Shame on me, I thought...this was Linda, the therapist who I paid to listen to my babble, take notes, and utter murmurs of acknowledgment every few minutes. Through the gut spillage, which was considerable, this woman's tempered words of encouragement were fair and reasoned, sometimes brutal. She became someone I could trust. A rare voice of truth in a world of bullshit. I admired her and respected her highly.
During my formative years she guided me as I developed my convictions. When she asked questions, they were hard ones, like "what is it you want?" and "why is [something] valuable to you?" She was my ideological mentor. With her help I discovered the value in self-reliance and realized the power of the mind over the body. She had a way of sensibly prodding me to into understanding some profound truths. She got me interested in Thoreau and Emerson, which impacted my outlook on life. It wasn't long before I discovered the weighty chains of humanity, that were holding me down; a slave surrounded by vicious masters.
Meanwhile, my eyes were unintentionally locked to Linda's firm ass like a starving rat on cheese.
She was the same woman, but irresistibly attractive, her brown hair pulled into a bun revealing her slender neck. I had hardly considered the fact she was beautiful. The way she walked, talked, and smiled had aways screamed "you're a little child and I'm a big adult." Always down to business she might as well have been my aunt or English teacher.
Now, just three years later, her supple red lips somehow begged "take me on the couch" instead of "take a seat on the couch." Her flush cheeks and bright blue eyes seemed to momentarily invite the former, but I had learned to distrust and even revile my overactive imagination. After all, I was here to escape the affliction sex was having on my consciousness; not a very good start. I decided my musing was the culprit, and also completely dismissed the red sweater and neck scratch. I took my usual position on her couch and she sat at her desk behind me.
"You're not going to believe what I'm about to tell you..."
"Try me."
I explained the whole scenario as she listened in silence: Vanessa's blogs, the photo shoot, Maria, Jen's advances. Nothing surprised her. She nodded in familiarity and maintained her professional composure throughout.
She asked if she could see her blog, so I typed it into her computer. She navigated to the following example and read it aloud...
He is a devastating tease to be sure. I awoke this morning to his warmth, which fell into pools on my belly and dribbled inside my navel. I pretended I was sleeping, but couldn't restrain the smile. Such divine connection. It was often my hand awakening him. I knew he was late and had little time to truly show me how much he loved me. I glowed in restful bliss and watched his shirt fall over his muscled chest. I touched a drop and brought it to my lips, kissing him a devilish goodbye as he closed the dorm room door. His subtle sweetness arouses the most sinister thoughts. I massaged his being deep into my skin and gently brought the wave inside to its long and inevitable crest. I decided not to shower so his essence accompanied my morning classes. By lunch I was a wet, antsy wreck for him. Fortunately he had predicted my condition and, with due savagery, took me from behind in the cafeteria's maintenance closet. Now it is afternoon and I can feel more of him. I already dream for dinner...I was horrified with embarrassment.
I explained that her stories were not just erotica, but a focused response to something I had written. This example was an elaboration of a scene from a novel I found particularly enticing. Every word I had ever written was like food for her. She minces, dices and bakes until she is ready to respond with her next delicacy, more nuanced and affective than I could ever conceive myself. She delights in knowing me better than I know myself.
She appeared to be distracted by another article.
"Oh, excuse me, well...does she know you have discovered her?"
"Yes."
"Why do you resist her?"
"Because she threatens the very thing that makes me a man, my individual choice. I do not wish to further volunteer myself into slavery. She has occupied me enough with her writing. Imagine what she is capable of in real life. I have seen what can happen, and know the consequences. I feel like an aroused and fully aware male mantis, weighing my options."
"Have you considered that she is only tempted by you because you are unavailable?"
"I have. The other girls seem drawn to me for that novelty, or even for competitive sport among each other, actually. It's unsettling, and quite enticing, but seldom overwhelming to resist. Why would I fall for a girl who takes advantage of my body for sport? What depraved man would be overcome by an act so trivial and indiscriminate?
Here's the thing. Vanessa is capable of understanding aspects of my character that I am terrified to confront myself. She ignites this involuntary flame of passion. I have this insatiable urge to overcome her. I don't mean her exactly. I lust for proof that I can control my passion, and I know that she is unwilling to desist. I seek her like a hopeless addict. I don't know what to do."
Her murmurs of acknowledgment became less timely as she surfed through Vanessa's posts.
"Magnus, you have already released yourself to Vanessa. She occupies a portion of your mind, and therefore a portion your existence. She brought you here, and her obsession compels her to further reign over your consciousness. Maybe she didn't request this fate any more than you did, but she is comfortable acknowledging and pursuing her desire. Until you do the same, you are her victim; enslaved and hopeless."
I finally recognized the crux of the dilemma. There was no escape. I was either a slave to Vanessa, or I was a slave to her absence. Without her I would always wonder if I could resist her. So long as I desired freedom itself, I was chained to her without consent. It was entrapment as pervasive as life itself.
"What do I do?"
"I'm sorry. I can not tell you that."
"Why not?"
"There is nothing more that I can tell you. Magnus, you are a truly exceptional case. There are some things one needs to discover for one's self..."
She sat for a moment in thought, then stood and walked slowly towards the door, apparently inviting my exit. Her behavior started to change. Her motions seemed more deliberate, distant. She became a ballet dancer floating slowly and gracefully.
I began to remove her clothing in my mind. I decided it was probably time to leave...
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