Marcy Lyles was finishing up the case notes from her recent therapy session when her receptionist knocked on her office door.
"Come in!" She called out.
Sara opened the door and waddled in, pregnant belly first. She had a file in her hand and brought it to Marcy's desk, saying as she laid it down "Here's a list of candidates for the intern position that the university is sending over, and their resumes in order of their scheduled interview times." She put both hands on her stomach as she looked around the office that she had already made pristine. "Is there anything else you need? Do you want me to stay until they all get here?" Sara asked hopefully. Going home today meant her maternity leave started, and maternity leave starting meant her baby was coming soon, and Sara was reasonably terrified about it.
But Marcy waved her hand at Sara, shooing her towards the door. "No, go! Enjoy your maternity leave. I know you're nervous about the labor and having the baby and all that that entails, but you'll have to find something else to keep your mind off it." She smiled warmly at Sara. "Bring all the baby photos and videos when you come back."
Marcy was left alone, and she leaned back in her desk chair and leafed through the resumes. She had a long afternoon ahead of her.
***
Marcy heaved a sigh and rubbed her temples. One more interview to go, and then she had a few days to pick who was to help her. There was a promising young woman who seemed to be here for the right reasons that Marcy would probably choose.
Marcy Lyles wasn't your run of the mill therapist. Also technically she was a psychiatrist, but the term therapist just seemed more palatable. She specialized in a field that was overlooked at times, exaggerated in the media, and maybe a little fetishized. She was a sex therapist. Typically, her clients were couples that were trying to reignite the spark or keep it alive, but she also had other clients that were there for various reasons such as rehabilitation after an assault, trouble figuring out their sexuality, trouble accepting their sexuality, and many others.
Most of the interns she had run through didn't seem to want to be there to actually help people, like she did. They were just there because it would be fun to work around sex, legally.
And then, the last candidate walked in. His resume said he was Logan Harris, aged 23. He was still an undergrad, psychology major, with the intention of going onto graduate school. She hadn't had high expectations for him. As sexist as it sounded, she was expecting him to be there for the fun, not to really help.
But to her astonishment, the interview went well. He seemed a nerdy sort - and she meant that in a complimentary way. She was a nerd herself, at all. He genuinely seemed interested in helping people. She was drawn to him, unexpectedly. He was quite adorable.
He did seem vague about why this was the perfect spot for him to help, though, so Marcy had to be sure he knew what he was getting into.
"You're aware of the therapy I specialize in?" Marcy asked, her elbows on her desk as she leaned forward, relishing the way Logan's eyes darted to the cleavage that flashed as she did so, not understanding her need to rattle him. He looked so proper and put together for a college student; his charcoal trousers had obviously been ironed, as was his crisp white button up shirt under his tan blazer. His glasses were the old school round kind, and seemed perfect for his face. His eyes were so green, his messy, tousled brunette hair looked like his fingers were constantly running through it.
Logan blushed a little bit, and Marcy wasn't proud to admit it, but it turned her on. Just a tad. A smidge. An iota. "Yes, I know what type of therapy you specialize in," he answered. "I was very much hoping for this internship, actually. I would like to have access to some more books on the subject. Hoping for..." but he trailed off.
"Hoping for what, Logan?" Marcy prodded. His blush grew, and Marcy felt a kick in her pulse again.
"Hoping to..." he trailed off again, but found the courage to finish his thought. "Hoping to figure out why I am the way that I am. Why I... why I like what I like."
Marcy kept her expression impassive, but she couldn't help the next jolt of arousal that slid through her. She was pretty sure she knew where this was going, and now it made sense why she was so instantly attracted to Logan. He was exactly her type. She must have just sensed it.
"What do you mean?" She asked in a brusque, professional tone.
"Well, you s-see," he stammered, biting his lip and looking away before he could continue, "most guys seem to... well, most guys that are straight like... like to be in charge."
"In charge of what?" Marcy prodded again.
Logan looked back at her with wide eyes, and answered "You know..." and it was like he was pleading with his eyes to not make him say it out loud. Marcy simply raised an eyebrow and waited for him to realize yes, she was going to make him say it. "In... in the bedroom. Sexually. With women."
Her nipples hardened at the scandalized way he whispered sexually. "But not you?" She continued.
Logan dropped his gaze again, this time to look at his hands crossed in his lap. "No," he said so softly she could barely hear him. "I like... I don't like being in charge."
Logan's head jerked up when he heard Marcy's chair squeak as she rose from it, and watched as she walked around her desk to sit on it, right in front of him, barely a foot between her legs and his. Her legs, that were encased in sheer hosiery, and Logan couldn't help the twitch in his cock at the thought of them being thigh high stockings. She crossed one leg over the other and her skirt rode up just a little bit and he almost bit his tongue at the confirmation of little lacy tops peeking out from under.
Marcy placed her palms on the edge of the desk and leaned forward over her crossed legs, and she could see Logan gulp hard as his eyes crept up from where they had seen the end of her stocking to the cleavage now so much closer to him and better disposed.
