The Therapist's Journey

I would like to thank all for the comments, observations, and suggestions in response to my first posting on Literotica. I appreciated them all. Unsure of the appropriate etiquette for this site I have not responded to the individual messages. I hope I have offended no one. However, the pleasure I have taken in receiving your comments has caused me to cure one area in which I have been remiss, my own failure to comment on stories written by other Literotica authors.

Several people made suggestions for the plot. Plot-wise, this story is essentially written. I am, as time permits, in the process of polishing what has already been completed. However, I purposefully tried to keep the story open, whether by way of flashback or other, for the further adventures of these characters. Thus, the suggestions made to date and any further ones are welcome. I am already contemplating some of the ideas and will see if I have the skill and imagination to incorporate them into further adventures for Theresa, Sally, family, and friends.

II -- Sally Under the Influence of Theresa's Confession - The Weekend

According to the clock in my office it was 6:00 P.M. The staff was gone. It felt like Theresa had walked in fifteen minutes, not two hours, ago.

I retrieved the digital recorder from the office console. In order to defend the growing number of lawsuits filed by disgruntled former patients over advice never actually given, my malpractice insurer required me and all its insureds to record their sessions. I am not sure how many of my patients are actually aware of it, but when they sign the forms presented on their first consultation they consent to my recording the sessions. There is a lot of controversy in the profession about the propriety of this practice and the recordings, at the least, must be treated professionally and confidentially. Their misuse is a significant ethical violation. I store mine in a small safe in my home. Five years after the therapeutic relationship ends, the recordings are destroyed. I looked at the recorder in my hand; I was pretty sure my insurer would not approve of my performance with Theresa.

I normally deal with the day's stresses with a tough two-hour work out. The best I would be able to do today was sixty minutes. Maybe that would take my mind off the steam between my legs. While changing clothes I kept repeating the mantra not to let my emotions become intertwined with those of my clients, but it was doing no good. My hand kept sliding down to my soaked vagina and distended clitoris. I managed to make it to my car, but at every opportunity continued to play with myself. My hand had slipped back into my leotards at a red light when I noticed the driver of an eighteen-wheeler enjoying the show. I let him pull out in front of me -- I didn't need to let that guy see my license plate number -- and stopped in an empty bank parking lot. There I brought myself off. I arrived at the gym even later than I hoped, but got forty-five hard minutes on the treadmill.

I drove home with my leotards bathed with sweat, which I hoped disguised any lingering flow from my masturbation and the scent of my arousal. In an effort to distract myself I did wrist strengthening exercises with a hand grip I kept in the car.

After parking my car in the garage I heard my son swimming in the pool and decided to come through the back gate to say hello. I caught his eye and he swam over. I had the pool installed about six years ago, when he first showed interest in competitive swimming. It had been a hit with him and the kids in the neighborhood and he was now a solid performer on his school's swim team. He was not headed for the Olympics, but he was pretty darn good.

"How was the day at the office?" he asked.

"Good," I replied, "I had an interesting new client. I'm running late. Would you mind cutting your work-out short and chopping up the onions, bell peppers, garlic, and basil on the bottom shelf of the frig?"

"No problem, Mom."

"Thanks honey. " I turned to go inside. I was thinking about how Theresa had been oblivious to the fact that her son saw her not only as his mother, but as a woman -- an attractive woman. Could I have the same blind spot? As I walked towards the glass door that led from the house to the pool I glanced at the curved mirror I had installed when I bought the pool. It allowed me to monitor the pool and environs from inside the house so I could intervene before teenage rough housing turned potentially fatal. It seemed my son had his eyes squarely on my butt. But the image was somewhat distorted and, maybe, it was my imagination.

After stripping I climbed into the shower. I would have preferred a nice long one, but my son had a date with Katie that evening and I had promised to feed him first. Still wondering if my boy had checked out my butt, I decided to continue the experiment. After the shower I put on a pair of tight jeans, a bra, and a loose fitting red shirt with a tendency to flop open.

He was in the kitchen finishing the vegetables. He was still in his swim trunks and while I had been wondering if he judged me sexually, I found myself now doing the same with him. I liked what I saw. I had always thought my baby was beautiful. There has always been enough admiring females hanging around the house to let me know I was not alone, but my session with Theresa had given me a new perspective.

He had a swimmer's body: long and lean. His waist was narrow and his shoulders broad. As he chopped away I could see a slight ripple in his well-muscled back. I walked up quietly behind him and tapped him on the butt -- which was nice and hard -- and leaned forward. As expected, my blouse fell forward, offering him a view of my breasts. At the same time I glanced at the refrigerator, averting my gaze while keeping him in my peripheral vision. He took the bait, his eyes wandered down.

"Thank you honey, I really appreciate this. I'll take over from here. You go get ready for your date."

"No problem Mom. I'm glad I could help."

Then, before he left the room, he did something unexpected. He tapped me right back on the butt.

I added some chicken to the vegetables and sauteed them in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. I had just finished setting out the plates when my son arrived at the table dressed nicely, he was wearing a polo shirt and slacks. He started to serve himself, but I told him he had already done enough and brought him his food. I leaned over his plate and as I scooped dinner from the skillet, allowing him an extended view down my shirt. Again he took the bait. As we finished and cleaned up I gave him several more peeks, all of which he seemed to enjoy. He was also making far less effort to hide his interest. When he leaned over to kiss me before he left he whispered in my ear, "You do need to do something about that blouse, it put on quite a show tonight."

He knew I was flashing him! As he headed towards the car, I headed to my bedroom to deal with the fire between my legs.

I was still in a post-orgasmic haze when my cell phone went off. It was my boy friend, if that is the right term for a thirty-seven year old woman dating a fifty-six year old man. I had started seeing Robert about a year after my divorce. He was a distinguished physician and a leader in local society. We had talked about getting married, but had always decided that the dangers of a blended family -- his daughter was the same age as my son -- advised against it. I suspect that both of us, in fact, liked it just the way we had it: a committed relationship with maximum independence.

"Hey guy."

"Hey sweetie," he replied. "You sound tired."

"It was a long day and I've been running late for most of it."

"You work too hard. And speaking of that, I was calling to check on the race tomorrow."

There was a series of fund-raisers for a local child-care facility scheduled the following date. Robert was on the Board of Directors. I was in charge of the five kilometer run in the morning and would be his date at the cocktail party that would end the day.

"Everything is under control. I spoke to all the team captains earlier today and I can't find a single problem to address. Do you think we can get some alone time after the party tomorrow night?"

"My daughter is with her mother this weekend. If you can get rid of your son, sure. I wish I could be with you now, but there is still so much work to do."

"I understand. In any case a woman consulted with me today with a," I paused, "problem is not the right word, let's say an issue that I have never dealt with before. I going to spend some time tonight doing research."

"She's lucky to have you. I hope you find what you are looking for. One last thing, I do appreciate all the work you've done. It's a shame that the race is scheduled the same time as your son's swim meet. I know you hate not being there to cheer."

"I'm just trying to do my part for the community. And I talked to my son, he understands."

We hung up and I got out of bed. I could access the research facilities of the American Psychiatric Association from my iPad so I grabbed it, a notepad and pen, and a glass of sherry and headed for the couch.

My research found that incest was not considered a socially acceptable alternative lifestyle. It had been condemned throughout history and around the world. Exceptions were few and sui generis. The marriage options of Pharaonic Egypt's ruling family may have been limited to each other, but this both centralized power in the family and affirmed their divinity. Gods do not court and marry mortals. Of course, the need to create a pervasive normative structure against incest meant that incestuous desires were equally pervasive. There is no societal taboo against bringing elephants to church because no one brings elephants to church. That the rules against incest were as old as humanity established that family members were rife with sexual desire for each other since the dawn of human history. In this sense there was nothing abnormal about the intensity of the sexual longing Theresa described.

The primary reason provided for its taboo status was the increased risk of birth defects, but the actual risk was much smaller than I expected and didn't seem to justify the taboo. While studies vary, most of them estimate a 2% to 3% risk of birth defects in the general population. The risk in an incestual union was between 4% and 5%. This was not good, but it was less than the risk faced by a pregnant woman over forty years of age and no one suggested prohibiting mature woman from having babies.

I would discuss these points with Theresa, but I saw nothing here that overrode her freedom to choose.

The next two topics were a bit more straightforward. One was normal development. Someone involved in a sexual relationship with a family member might lose out on the opportunity to develop social skills. If I was a teenaged boy living with a sexually-available woman who looked like Theresa, I doubt I'd learn anything about dating. I saw nothing to be concerned about here. Miles, as described by Theresa, was far from a social misanthrope. There was also the problem of how to end such a relationship. The conclusion of most romantic and sexual relationships was difficult; how to do it amidst the tangles of a family's other concerns more complicated still. I would discuss this with Theresa but, again, that was a risk that she was free to accept.

In the end I saw only one real basis for concern: consent. Theirs was not an obvious case of lack of consent; Miles had seduced Theresa, not forced himself on her. However, the question of consent was tricky. Every family came with power imbalances. At what age and level of development could a son or a daughter, who had been brought up to obey his or her parent, be said to freely consent to a sexual relationship? I was surprised to find that these concerns ran in the other direction; there were numerous examples of children taking sexual advantage of dependant parents.

Theresa was intelligent adult, but she was also in a dull unimaginative marriage from which her son promised relief. It seemed clear he enjoyed dominating her. In our session she explained how he had made her promise to obey him and not only claimed her as his property and talked about taking her -- as if she was an object -- from his father, but demanded that she affirm his status. He has also required that she neatly fold his clothes while he threw her garb in a heap. Of course, she had said that she had enjoyed aggressive sex early in her relationship with her husband. Her son's demands might just be her definition of normal.

I looked at my note pad, with its scribbles about incest. I had a lot to discuss with Theresa, but I would have to spend time reorganizing my thoughts. I was also getting turned on. For the third time that day I slipped my hand between my legs. I had a sweet orgasm and fell asleep.

When I woke up at 2:00 A.M. my first concern was whether my son was home. My second was that he might be home. How would I explain that I was asleep in the living room with my hand down my pants and surrounded by pages of notes about incest? I went to his bedroom and cracked open the door. He was asleep.

I slept well the rest of the night and when I woke up my libido seemed a bit more under control. I put on the official race tee shirt, my favorite pair of little red running shorts, the whistle that indicated I was the boss, and my running shoes. I made a few telephone calls to ensure everything was under control. This left me with some time to kill -- I didn't need to at the race site for another hour -- so I decided to do something special for my boy. Even though I would miss his swim meet, I could cook him his favorite pre-meet breakfast. After getting all the preliminaries ready I stuck my head in his room and told him to get his butt out of bed, his mother was cooking him the works. I got a mumbled what I think was thanks and returned to the kitchen.

He stumbled into the kitchen a few minutes later. My eyes soaked in his body. My impression of the night before was right on; he was a handsome young man.

I poured him a cup of coffee and brought him a spread of eggs, ham, and grits.

"What time did you get in last night?" I asked.

"A few minutes after midnight. I broke curfew." He looked up, "I beg forgiveness."

"You're forgiven this time, but don't make it a habit."

"Thanks, you were sure crashed out on the couch."

He had seen me. I felt a need to explain. "I had my first session with a new client yesterday. She presented some issues that I thought I needed to research. I must have fallen asleep."

"I was going to wake you up, but you looked pretty comfy."

Had he seen what I was working on? How could I ask him? I ventured the following: "You know what I do is confidential. Anything you saw should be treated that way."

I returned to the kitchen counter to pour myself another cup of coffee.

"Your secrets are safe with me, Mom."

I had no idea what that meant.

He suddenly stood up. "I just noticed what time it is. I've got to be on the team bus in fifteen minutes. I know I am supposed to clean my own dishes, but you don't mind doing it for me this once, do you?"

"No honey, you know I'd do anything for you."

"Thanks." And then, as he headed for the door he turned back to me. "Those will be some mighty lucky guys at the race. Your butt looks great in those shorts." He was out the door before I could manage a retort.

The race went according to plan. I only had to blow my whistle twice. I updated Robert and headed back to the house to get ready for the party. Robert was a gentle man and treated me like a queen. He was also gentle in the bedroom and as I bathed and applied my make-up I thought about how I could spice up the night. The last twenty-four hours had put my libido in hyper-drive. I selected a sleeveless white cocktail dress. It hung down to my knees and was pinched tightly at my waist. From there on up it clung appreciatively to my body. It managed to display my ample bosom without revealing any cleavage. After slipping on orange patent leather sandals with a 4 ½ inch heel, I stood in front of the mirror.

I could see why my son might think I was still attractive. My mother was white and my father black. My bi-racial skin is mahogany in color. Years of work at the gym had ensured that I have retained an hour-glass figure. I was curvy, toned, slim, and athletic. After spending years experimenting with my hair, I had settled on a closely cropped pixie style. My hair now emphasized my face with its well-defined chin and high pronounced cheekbones.

When I got back to the kitchen I saw that my iPhone had a message on it. My son had won two races and wanted to know if he could spend the night celebrating with his friend and fellow swimmer William. I texted back in the affirmative. I had long suspected he purposely picked my date nights to spend at friends' houses, allowing me an excuse to spend the night with Robert rather than hurry home to avoid setting a bad example. I drove to Robert's house to co-host the party.

He met me at the door and leaned down to kiss me.

"You look great tonight." The tone of his voice indicated he was just not being polite.

"Glad you like it. I have been thinking about you all day long. And my son is spending the night with a friend."

I kissed his lips. He got my meaning.

The party was perfect. Most of our community's leaders were there. We even got the ever-busy mayor to drop in. Everyone had a good time and we were happy to announce we had exceeded our fund raising goals. After the caterers left, promising to return at noon the next day to clean up, I grabbed Robert's hand and headed for the bedroom.

We undressed. I pushed him back on to the bed and started kissing him. I licked his nipples, licked his mouth, eyes, nose, and chin, and even contemplated taking him in my mouth. I had performed oral sex on him only a handful of times. He acknowledged he liked it -- he certainly came fast enough -- but the next day always managed to drop a comment to the effect that it seemed a bit slutty. This night I wanted him in me and he was only generally good for one orgasm a night. Thus, oral sex was out. I asked him if he minded if I got on top. When he said no, I straddled him and slid down on his penis. I tried to focus on my own orgasm, minimizing his thrusting while focusing on sliding my clitoris and hips across his pubic bone. I closed my eyes and the image of Theresa and Miles fucking in the same position infiltrated my mind. Except I had no idea what Miles looked like. In my fantasy he started to look a lot like my own son. Then, Theresa suddenly started to look a lot like me. I tried to push the image out of my mind, which distracted me from what was going on between my legs. The orgasm that had been so close was gone and then, frustratingly, Robert came. I tried to keep the action going, but Robert asked me to stop. His penis was always hyper-sensitive after an orgasm. I laid next to him. He was soon snoring. He would be out for another eight hours.

Sex with Robert was always hit-and-miss, but that night I did something I had never done before. I left the bedroom and walked down the hall to an empty guest bedroom. I placed my finger on my clitoris. I tried to fantasize about Robert, but I knew it was pointless. I gave up fighting it and imagined myself on all fours, ass in the air, my son fucking me from behind. He was slamming into me hard. One of his hands was wrapped in my short hair, pulling my head up high. The other reached up the right side of my body to my breast, half-fondling it and half-using it to hold me in place. He ordered me to play with myself and I obeyed, reaching with by right hand to fondle my sex. When I had entered the empty bedroom my plan had been a nice long slow masturbation. That was not going to happen; I came quickly and powerfully. After taking a few minutes to savor the feelings in my body, I caught my breath, cleared the cob-webs, and returned to Robert's bed.