Sandal tales #3: My new old sex therapist.
My therapist Marcia called me for an appointment. Not the usual thing- I usually called her. I had not needed an appointment for almost a year.
Originally I had gone to her in the aftermath of a bad accident I was involved in and she helped put me back together. Along the way she also learned that I had an addiction: masturbation.
She said it was linked to the pornography I liked so much- movies, magazines, stories. I knew better. I just really like to get off. The materials were just "props" and helped intensify the outcome.
I told her how I could watch porn videos at home for hours- slowly stroking myself into oblivion- getting so aroused that when I finally came it would be what I called a "whole body" orgasm of incredible intensity.
It also came out during our original sessions that I had quite a fetish for high heeled sandals. To me they were equal in arousal factor to most guys seeing breasts. In the Summer time I would drive through town at lunch time just looking at all the girls and the latest high heeled sandal fashions. I would get a hard on the same way any other guy would if they had all been topless. I didn't understand it either- it just was.
She had also had me make a scrapbook of my feelings during our sessions. There were lots of pictures of tornados and car wrecks- which she said meant anger that the accident had happened. But at the end of my pictorial essay I included a picture of a guy watching TV and lots of magazine pictures surrounding it of women in- you guessed it- high heeled sandals having all sorts of sex.
Not too sure what she thought about that. She didn't say a whole lot- but she did look at that section for quite a while. In my fantasies I imagined her going home that evening- putting some sandals on- and masturbating to the memory of that session.
Probably not, I thought. She is not a pervert like me. But things can change...
I arrived at her office for the appointment at 4:15- our usual time from the past. She usually had some later appointments available for those who actually work for a living. Sitting on the couch I enjoyed seeing what I had missed about our sessions. Marcia was a nice looking female. She was dressed in her typical dark business attire of a sleek pants suit and a dark print blouse which really set off her dark hair- and her cute forty-something face beaming quiet relaxation.
She was very slender and had very little in the chest department. The few times I had seen her without her jacket one could make out the outline of small braless breasts and pointed nipples through her knit top or silky blouse- which were her standard choices.
We talked old times and caught up on things in a semi-professional way (she wasn't taking notes) and was glad to hear I was doing fine. Then she asked if I still had my "addiction." I informed her that it was still alive and well.
To which she replied that was the reason for asking me in for a visit. It seemed that she had been taking a class on such "problems" and for her thesis she was required to do a case study.
She read the directions out loud to me: "You need to select an individual with an intense case of their particular addiction- but make sure it is a self-oriented type of behavior. This is because your assignment is to be interactive if at all possible. You need to observe the behavior first hand. By the term "interactive" it is not implied that you interact with the client. However, in this close observation of the particular person and their actions it is recommended that you, too, participate as much as possible in their routine so that you gain a full understanding of their thought process."
She ended by outlining that she would like for me to be her case study and would like to set up an extended evening appointment in the near future. She explained that her associates did not approve of her tackling this subject and the appointment would need to be at eight in the evening- after they were gone- and be "open ended" to allow for the whole perspective to evolve.
Hey- I got hard sitting there thinking of masturbating in front of her and having her see the length of my cock as I stroked it until I came (told you I was a pervert). But one always has to try and play things to one's advantage. I quietly outlined that I was not sure I could maintain my private routine if I were being observed with scientific accuracy and note taking-that would make me too nervous to perform.
She surprised me then by saying, "Oh, no. That is not how this works at all. I will be sitting on the other end of this same couch here in my office and mentally, if not physically, going through your same routine in order to fully understand it. I will be following your same moves to a certain extent that I can feel comfortable and learn the most I can about your 'addiction.'"