t suffer from that affliction.” 

Is there any doubt that he’s my favorite client? 

Intervention Intention

When I returned home from the dinner with Adam that had turned into serving me for dessert, a message from Kat awaited me. She asked me to meet for a girls’ coffee date the next day because apparently Ashton was suffering from post coital blues after a date that was supposed to remain platonic.

“She had every intention of being a ‘good girl,’” Kat said making the quote marks in the air with her fingers, “but somehow it ended up with her taking off her top and...well, you know what happens next.”

“That just doesn’t sound like Ashton. So where is she?”

Kat indicated the bathroom of the Starbucks where Ashton was just coming out wearing a pair of black AnnTaylor leggings, a white silk blouse and a new Marc Jacobs bag. In a word, she looked perfect, not at all the mess that Kat had described. Ashton sat down and smiled warmly at me. 

“Kat told me,” I said sympathetically. “Maybe it will turn into something.”

Ashton took my hand. “Actually Mia, I’m fine. I didn’t even go out last night. But, I understand that you did, and well, Kat and I are worried about you.”

The reality of the situation dawned on me. “Wait a minute. Is this an intervention?” The two of them nodded. “This is unbelievable. I’m a therapist. Besides, you two are the ones who said, "Get over your cheating ex-husband; have some mindless sex, blah blah blah." What was that all about?”

“It was meant to get you out of the house and maybe let loose once in awhile, not sleep with someone like Adam, a man who is so depraved that he is coaching you on how to sleep with one of your clients," Kat answered. 

"Yes, and just so he can get off on the stories," Ashton added.

I hated it, but they were right. Adam's pull on me was becoming dangerous. I could lose my license if I slept with Nate. Thankfully, I hadn’t...yet. But the thought of it was all consuming. I understood his pain and his need to connect, but most of all, I just felt undeniable desire for him. 

“I know,” I said resigned. “Adam is incredibly sexy and I can’t believe the hold he has on me. I end up doing things I shouldn’t, but that hasn’t included sleeping with Nate. I’m good.”

“Really?” Kat asked, searching my face for any sign that I was still desperate to jump my client.

“As it happens, he’s my first appointment of the day. I’ll just tell him that we need to get back to him sitting on the couch and me safely tucked behind my desk. No funny business.”

I hugged my friends, thanked them for caring and left to have the talk with Nate.

What is it they say about the best laid intentions? I chock it up to overactive pheromones or maybe the fact that he smelled so good and looked even better. Nate must have sensed my mind thinking overtime about having sex with him because he walked into my office for his appointment, but remained silent. Our communication was reduced to a lustful stare that he bore into my eyes, making my stomach growl low with a hunger that I couldn't ignore. There was no talk about how he was broken, how his ex had hurt him; gone was the man who  needed my sympathy. It was replaced by something else that he needed. 

And I felt it too. I needed someone who could give without taking so much in return. Someone who would love me not just with their body, but with their whole being.

Nate strode to my side of the desk, never removing his gaze from my eyes. And when he reached me, my heart was beating fiercely. He took my head in his hands and pulled me in for the kiss I had never expected. Passionate, full of promise, and long awaited.

“I’ve been thinking about my treatment,” he whispered, his mouth just inches from mine. “I need something more.” We kissed again and as we were lip-locked, he pulled me up from my chair, lifted me into his arms in one swift move and carried me to the couch, never once letting his lips leave mine. 

His fingers moved to the buttons of my blouse. “Wait,” I said with every ounce of willpower in my soul. “If you undo those, then this might progress to where you don’t want it to.”

A low laugh escaped him and he stopped long enough to look me once more. “Don’t you worry about that.”

I sat up just to be certain that he had thought this through. “So you’re sure about this?”

Nate smiled, pushed me back down and proceeded to undo the rest of those damn buttons.

Me...A La Mode?

It wasn’t easy to get through drinks with Adam’s hand caressing the inside of my thigh. In fact, it became downright problematic to concentrate on my dinner when he expertly made his way inside my panties. And when the waiter asked if there was anything else that I needed, it was all I could do to not plead for a release right then and there.

With his fingers trailing the length of my clit, Adam mocked me. “Shall we stay for dessert?”

“God no...,” I said breathlessly. He kissed me passionately so that I nearly came immediately. I was beginning to think of him as the devil because just as soon as it started, he stopped, removed his hand and smiled a knowing look. “We’ll have dessert at home.”

I willed him to drive at lightening speed, but his teasing ways continued with Adam taking each turn slowly, each street at the requisite speed limit.  When we finally pulled into his driveway, he jumped out of the car and told me to stay put. He was at my door in a moment, holding it open like a gentleman, although I knew better than to be fooled by acts of chivalry.

He took my hand as we strode up the walkway. “This is so unlike you,” I had to comment.

“You prefer the rougher side of me?” he asked.

Before I could answer, he placed his lips down on mine hard. His hand found its way to the small of my back and he pulled me close as we  stumbled inside the house.  I wanted to tell him that I liked a gentleman, a man more like Nick, but feeling his hardness made me let out a small moan in spite of myself.

Adam laughed, “You naughty thing. You do prefer this. Alright then, you’re on.”

He led me into the kitchen where he proceeded to pull out ice cream from the freezer. “Lay down,” he said pointing to a massive oak table. When I did he slid his hands underneath my dress and removed my panties. I was still wet from his escapades at dinner, but what followed was so much better. He carefully slid my straps from my shoulders and pulled my dress down until it fell to the floor.

His hands ran the length of me, starting at my breasts and moving down.  His head bent toward me and he proceeded to kiss each breast, gently sucking each nipple. His mouth left my breasts, but thankfully his hands took over so that he could continue kissing his way down...there.

“Don’t stop,” I begged.

“I have to. I want you a la mode.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You know I would,” he said while reaching for the ice cream. He proceeded to scoop out a small spoonful and allow it to fall between my breasts. The room was hot and in no time, the ice cream had melted into a pool that trailed down my stomach and pooled between my legs.

Adam bent to lap up a bit that had dared to slide off my ribcage and threatened to slide onto the table. His tongue moved upwards and darted expertly across my breasts and around each nipple. Satisfied that he had lapped up every bit of ice cream around my breasts and mid-section, he moved agonizingly slowly down my body until finally, his tongue lightly flicked across each hip and down each thigh.

My legs quivered as he teased until finally, thankfully, he reached his hands underneath my ass and pulled me toward his mouth hard with a force that sent my mind and body reeling.

Appetizing Ideas

I had never carried on a sexual relationship with more than one man at a time, but here I was, savoring every minute with Nate and then running to tell Adam every detail -- only so that I could have him as well. Hey, it’s his kink, not mine. But if I’m going to be honest, I must admit that I wanted both of them. 

Since Nate wasn’t making any demands on me and Adam was all for it, my personal life was looking up. I relished their differences. Each one provided me with something that was missing from my life. My marriage to Marc was so void of passion, which made Adam’s sexual demands all the more exciting. Conversely, Nate’s tenderness provided solace in the wake of discovering Marc’s indiscretion. 

I had counseled enough people about their relationships to know that what I gained from these two men might bring me out of my own darkness...If only I could keep both of them.

For now, Nate needed me to confide in, to hold him, to run my tongue up and down him and anything else that would reassure him that his wife’s leaving had nothing to do with his sexual prowess.

As for Adam, sex was great, but I was experienced enough to know that the  attention span of a 23-year-old was fleeting. Up until now, he had called the shots, which admittedly brought me immense pleasure. But I had better let him know that my stories did not come without a price.

I turned up after one of my nephew’s practices to find Adam across the turf field. I didn’t have too much trouble catching his eye. My dark hair draped over my shoulders and accented the white lace camisole I wore over a long, black skirt. 

“This is pretty,” he said running his hand surreptitiously along the length of the skirt that clung suggestively to my legs and bum.

“You should see what’s underneath.” I smiled mischievously and leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “Nate seems to like my taste in lingerie.”

Adam raised his eyebrows. “Does he? Why don’t you share?”

I shook my head. “That story deserves a proper setting. Dinner at Bellini Osteria?”

He seemed to contemplate the idea of a real date. Ben had already made his way to the locker room with the rest of his team, and I was just about to go find him when Adam stopped me. “Just so you know, you’ll have to sing for your supper.” 

“Haven’t I told you enough already?”

“Not nearly,” he said and positioned his hand behind my head to pull me in closer. His lips grazed mine and then, in a manner so opposite of Nate, he started to pull up my skirt right there in public. My breath caught from the unexpected. Nate was reserved; Adam was reckless. I needed both in my life.

“Is this a preview?” I said not wanting to stop, not caring who saw us.

“Call it an appetizer. I’ll see you in an hour.”

A Professional Affair

After my session with Laura, I started to fear about the effect a potential affair might have on Nate. His wife had left him so vulnerable; it seemed wrong to get physically involved, particularly since he relied on me to be a confidante. I paced the length of my office nervously, waiting for him to arrive and tried to figure out if it were possible to remain on professional terms. 

The minute Nate walked into my office, all doubt disappeared. He appeared practically broken as he sat on my couch. I sat down next to him and without saying a word, I folded my arms around him. My head rested lightly on his broad shoulder and instinctively his hand pressed into the small of my back. He turned his head into my hair and inhaled ever so gently.

“You smell amazing and you feel so good,” he said in a tone that had a tinge of sadness.  

I didn’t move away as I didn’t want to risk the conversation stopping. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I realized driving over here that I can’t remember the last time my wife let me touch her. I used to think the problem was us, as a couple. But what if it’s me? Maybe I’m not worthy.”

And with those words it became very easy for me to do what Adam had requested of me. I could see how being intimate with Nate could actually help him. My face was still so close to his. All I had to do was turn my cheek slightly and our eyes would meet. It would be so easy and I couldn’t think of a reason not to...

“It’s not you,” I said as I glanced down at his mouth. Nate instinctively met my lips with his own. It wasn’t urgent the way it was with Adam. Instead, it was soft and tentative. Nate was sweet, but it quickly became clear that he was not without needs. 

His kiss grew more intense as his tongue searched mine, but in contrast to the urgency of his kiss, his hand trailed up my back ever so gently and then came to rest on my ribcage. 

I was so aware of the proximity of his hand, resting just under my breast. God how I wanted him to touch me. His mouth was now trailing light kisses down my neck. “Is this okay?” he asked in barely a whisper.  A small moan escaped my mouth as his hand finally found its way to my breast and Nate uttered into my ear, “God, you are so beautiful. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.” 

I wrapped my arms tighter around his neck and leaned toward him. He pressed his hips toward me -- his hardness apparent. But in a moment of agonizing clarity, he backed up. “Are you only doing this because you’re worried about rejecting me?”

It was the farthest thing from the truth. “Are you kidding me? If I had to come up with a reason to stop, saving your ego would not be it.”

“But should we stop?” he asked before returning to layer my skin with kisses, slowly moving his mouth to the point where my blouse opened slightly.

“I don’t want you to stop, but...it would be the professional thing to do.” I wasn’t thinking clearly. Hopefully, he wasn’t either.

“Fuck professionalism,” he said before reaching for the buttons on my blouse.

Just Another Day

I may have looked all business on the outside, but underneath my pencil skirt and white blouse was a lingerie set that was distinctly chosen for its ability to seduce Nate. I was about to find out how business and pleasure can seamlessly combine.

During a previous session, Nate had let it slip what types of outfits turned him on. It was in the context of what he wished his wife would wear, but since she had made it clear that she was “moving on” I reasoned that perhaps it was my duty to help Nate do the same. As I got ready for work, I planned my wardrobe accordingly with a bra and panty set made of the softest silk and most delicate lace along with black thigh-high stockings that just begged to step into a pair of stilettos.

But before I could see Nate, I had to get through an emergency session with my client, Laura. When Laura arrived, she plopped down on the couch and immediately proceeded to tell me that her husband, Steven, was incapable of turning her on. Ouch. I wondered if this was the sort of thing that Nate got from his wife.

“What do you want from him?” I asked.

“I want him to be a good lover, not selfish,” Laura answered.

“What about his needs? Would he describe you as selfish?” I responded pointedly. Laura was a tall blonde and beautiful by anyone’s standards, but her cold demeanor made me doubt her ability to be a particularly giving lover.

I looked at my watch, wishing the session would come to an end and my hour with Nate could begin. I had barely slept last night because I was so wet thinking about what might happen. My thoughts continued to stray toward Nate when I realized that Laura had spoken.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

Laura walked toward the chair where I was seated. “I said that I can be a giver.”

Before I realized what she was up to, she had leaned over me and placed her mouth down on my own. Under any other circumstances, I would have stood up and put an end to it, but I was so turned on with anticipation of Nate that I may have kissed her back. Her hand slid up my thigh and underneath my skirt before I gained control of myself and the situation.

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time” she answered.

It was typical Laura. A proud and even pompous statement. I had to laugh and fortunately, it broke the ice enough for her to do the same.

“Our time is up,” I said with whatever professionalism I could muster. “Why don’t you go home and try that little maneuver on Steven?”

“He’s useless,” she proclaimed.

I thought about Nate and how broken he was due to his wife’s insinuations. “Maybe he just needs a little encouragement. Go home and try to learn more about his needs.”

Laura was silent for a moment. “Alright, but only because you’ve turned me on.”

It’s all in a day’s work.

The Justification

The truth is that ever since my relationship with Adam heated up to an extreme level, there is no physical need that must be met by Nate. And yet, that is the irony of my situation. In Adam’s words, I must either seduce Nate and tell him the details, or he’ll stop every tantalizing move he makes on me. Leave it to me to fall for a guy with a fetish for naughty stories.

But Nate was my client. He needed me to behave as a counselor, not a date. Besides, if I got involved with Nate, I was sure to fall for his kindness, his gentle side, everything that was the very opposite of the passion that Adam brought out in me. It was messing with my head so I decided to meet Kat and Ashton because when a therapist needs advice, she turns to her best girlfriends.

“Let me get this straight,” Kat said while sipping her latte. “Adam is the hardcore sex god and Nate is the sensitive gorgeous one.”

“Well, if I’m going to be honest, they’re both gorgeous.”

Kat turned to Ashton. “Can I say that I hate her?”

“No, we’re supposed to be her best friends,” Ashton teased. “Honestly Mia, your problems are akin to winning the lottery. Other than potentially losing your therapist’s license, I’d say it’s a win-win.”

Kat agreed. “Totally. Adam gets off on your stories about Nate and rewards you with the kinkiest and hottest sex of your life. Nate has been emotionally damaged by his wife so what’s the harm in giving him a little bit of what he obviously needs?”

“Are you two justifying my having sex with a client? What if someone gets attached?” I answered automatically.

Kat was equally quick to reply. “That wouldn’t happen. Adam is young and from what you’ve said, not the type for a serious relationship. And Nate is separated from his wife, who I shouldn’t have to remind you has repeatedly rejected him. He’s not ready for another serious relationship.”

And that’s when Ashton came up with words of sheer wisdom. “Why don’t you just consider what you’re doing with Nate as part of his therapy?”

I left them to go to my office and think things through before my afternoon appointments. I had been counseling Nate for three weeks and the first time that he had truly opened up was when things nearly got out of control between us. 

Maybe Ashton was right. Adam got off on my stories. Nate needed a confidence boost. Since I didn’t have a good enough imagination to make up stories for Adam, getting involved with Nate seemed like the best way to help him while also ensuring that the hottest love affair of my life continued. And to think that all it would require was sleeping with two devastatingly handsome men.

Tell Me a Story

Adam made himself pretty clear...if I wanted our relationship (or some other euphemism for desire) to continue, I was going to have to put out and by that, he meant tell him my darkest thoughts about Nate. And so it began.

“Do you really want to do this here?” I squeaked out the question, barely able to keep my voice let alone my legs steady. Adam had me pressed against the bay window that faced my walkway. His mouth was on my neck, his hands on my breasts and his erection pressed between my legs. The gardeners had stopped their blowing, presumably to see if ours would start.

Adam’s hands left my breasts, but the absence of them only caused momentary disappointment as he allowed them to explore underneath my dress, caressing the tops of my thighs, reaching to cup by ass and pull me closer toward him. I threw my head back, hitting the window hard, but I couldn’t feel anything other than his erection growing, matching my own desire.

“I’m going to either make you feel amazing...or amazingly disappointed,” he warned before bending down in front of me and lifting my dress. “I don’t care how out of breath you are, you better start talking -- and make it dirty.”

“I wanted Nate from the moment he became my client,” I admitted. “He's sweet. When I heard about his wife's betrayal, I just wanted to comfort him...in every way.”

“That’s not good enough,” he warned. “Let me give you some incentive.” Adam’s hands began massaging my ass, pressing me toward his mouth, which scattered feather-like kisses over my panties. Even though they were made of the thinest of lace I wanted them off desperately.

“You told me that Nate had you pinned beneath him, both of you getting hotter, but you stopped. I don’t think you’ll do that next time, will you?”

I shook my head desperately. It was a plea for Adam to continue to let his mouth wander over me as well as a silent prayer to knock sense into myself.

“What will you do next time you find yourself in such a precarious position?” Adam had linked his fingers into my panties. He could pull them down in one swift movement and yet, he remained agonizingly still. It was torture and I knew what I had to do to get him to continue.

“I’d get him hard again, but this time I would take care of him. I promise.”

With a fast tug, Adam rewarded me by pulling down my panties. I stepped each high-heeled shoe out of them as he spread my legs and continued to kneel in front of me. I opened my eyes long enough to notice the gardeners now pretending not to watch.

Because I wanted Adam to continue, so did my story. “I wouldn’t let that beautiful erection go to waste ever again. I’d take it in my mouth and suck.” My breath caught because as I said those words, that’s exactly what Adam did to me. His tongue weaved into my pussy, running the length of my clit expertly.

He looked up only long enough to tell me to keep going. “I can tell he’s huge and I want it all,” I said in response. “I want to run my tongue over his hardness and make him gasp with anticipation.”

My words were matching my own feelings as Adam had me so close to the edge. His mouth was now lightly sucking my clit as I talked about sucking Nate’s dick. With every description of what I would do to Nate, Adam matched it by doing the same to me. My hands reached into his hair, drawing his face into me harder.

“I would keep sucking him until he’s right on the edge and then I would pull him deeper into my throat, cup his balls in my hands and draw every last drop out of him.”

As I said the last words, Adam pulled me over the edge, my orgasm so strong that I had to hold onto his shoulders to keep from collapsing. As my breath returned to normal, my thoughts went to Nate and the undeniable impression that was left in my mind. I hadn’t done anything and yet I felt incredibly guilty based on what I was thinking.

Adam smiled a devilish look. “I can hardly wait to hear what happens next, now that you’ve let your mind explore the possibilities.”

No Turning Back

It didn’t take Adam but ten minutes to arrive at my house. Smart guy. Had I time to think about what might happen, I probably would have changed into a pair of jeans as they are far more difficult to gain access to than the flimsy sundress I was wearing.

“Talk to me,” he said in a low growl.

I looked at him innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

He slid his finger from my jawline, along my neck and down between my breasts, and then began tracing the outline of my nipple, which was now at attention. “I want to know everything that happened between you and Nate -- what you spoke of and more importantly, how it made you feel.

Was he kidding? My last session with Nate made me want to abandon all sense of professionalism and let him take me right there on my office couch.   

“You know I can’t do that,” I said sounding stronger than I felt. My eyes were closed as he rotated my nipple underneath his thumb, the rest of his hand gently caressing underneath my breast. The sensation was making me dizzy. And then he stopped.

“I understand. We’ll just leave it at that.”

“What? Leave all of it?” I asked in disbelief.

“I’m not supposed to have relationships with my team members’ parents.” 

He was mocking me and it wasn’t fair. I was aching for him and he knew it. He stared at me with those eyes, dark and threatening. 

“Good thing I'm just Ben's aunt, but you know that.”

“And you know that I’d like to turn you over my knee and do terrible things to you, but I can’t risk the exposure, unless you cooperate.”

My breath caught in my throat and I swallowed hard. “What sort of terrible?”

Without warning he caught both of my hands and held them behind my back, pulling my arms slightly so that my chest protruded. The neckline of my dress slid off my shoulder. His mouth found its way to my cleavage, his tongue weaving a track between my breasts. Still holding my hands captive, he stared directly into my eyes. “Terrible as in making you want me so badly that you’ll tell me your stories,” he said and then released my hands so that he could open the door to leave.

This was wrong on so many levels starting with the license I could lose, the fact that I was completely captivated by a man ten years younger than myself, and that I was also having feelings for Nate, who I was supposed to counsel.

I slammed the door shut and stood in front of Adam, my heart pounding both out of desire and fear for what I was about to do. “Shall I begin with the part where Nate pressed himself against me.”

Adam smiled. “Good girl,” he whispered before bringing his mouth down hard onto mine. 

The Half Hour Rule

Regret is a funny thing; it's practically a chemical property as it can take on so many forms. Over the weekend, I’ve had opposing feelings of regret. 

On the one hand, I regret my dalliance on the couch with Nate. I also regret that I didn’t let it go further. There I was, pinned underneath him, feeling his hardness press against me, and I go and ruin it by reminding us that we have to maintain a professional relationship. Maybe if I had met his mouth with my own or let his hands explore and discover how wet I was, I wouldn’t be regretting how I coped with my frustration.

Saturday breakfast with Kat and Ashton at Mediterraneo revealed their similar experiences when lust got in the way of logic.

“You should have applied the half hour rule,” Kat said, practically tsking at me. 

The “half hour rule” is something Kat, Ashton and I developed to avoid post-orgasmic regret. Yes, there really is such a thing, but one can stay clear of this humiliating condition simply by waiting a half hour after being turned on by one source (human or battery-operated) before jumping a surprised, but now very happy new bloke. We like to think of it like waiting a sufficient amount of time after eating before going swimming. It allows either a meal or lust to settle.

“Mia, why?” Kat asked. “You know what happened to me after my last Chinese foot massage?”

Ashton and I nodded dutifully. Kat looked at us and shook her head at the memory. “I still regret it. If only I had waited after Mr. Magic Hands hit every erogenous zone in my feet, I’m sure I would have had the sense to not ask him if I could see what was in the back room!” 

“It’s not all your fault,” Ashton consoled. “It had been a really long time since you had, you know.”

“She’s right,” I agreed. “Kat, you have jars in your cupboard with expirations that come sooner.” 

“Still, I can’t ever go back to YouRelax! again.”

Ashton patted her hand. “Thankfully, those places are cropping up in every strip mall throughout the city. You never have to see Mr. Magic Hands again, unlike me and Pool Boy.”

Ashton was at home mid-week with a cold and decided to test if it were true that an orgasm can relieve sinus congestion. Having gone to bed with her favorite toy and a paperback compilation of Letters to Penthouse, she became aware that the pool boy and his hose had arrived. 

“That was a matter of bad timing,” I said recalling the incident. 

“Yeah, but if she had waited...or just finished the job herself,” Kat chided. “Honestly Ash, that’s what you get when you walk out to the pool in a white see-through cover-up without your bikini on underneath.”

“I just asked if it was ready,” Ashton said innocently.

“I always wondered about that,” I asked. “When you said it, did you mean the pool or It.”

Ashton took a sip of her coffee. “It was a mistake that could have been avoided if I had just waited.”

The three of us clinked our cups, recalling the multitude of men that experienced our random acts of kindness simply because they were in the right place during our lustful time. Like Kat and Ashton, I had succumbed and didn’t wait for my thoughts to return to rational. I didn’t think about where my actions would lead. I didn’t realize that calling Adam may be my biggest regret.

The Human Touch

I’ve barely slept in the last few days. Tossing and turning with thoughts that Adam placed in my mind about Nate. I started to play out different sexual scenarios...

I imagined Nate being my last client of the day. We would leave together and once in the elevator, we agreed that our professional relationship was left in the office. We started making out, his lips traveling down my neck, his hands exploring my body. It wasn’t right.

What was even more wrong was that I wanted something to happen with Nate only so I could run back and tell Adam every sordid detail because I knew how it would turn him on. And maybe, if I turned him on enough, I would be rewarded in just the way I wanted. 

Knowing what Adam expected, combined with my own not-so-pure thoughts, I took a different approach to my session with Nate yesterday when he told me that he didn’t think he could get past his wife’s infidelity.

“I can’t bring myself to touch her. I can’t be sure the affair has ended, so I’m not sure she would even want me."

I stood up and moved from behind my desk to take a seat on the couch next to Nate. “From the moment that we are born, humans crave touch,” I said taking his hand in mine. “A healthy marriage involves touch and if yours is going to survive, you need to find your way back to each other.”

He looked at me with his incredible hazel eyes, his blond hair slightly tousled, looking a bit like Beckham. “I’m not ready to try that, but you’re right about one thing, I feel so empty, so lacking in human companionship.”

I opened my arms to him and he leaned into me for an innocent hug. It was just a gesture of support. But he kept holding me and I felt his erection through my thin dress. As it grew stronger, he pressed against me, a small moan escaping him. Because I didn’t want to risk him feeling rejected, I allowed him to hold me. I stayed too long for feeling him against me made me want him too. I was dealing with my own needs to connect.

He pressed harder against me, using his leg to spread mine beneath him. My dress rode up and I could feel myself becoming wet. My breathing was heavy, but I managed a weak, “We have to stop.”

Adam had only one thing to say after I told him about my hour with Nate.

“I want to see you.”

“I’ll text you my address.”

Sexual Cyrano

I’d spent another night imagining what I would do with Nate if he weren’t my client. I had been too transparent in describing his tenderness because it sparked Adam’s interest, a man who was so opposite of Nate and yet, equally compelling.

“You look like something’s bothering you,” he noted.

“One of my clients is going through a bad patch,” I answered before heading to the bleachers. With lightening reflexes, he reached for my arm and led me into the field office. 

“You like this guy.”

“He’s my client. Of course, I do.”

“I mean, you’re attracted to him.”

Something about the way Adam slowly whispered “attracted” made me sense a spark between us as well.

“Tell me about him,” Adam insisted.

My mind flashed to my session with Nate earlier that day. He walked into my office standing tall, doing his best to hold onto his pride in the wake of his wife’s infidelity. But once the doors closed, a tenderness was revealed along with his fears that he hadn’t satisfied his wife and was therefore responsible for what happened. 

“You wanted to prove that he was wrong, didn’t you?” Adam urged.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Adam moved closer to me, staring into my eyes. It was undoubtedly that moment when a kiss follows, and so I closed my eyes. The waiting was agony. I could feel his breath on my neck. His lips barely grazing my skin, until he allowed his tongue to weave its way from my collar bone up my neck. I realize I had been holding my breath, which I finally let out when all movement ceased. I opened my eyes cautiously and was utterly surprised by what was in front of me -- an empty room. 

He had disappeared to the field leaving me breathless and wanting more.

“What was that?” I asked when practice wound down. I didn’t care that there were still a few straggling boys hanging around the field.

“That was a prelude. You tell me what Nate says and I’ll tell you how to get him.”

“He’s my client. I don’t want to ‘get’ him.”

“You do.”

Maybe it was because I was newly single and still stinging from the rejection, but I did want Nate, and even worse, I wanted Adam as well.

“That’s perverse. Why would you do that?”
“Let’s just say I like hearing all the sordid details of other people’s sex lives. I also know how men think. I’ll tell you how to get this guy.”

“I can’t discuss clients. And I certainly can’t do anything with them.”

“That’s too bad,” he said before brushing a hair from my face, using feather like touches to tuck it behind my ear and then trace the outline of my jaw. “I would have rewarded you.”

Age of Attraction

When I was still an undergrad and aspiring to be a psychologist I wondered how therapists handled clients they didn’t particularly like. I swore that my clients would only consist of people with real needs whom I could lend a sympathetic ear. And then I met Laura.

I’ve already mentioned her love of Botox and disdain for her husband, Steven. Today I learned about her twins, whom she affectionately refers to as the “pretty one” and the “runty one.” What does that mean, you ask? She took the pretty one to meet a child modeling agent and was shocked when the agent wanted to sign the runty one due to her “edgy look.” I spent the session trying to get Laura to realize that we often place too much value on one’s looks, which can be perceived differently to everyone.  

“I suppose,” she concurred. “But you're not really one to talk. I don’t see you chasing down the doogie door.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’re a size 4, with a yoga butt and perky boobs. You’re not going to exactly attract the leftovers.”

I wasn’t going to give up this fight. “I wouldn’t go out with someone strictly because of their looks. A relationship based solely on looks will never last.”

Laura weighed what I was saying in her mind. “I guess even ugly people fall in love.” 

I know. She’s horrible.

And then I drove home unable to escape my darkest fears. What if there's a speck of truth to Laura? Are any of us able to escape raw attraction. Would we want to?

There’s the maid who captured Marc’s attention. (Attention -- defined in ancient Chinese text as groping hands with wandering dick.) 

My client, Nate, whose wife cheated, has the cutest dimples that I could just kiss, along with his gorgeous mouth, broad chest...but I digress. You can tell that I’m having a wee bit of trouble being impartial to his desire to save his marriage. (I’ve actually given serious consideration to the mental health benefits derived from taking him on the couch.)

And then there’s the devastatingly handsome Adam. That one will be my downfall. If ever there was a man to stay away from...Or perhaps I should get to know him and then I would certainly realize that looks are meaningless when your personality is dominating and controlling. Unless, of course, that’s what I’m after.

Cure for an Insomniac

Ever since I met Adam I’ve suffered from the worst insomnia. It’s not just a tossing and turning sort of thing; it’s waking up from dreams of him, feeling myself completely wet with thoughts of what I want to do and not being able to rest again until I fully satisfy myself. And, it’s as if he can read my thoughts.

My experience at field hockey today is sure to result in a repeat performance of my subconscious tonight. When we arrived, the other boys were already in the midst of their warm-up run. Adam gave me a stern look, told Ben to catch up, and then asked to speak to me privately.

Still in my work attire consisting of a black pencil skirt, a top with shoulder cut-outs and heels, I hurried to keep up with his long strides. He opened the door to an office adjacent to the field, small and dark with only one chair and a desk, which he sat on. Knowing that I had somehow gotten off on the wrong foot, I chose to stand in front of him rather than sit in the chair and look up at him like a scolded child.

“You’re back.”

“I am.”

There was something about his pleased, almost smug look, that took me by surprise.

“Is this going to be a regular occurrence?”

“My sister’s work is pretty demanding and I’m able to make my own hours. So, yes.”

He regarded me for a minute, his eyes meeting mine and daring not to look away. “Then you should know that this is a competitive program. These kids are working to get to the Olympics, which means you are accountable for his commitment. Be on time.” 

Ridiculous. He's 23 and I'm 33, and yet there was something about his tone that made me just nod submissively. 

“I’m glad we understand each other,” he said taking my hand for what I thought would be a professional handshake. But in contrast to his stern tone, his thumb gently stroked the inside of my wrist. I inhaled sharply, previously unaware of the erogenous zone. He smiled again mischievously. I swallowed hard, unable to fathom what was happening. 

He let go of my wrist, allowing his finger to slowly move up my arm to circle my exposed shoulder and then ever so lightly, he tucked the wayward strap of my bra into my top. 

“That’ll be all.”

I can’t be sure whether he was referring to his lecture, his remedy for my naughty strap or any hope of having that experience continue, but he immediately left to attend to the team. All I know is that I get tremors deep within me when I recall his touch and I fear that I will be useless to my client tonight due to my own preoccupation.

A Very Good Friday

When my sister called on Good Friday to ask if I could take my nephew to field hockey practice I never thought that she would actually be doing me a favor. 

“They’re practicing on a holiday?”

“There’s a tournament next month and the coach is a bit...” She searched for the right word.

“What?”

“Let’s just say he’s very serious about the game. Actually, controlling and pompous are probably better descriptions. Just ignore him.”

My nephew is quite possibly the best 12-year-old on the planet and since my relationship status is now single and motherhood may escape me, helping out was a no-brainer.

But my brain became a jumbled mess when I saw his coach and I knew that he was not someone one could ignore. I watched as he led the boys through their training. He spoke quietly, but with authority. According to my nephew, he was only 23, but he commanded respect. And how my sister managed not to mention that he was gorgeous was a mystery.

He glanced up at me once during the practice as if to make it known that nothing got past him. If there  was someone new in his midst, he would notice. And when he came over to introduce himself afterward, I could only assume that his self-assured manner was what made my sister label him as pompous, but was probably better described as swagger. 

"Do you like the game?" A smile crossed his face that I hadn't seen when he was with the boys. My response should have been so simple and yet, the only thing that came to mind was that I could imagine playing all sorts of games with him.

"I do," I finally managed.

"Then I'll see you again," he said as if he knew me better than I knew myself.

Fire my Client?

After my morning session told me that his wife had just admitted to having an affair, I naturally felt a kinship for my client. I wanted to tell him about Slug (the husband formerly known as Marc) and his affair. But in my job, one has to be a good listener, but in this instance, I truly felt that my ear was not the body part that would provide the most comfort.

Did I mention that he’s a bit god-like in the looks department? That little distraction combined with the fact that I haven’t had sex in ages made me want to take him under my wing. It also made me just want to take him. 

We’d be perfect. So much in common. His wife cheated; my husband cheated. Neither one of us were observant enough to see the writing on the wall. It was a fuck made in heaven. It was also totally not allowed, unless I was aiming to lose my license.

When our hour came to a close, I hurried to meet my two BFFs (Kat and Ashton) for some much needed advice on how to keep my legs closed. Here’s the cliff notes...

Kat: “You should fire him as your client so you can do him.”

Ashton: “It’s amazing you’ve gone so long without it.” (BTW, this hasn’t been my choice; Slug was regularly “stressed” or “tired”.)

And my personal favorite rationalization for behaving like a slut...

Kat: “If you were in a movie, you’d already be having sex.”

As someone who has spent the better part of her life as “the good girl,” I could use your opinion. Care to offer your top reasons for being naughty or nice?

Charity Case

I really need a day off with lots of chocolate, tears and girlfriends, but I received an “emergency” call. One of my clients was in tears, but when I met “Laura” (name changed to protect the not so innocent) at my office I was reminded of what constitutes stress in Westlake Village woman speak. Not a sick child, not a loss of a job, but the Westlake Village Junior Women’s Club. Really? 

Not a day goes by that I’m not amazed by the social pressures facing wealthy women in Westlake. Life was so simple before I moved here. No cheating husband (at least not that I knew of), no women with an insatiable desire for $400 handbags, and no blackmailing “friends” of said cheating husband. 

Anyway, there’s nothing better than throwing oneself into work to forget your own problems, which is what brings me back to Laura. She was invited to be a member of an exclusive club, where she would hob-nob with other women whose handbag budget could feed and clothe a third-world country. But Laura was stressing that her home and husband wouldn’t measure up to the club’s scrutiny.

Fixing up her home would be easy. Her decorator (“the one who does everyone in North Ranch”) said she could get an updated look for just shy of $20K. What a bargain! But “fixing” her husband would be another story. “Steven needs to lose at least 15 pounds,” she declared, “and he could benefit from a little Botox.”

As our session ended, she decided to be charitable, as is the mission of Westlake Village Junior Women. She obviously noticed the puffy, red, blotchy look I was sporting. Handing me the card for her dermatologist she told me to give her name as a reference because apparently you just can’t get in without one and according to Laura, I was in need of Botox as much as Steven. 

Poor Steven. At least I'm not the only one deficient in spouse selection skills.

The Ground Rules

Finding out about my husband’s affair wasn’t as bad as learning that he’s been cleaning out the cleaning girl from his office. I have a master’s degree and she has a mop. Could it get more humiliating? So this is what he’s been doing “while working late.”

I have obviously not come to terms with my now defunct marriage, but keeping busy is helping me to heal. It also keeps my fantasies at bay. (The one where I bust in on my husband and his cheap chickadee while wielding a terribly intimidating weapon and well, intimidating the hell out of them if my fav.) 

And, I’m finding clarity thanks in large part to those of you who have offered insight, along with dear friends who are able to understand me through my sniffles. One thing I’ve realized is that women (with the exception of the one who thought it was okay to shag a married man) typically want to be labeled as “good,” “responsible,” “reliable.”

I’m no different, but I’m starting to wish I were. I pride myself on being on time, remembering birthdays (even before Facebook reminders) and basically, not doing anything crazy. But look where it’s gotten me.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could act on our impulses instead of always worrying how things would look to other people? Of course there would have to be certain ground rules. 

On the “don’t do it” front:

1. No unsavory public behavior. (If the urge to skinny dip in a public fountain ensues, ignore it!)

2. No unsavory use of married men. (There are plenty of fish in the sea, no need to swim with someone else’s.)

On the “go for it” front:

1. The next time that cute guy at Trader Joe’s asks me if I need help with my groceries the answer is going to be “Yes!”

2. When a cute stranger catches my eye I will not look away!

I’m sure I must be missing a few more. Care to add to either list?

What a Difference a Day Makes

Does anyone know what it feels like to totally have the rug pulled out? I’m not talking a little trip, but a full-blown crash to the ground, flat on your pretty face. 

You would think that after spending years with clients who tell me they’re married to bitches, bastards, liars and cheaters, I’d know how to spot one. Yeah, you’d think. But last night the phone rang and a stranger with a mind toward blackmail pushed my husband into admitting the truth.

“Tell her yourself,” he said and handed me the phone. After hearing the words “ongoing affair” I hung up. Marc looked at me sheepishly and told me the voice belonged to some guy who saw him kissing someone who wasn’t me. And now, they wanted $1,000 to keep quiet. Turns out Marc is a cheater and a cheapskate. Or maybe he just wanted out.

Everyone thought I was crazy when I told them we were getting married...after only six  months. Yes, I know I’m supposed to know better.  But he was cute with a James Bond accent and I wanted him to stay in this country. This is what I get for wanting an adventure.

So what now? 

1. Revenge: I could ask my gorgeous Tuesday at 5 p.m. if I could lie down on the couch next to him and then fuck his brains out. Unprofessional and grounds for losing my license, but I’m not exactly feeling totally rational.
2. Pity: I could call a girlfriend and the pizza delivery guy (for large amounts of carbs, not a threesome).
3. Survival: Fortunately, my first instinct after spending most of the night crying is to write. Pour it all out and ask others for advice. 

So give it to me straight. This is the perfect place to hear your advice, whatever it may be, since there’s total anonymity. I know that there must be plenty of people who can relate. So tell me your sure fire ways to get over a man.