The Therapist's Journey

Sally's Second Session with Theresa

Before turning on the recording of my session with Theresa, I had set my alarm for 5:00 A.M. Monday morning. I was joining Robert at his favorite restaurant at 6:00 P.M. and my son had a swim meet after; the only time I would have for the gym was the crack of dawn. While on the treadmill I intended to select some counselors to recommend to Theresa. I had lost any sense of therapeutic objectivity with her, it was my ethical and professional responsibility to withdraw. I was also worried about myself. I attributed much of my success to self-discipline, my thoughts and desires were now ricocheting around beyond any power I had to control them. I was scared; part of me liked those thoughts. Unchecked, they could endanger my career, my place in society, my sense of self, and my accomplishments.

I arrived at the office a few minutes early wearing a conservative blue business suit. The day proceeded well, but as 4:00 P.M. approached my uneasiness grew. I liked Theresa and we had established an instant rapport. I did not look forward to disappointing her.

At 4:00 P.M. my staff buzzed me to let me know Theresa had arrived. I opened the door to see the two women who work for me happily holding up potted plants decorated with large red bows.

Theresa explained. "As late as we ran on Friday, I figured these ladies probably stayed a little bit late trying to figure out what to do. These," pointing to the plants, "are my apology and thank you."

Theresa seemed a different woman than she had on Friday. She was wearing make-up and her hair, which was pulled behind her head during our last visit, now fell freely to her shoulders, framing her lovely face. She was wearing mid-calf level boots with two-inch heels, a skirt that reached her knees, and a loose fitting pressed man's shirt whose top two buttons were open, revealing a gleaming white tee shirt underneath. She was probably not wearing a bra, I thought.

The biggest difference from our last visit, however, was the smile on her face. Whatever had happened since Friday's session, Theresa had liked it.

I invited her into my office. As soon as the door shut Theresa hugged and kissed me on the cheek. Her breasts pressed against me, confirming my thoughts about her bra. She stepped back slightly, taking my hands in hers, and the words spilled out of her.

"I had the most amazing weekend. There were a dozen roses waiting for me when I got home with a note from Miles to meet him in the bedroom. I guess it's our bedroom now. The sex was tremendous. He promised to celebrate our time alone my cumming inside me in each room of the house. We didn't quite make it – it's a big house – but it wasn't for lack of trying. During our breaks I told him about our session. He said he will support whatever I decide. Sally, I know we didn't conclude anything during our last visit, but you treated me with respect. I came in feeling like a pervert and left feeling like a woman. A woman with an issue, but not a crazy deviant. I understand I may need to stop it with my son, but for the first time in months my sense of nagging self-loathing is gone."

This was not the time to tell her she needed a new therapist. I put down the list of other mental health professionals I was going to ask her to consider. I would call on my training and experience and get through this session.

"Miles asked whether you wanted to see him."

I had thought about that. In order to properly evaluate her and her relationship, protocol required that I talk to her son. To do that both of them to would need to waive confidentiality so I could freely discuss with each what I learned from the other. In normal couples therapy a waiver of confidentiality was assumed and could be verbal. Theresa and Miles were not a normal couple. A formal written waiver of confidentiality was required. However, I expected this to be my last session with her. I knew I needed to refer her to someone else. I decided to postpone discussing an appointment with her son until the end of the session.

"That was actually one of the matters I intended to discuss with you. We'll get to that later."

Letting go of my right hand, she still held my left while we walked to the couch. Her body language and tug on my hand indicated she expected me to sit next to her as I had at the end of our last session. I had intended to sit in my chair, but realized my rule about physical boundaries was already hopelessly compromised. Any effort to re-establish it now would be artificial. It would also signal disapproval to Theresa, which would impede our progress. I sat down next to her.

We discussed the first two issues I had addressed in my research. She was aware of the increased risk of birth defects and assured me she was on birth control. I also reviewed my research about incest as a universal taboo; its prohibition was not just an artifact of Western culture. As I suspected, her concern was not incest's rejection as a universal norm, but the harm it might be doing to two very specific people: her and her son.

I turned to this concern. I could see she was nervous. I took her hand in mine.

"Theresa, there is no reason to believe that incest is inherently harmful. It can be, but there is no research to conclude it must be. While I can understand why it is against the law, there is no evidence that incest is always damaging."

Her relief was palatable. For the second time that session she threw her arms around me and hugged me. This time I found myself looking forward to the crush of her breasts against my body.

"Let's not celebrate too quickly. There are still serious issues here. I would like to discuss the first two together. Your son is a teen-age boy. He should be developing conventional social ties and growth. He is not going to take advantage of the full opportunities of life if his primary focus is finding ways to get his father out of the house so he can make love to his mother. Concomitantly, your marriage is not in good shape. Sex with your son is going to distract you from any effort to address it.

"On the other hand, let's say he ends his relationship with you to lead what society would call a normal life, how would that affect you? You're his mother. He would not be like a high school boyfriend who left you for a girl he met in college. You wouldn't need to interact with that guy ever again. You will need to do so with your son. How are you going to react when you can no longer be his lover?"

Theresa took her time. When she replied her tone of voice was contemplative.

"I hadn't thought about it in exactly those terms, but you're right. My son was awarded a full scholarship to Stanford. When our affair first began he talked about going to a local school and not a college two time zones away. The first few weeks I agreed, but then the mother in me stepped forward. I knew, we both knew, that Stanford was the right place for him. It's going to be terrible not being with him full time. We even discussed my moving to California, but we both realized that would just delay the problem. At some point he needs to move on.

"As to my marriage, you're right again. But, the point is, I don't really want to fix it. My husband has his job, it's his one great love. I am quite happy letting my husband be absorbed in his work while I am absorbed in his son."

She was clearly upset. She looked down, then back at me, all the time rubbing her hands together or fumbling with the buttons of her shirt. I put my arm around her shoulder to comfort her.

The contact helped. She continued. "It's funny you brought this up. My son mentioned over the weekend that he might have an answer to at least some of these problems."

"Did he explain what it was?"

"No, I asked. He said it was one of those ideas that if you looked at it too hard, it would never thrive."

"Did you think he had a real idea or was he just comforting you?"

"Something real was in his head. This is not something he would kid about."

I decided to pass over his comment. We would get back to it later.

"Theresa, I raise these issues because they should be considered. By themselves they are not reasons to end the relationship. In fact, while they may be good grounds not to start an incestual relationship, once you're in it they simply become things that need to be worked out. The fact that you and your son are talking about them are good. You should continue to do so. Which brings me to my last concern, consent."

I explained the general concerns about consent in incest before arriving at her particular case.

"When you told me about the night you became lovers, I was struck by the number of times your son asserted control over you. He made you promise to obey him before you went shopping, talked about taking you from his father as if you were property, and spoke about owning your cunt."

Theresa took a few seconds to answer.

"He is an aggressive lover. I love the power I feel in him when we are in bed. Of course, I not exactly sure how he would have gotten me into his bed without his being aggressive. I wasn't about to volunteer."

That drew a smile from me.

"An aggressive powerful lover is fine. I am not saying there is anything wrong here, but I do want to explore it further. Have you two ever had sex to which you initially objected?"

"Yes, is there anything wrong with that?" She seemed confused.

"No, every couple but the dullest has. When I asked you the question did one particular event come to your mind."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I did go to school for this stuff. You were thinking about consent in your relationship. When I asked you about agreeing to do something to which you had initially objected the strongest example would be the first one in your thoughts. Now I want you to tell me about it."

She hesitated for a second, decided to go ahead, and scooted closer to me on the couch, placing her left hand on my right knee. The physical contact made her feel more comfortable and I, to be honest, enjoyed it. I decided to let it slide.

"Since we became lovers my son had asked me about anal sex. I have a few girlfriends who have tried it and none of them endorsed it. My husband tried it once, but he hadn't even penetrated me when I panicked and told him to stop and he is not nearly as big as my boy. So I told Miles no.

"He never insisted, but he was clearly still interested. He never missed an opportunity to complement my butt. He found my backside especially fascinating when his father was around. I had given up trying to stop him from putting his hand on my fanny or pressing his erection against it, when his father was in the next, or sometimes the same, room.

"He also included it in our lovemaking. He loved to give me a back rub, ending up gently biting me at the base of the coccyx, nibbling along the length of the edges of the crevice in my butt...."

Here she turned to me. "Is there a word for that?"

"Several," I answered, "intergluteal cleft, vertical gluteal crease, and gluteal cleft are some."

The absurdity of these terms in the present context brought a soft laugh from both of us. She continued.

"You do know some stuff. Well, he would nibble along the edges of that thing you said, then kiss it, then run his tongue along it, then do it all again. He would separate the cheeks of my ass and run his tongue along the bottom of the cleft. He would then pay special attention to my anus. He would gently blow air onto it, which would make it quiver. He would lick it and force his tongue inside my sphincter. He often brought me to orgasm by reaching under me with his hand and masturbating me while his mouth paid attention to my ass. When we first started out there would be some tension back there, but after awhile I started to relax. He noticed it also and commented on how mush easier it was to push his tongue inside me. I was sure happy for that, because I was learning to love what he did back there. I never knew my butt was such a sensitive area and could bring me such pleasure. When he tongue-fucked my sphincter while stroking my clitoris with his fingers, it seemed that the same fire that burned in my cunt was burning in my backside.

"It worked the other way. When his mouth was on my pussy he would use his fingers to stimulate by fanny. He would stroke my anus and then slip a finger inside me. He was always careful to use a lubricant. He started out with his pinkie, but over time he worked up to his middle finger. Often he would slip his thumb into my vagina and his middle finger into my butt while sucking on my clitoris. He developed a rhythm so everything down there seemed to be moving together. I had not imagined that my butthole could be a source of such pleasure. I went from anxiety when he approached my butt to yearning for it, but still there was a big difference between his fingers and that fat cock of his.

"The big moment came during Family Day at Coliseum, my husband's company. The company throws an annual picnic for its employees' families. It starts with a high-tech presentation about the company followed by the usual trappings. The company hires a local band, there are softball and volleyball games, and the food and beer flow freely. As the wife of an executive my attendance is essentially mandatory, but Miles hadn't gone in years. Thus, I was surprised when he said he would love to go when my husband asked him That night, after my husband had fallen asleep and Miles and I had finished making love on the couch downstairs, I asked him if he was up to something. He said he certainly was, but I would have to wait to find out what.

"It was bright and sunny the day of the picnic. As a result even more people attended than usual. When the presentation in the auditorium was announced my son held me back for a second so that we were among the last to enter. All of the seats had been taken, so my son directed me to the half-wall and railing that ran along the back of the auditorium. I leaned against the wall; my son stood behind me. Then he leaned forward slightly, and I felt his hard cock touching my butt.

"As I instinctively pulled forward, he whispered, 'Look around, it's safe.' I did; he was right. The half wall was interspersed with thick square floor to ceiling columns. We were standing between the final column and the wall of the auditorium. The column blocked any view of us from the side. The lights had been turned off and the light from the stage was blocked by the half wall. The area behind it was near pitch black. The only possible way you could see what was going on would be if you were standing right on top of us, and there was nobody within twenty feet.

"'You're still being bad,' I told him.

"'I can be worse, you know,' and with that he slipped his fingers into the belt loops of my shorts and pulled me back until my rump was planted on his erection. He didn't rub it against me, but he definitely let me know it was there."

"Did he stop?"

"No, and I didn't ask him to. It was turning me on but I figured nothing could come of it. We were surrounded by hundreds of people, but all I realy cared about was his presence. I loved the way his strong body felt against me and, oddly considering the packed room, I remembered how good he smelled: he was wearing an aftershave and cologne we had picked out together.

"After the presentation my husband went outside to drink beer and share war stories with his buddies. My son and I wandered throughout the facility. He was still bad, whenever we were alone he would stroke my butt and kiss me. When we had the chance we held hands like teen-agers. I was still pretty aroused and enjoyed his tongue in my mouth even with my eyes open to make sure no one saw us. Then we went outside and separated for awhile. He played volley ball while I chatted with some people I knew. The next time I was aware of him was when I heard his voice behind me. He had two plates full of food and two soft drinks. 'Hungry? Thirsty?,' he asked.

"We sat and ate. As we did so he pointed to his father's office on the second floor of the building. He observed that the combination of the darkened environmental-friendly windows, the brightness of the sun, and the lack of any lights inside the offices meant you couldn't see in the offices from the outside. I looked up and, wondering what he was up to, agreed.

"'For example,' he went on, 'I can't see the three foot tall model of Dad's latest project that sits on the conference table under that window.' He pointed. I looked up again. He was right. I wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"'Maybe someone stole the model. You and I need to investigate.'

"He stood up and offered his hand to help me up. I grabbed it and stood next to him.

"We started walking towards the building, which made no sense. While guests had been provided with a temporary key cards to get into the main building, for security purposes the individual offices had been locked and screens covered the windows in the doors. "You know we can't get inside his office,' I told him.

"As we reached the building my son, looking like the cat who caught the canary, reached into his pocket and fished out a small key, 'Well there is that spare key he keeps at the house.'

"We used the key card to enter. I started up the stairs, my son behind me. I was about to object to his entire plan when he said, 'Those shorts sure do show off that fine butt of yours. I have been able to think of very little but your rump since we got here. I've been thinking about shoving my tongue inside, I've been thinking of tickling it with my pinkie, I've been thinking about ...' He continued in this vein, describing in detail all the things he wanted to do to my backside. I couldn't believe the conversation, walking through my husband's office building while my son described in minute detail how he was going to make love to my ass. He stopped for a moment when another couple entered the stairwell, heading downstairs. It was the company's senior vice-president and his attractive young secretary. I had seen his wife outside. Hanky panky in the building was apparently company policy.

"The second floor hallway was empty and my son resumed his inventory of the ways he lusted for my ass. I was getting extremely turned on. He opened the door to my husband's office and holding my hand walked over to the table: the model was still there. Standing behind me, he reached his arms around to cup my breasts, which he gently kneaded. 'We now know two things,' he announced, 'the model is still here and no one can see inside this room.' He was kissing me on the neck and nibbling on my ears. He was gently rocking his erection against my behind. His left hand left my breast and slid down my body, where he placed it on my belt buckle and started moving by body in the same rhythm as his, making sure I could feel his hard cock as he our bodies swayed in rhythm.

"I was still worried. I asked him what we would do if his father came through the door. Miles told me what I wanted to here. 'It can't happen. First, he is already three sheets to the wind. He couldn't make it up the steps or fit a key in the door. Even if he did, he wouldn't recognize or remember what he saw. But we don't need to worry about even that. He asked me to bring him his keys when we left the house. I gave him the set without the office key.'

"The hand which was rocking my hips unbuckled and unzipped my shorts. He dipped his hand inside and started playing with the entrance of my vagina. He could feel how wet I was. He was not going to believe any protest I made about making love in his father's office, but it really didn't matter any more. Any desire I had to say no was a fleeting velleity.

"His middle finger slipped inside my vagina. His thumb rested just above my clitoris. He started to move his thumb in slow gentle circles. My clit was throbbing under this indirect stimulation. With his other hand he continued to caress my breasts through my bra, which made the fire between my legs burn even brighter. I matched his movements, keeping his monstrous erection pressed against my butt. He unhooked my bra and his left hand moved around to my left breast. Mostly he just held and gently squeezed it. Occasionally he would tease my nipple with one of his fingers, which further heated up an already over-heated pussy. It was a position meant to arouse me, but not to push me over the edge.