Transference

Session 7

The next couple sessions were fairly uneventful in comparison to what had occurred previously. It was almost as if Gina had expressed herself in the necessary way and no longer felt as though she had to be anything but who she was. I never said a word about what had happened, not because I didn't think she could handle talking about it, but mostly because I wanted her to know that she was free to be whomever she desired to be here in my office. Without judgment or pressure to change. The other reason I didn't say anything was selfish: I didn't want to stop her from doing it again and I wanted her to think it was 'no big deal' to me. In reality, it had become a major source of fantasy for me. My wife was starting to wonder where all the new-found sexual desire was coming from. But Gina wasn't going to know that. In the grand scheme of our little game, she had to believe I was uninterested.

On the morning of session 7, Gina called at around 5 minutes prior to our scheduled time and said she was running a few minutes late. I told her it was no problem, I didn't have anyone scheduled after her until well into the afternoon, and she could take her time. After hanging up the phone, I reached over and clicked on the monitor for the front door security camera and began doing some documentation to catch up on the day before. The camera was installed when I moved into the office to mostly act as a deterrent for vandalism, but to also allow me to know when people come in the front door. It's not unusual to be in the office by myself for long periods of time and our front door is around a corner and down a flight of stairs from my office. I'm a big believer in privacy and confidentiality for my clients and I'd prefer to keep salesmen and similar parties at bay as much as possible. The camera also gives me a few second's notice to pack up my desk in preparation for a session when I see a client come in the door. I always shut off the monitor before bringing a client into my office, so most clients don't even know I might watch them come in the door, but most everyone is aware of the camera, since it hangs pretty plainly above the door and has big green blinking light on it.

I glanced up to look at the security monitor momentarily, and saw Gina walk in the front door at around ten minutes past the hour. I watched as she began to climb the stairs and inhaled deeply when I noticed that she had returned to wearing her black yoga pants this morning. What a glorious sight to see! As Gina reached the stairs' halfway point she did something unusual. She stopped. I watched as she stood motionless for several seconds and then watched as she reached both hands around behind her and started to slowly and gently massage her rear end. My eyes grew bigger and so did a certain appendage between my legs. Gina continued to slowly rub and caress her behind for at least ten seconds. I stared into the monitor, glassy eyed, and saw Gina start to move her hands back up and away and simultaneously felt a sense of relief but also disappointment that the show was over. Just when I thought she was done, her hands stopped just above the waistline of those Spandex leggings, paused momentarily and began their descent yet again. This time was different, though. This time, Gina turned her head and looked over her shoulder directly into the lens of the security camera and dropped both hands underneath the elastic waistband of her pants and pulled it down just below her cheeks. I was staring slack-jawed into the most perfectly shaped, beautifully rounded, set of ass cheeks to ever grace a woman. All the while, Gina was staring at me through the lens of the camera.

And just like that, she pulled her pants back up and continued her ascent up the stairs.

Alone in my office, I was floored. Did I just watch what I think I watched? I must have, because my hardened member says I did. By this time, I had seen Gina walk past the blinds of my office door and take a seat in the waiting area. I decided I'd give myself a couple minutes to allow my erection to dissipate, but the more I tried to think about anything else, the more my mind pictured those white mounds of perfection and her eyes staring back at me. This wasn't working. I sighed and grabbed my clipboard to cover myself and took a few deep breaths to collect myself and went to my office door. I put on my best fake smile and opened the door and greeted the Temptress.

"Good morning, Gina. Come in."

Gina stood up from the seat in the waiting area and sidled past me into my office. As she did, I noticed her smell. Not the strong, perfumey, smell of a woman trying to cover her natural odor, but instead, the fresh scent of a girl that knew she smelled wonderful and wasn't trying to hide it. I breathed in deeply and watched as she took her usual spot on the sofa opposite my desk chair. My heart was still racing after the scene in the camera, but I did my best to calm myself and began the session, business as usual.

"How are you feeling this morning, Gina?" Just gonna keep it light. No need to create drama until she's ready for it.

"I am doing awesome today. How 'bout you?" She was doing her usual testing and probing that I had grown so accustomed to over the past several sessions. Trying to gauge my reaction to what she assumes I must have seen in the monitor.

The monitor! In a split second my mind became frantic. Had I turned off the monitor? I honestly couldn't remember and turning around in my chair to look over my shoulder would give away just as much as leaving it on. As I worked with clients, my chair faced them and my desk and that side of the room were out of my field of vision. In order to look at my desk, I would basically have to turn nearly 180 degrees. But it was killing me not knowing. I was barely listening as Gina pressed, "Are you feeling alright?"

"What? Oh yes. Yes. I'm very good this morning. I am glad to hear that you are well. Where would you like to begin today, Gina?" Smooth. And then I breathed a sigh of relief: I hadn't grabbed my pen from the desk. I chuckled to myself as I turned to retrieve my pen and saw that I had indeed somehow managed to shut off the monitor. Thank God for routine and muscle memory.

I try to be present with my clients, but I was having a hard time doing so when all I could think about was how Gina had flashed her ass at me as she climbed the steps. I was having an inner struggle with myself. Do I ignore it and pretend as though I didn't see it? Do I acknowledge it and make it into a therapeutic issue? Do I joke about it and possibly give Gina the satisfaction of knowing how arousing it might have been for me. Luckily, by now my young man erection had given way to my old man lack of staying power and I was no longer standing at attention, so there was that, at least. I decided to be the good old, boring, objective therapist, but I had a feeling I was going to regret it. I would have to tread carefully here. I wanted Gina to know that I wasn't affected by it (even though I was) and I wanted her to know that she was attractive for more than just her sexuality (even though she was the most sexual creature I've ever met)

"Talk to me about what happened on the steps this morning, Gina."

I don't know what response I expected from her, but I don't think it was what I got. Maybe I was looking for that anxious little girl that hid her face as she jilled-off in front of me a few weeks ago. That's not what I was met with.

Gina looked at me with a wry smile and flatly stated, "Sorry. I couldn't help it."

"You wanted me to see that hidden side of yourself?" Sometimes therapy questions can be so obvious. Of course she wanted me to see it, idiot.

Gina nodded and continued, "I just had this impulse."

"Are you saying you hadn't thought about it ahead of time?

"No. I was just thinking about you as I walked in the building and something inside me just said to do it. So I did."

"How did you feel as you showed me yourself?"

"I don't know. Didn't really feel much of anything."

"And afterwards. After you had pulled up your pants and continued up the stairs?"

With this question, Gina's face changed ever-so-slightly. For a split second, I saw shame. But it went away as quickly as it came. She cleared her throat and continued, "I thought, 'Well, I did it again. I screwed it up.'"

"Screwed what up?"

"Us. This."

All at once, I felt a tremendous sense of guilt myself. Here I am, playing Gina's game in opposition to her, in the hopes that she'll find me more of a challenge and more attractive to her. For what? To feed my own ego? It made me sick to think that I was just doing what every other guy does when they encounter this fragile goddess. It was time to bring the game to light.

"Gina, back when we first met, we talked about the possibility of you experiencing erotic feelings for me. You assured me that wouldn't happen. Things seemed to have changed since then."

"I know. I fucked up. I knew this would happen. I always look for these types of situations to put myself into, knowing I'm going to get hurt one way or another."

"And have you?"

"Have I what? Gotten hurt? God no. You've been amazing. But that's the problem -- because you stand out from all the other men, it just makes you more hot to me."

And that's the big problem with transference. The more you resist it, the stronger it becomes. And everyone has their limits. Myself included.

Little did I realize, just how much those limits were about to be tested.