Fact or FRICTION - May 2018

I’m not sure why I behaved the way I did. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen twenty therapists before this one and knew the proper etiquette between patient and doctor. But there was something about the way he looked at me. The way he judged the length of my skirt, and the subsequent flush to his face that revealed he was embarrassed by his own private thoughts he thought he hid from me.

Typically, a therapist maintains calculated control of their sessions, but this one slipped. Slipped just enough to provide the invitation my ego needed to pounce.  Upon his noticeable blush, I abandoned the proper lady like cross of my legs at the ankle and shifted in my seat so that I faced him more squarely, knees held close together.

I noticed that his eyes kept darting to my knees as he struggled to get his next words past his lips. He was hoping that I might part my knees, just a little, I could see the longing for their broadening in his eyes. And I could see his eyes dart away in shame and self-condemnation before succumbing to the urge to gaze upon my articulation, bare, below the hem of my skirt.
I almost felt cruel, criminal like, as I gracefully dragged the tips of my fingers from one hand across my patella, knowing full well it would further antagonize the suffering man. His eyes watched my fingertips, longingly. I allowed my fingers to trail a little up the inside of one thigh just above the knee.  I could hear him give the slightest of gasps before he forced his eyes to the contemporary painting in in muted tones above my head, and then to the clock on the adjacent wall. He shifted again in his seat and swallowed.

I don’t know what spurred me on. I didn’t find this man, who looked barely equipped enough to handle the IT issues on my PC and nothing more, attractive in any way. The wired rimmed glasses that sat at the end of his nose appeared as though they hadn’t been cleaned or wiped off in weeks. Someone must find him appealing though, as he sported a thin non-important silver band on his betrothal finger, and perhaps that is what made him uncomfortable, the involuntary adultery he was committing in his mind, at this very moment. I parted my knees ever so slightly.

I knew what he wanted to see, deep down, even though I knew he would never ask. I knew he still couldn’t see too much, the shadow cast by the skirt and legs still too close together hid what he wanted to see. I saw his eyes widen, and his nostrils flair with anticipation. I hesitated. Did I really want to torture this man, this little man who has likely never cheated on his wife in the past? This man, who up until today had never fancied any sort of lewd behavior with a client before.  That was evident by the beads of perspiration beginning to take shape on his brow.

I wondered if I should stop. What would happen if I teased him too much? Would he try some advance on me? No, I didn’t see it in him. Perhaps he would take the excitement of our encounter home with him, and shower his wife with the passion incited in the confines of his office and morality? He shifted in his seat again and fumbled over his words. He dragged his eyes away from my knees and back to the notepad in front of him, clearing his throat as he tried to gather his bearings and pretended to read from the pad he likely had nothing scribbled on. I took the opportunity of his downward gaze to allow my knees to gently fall open. When he raised his eyes again he stopped dead in his tracks.

He had not allowed himself to even dream that I would be panty-less. He had hopes of looking past my upper thighs and finding white cotton panties, or even a pink lacy thong. Some thin piece of woven tapestry that would ultimately block him from looking at my freshly waxed pussy.  He gasped, no longer attempting to hide the gasp, and his pen fell from his hand and bounced off the floor. He made no move to retrieve the pen. No move to lift his jaw and reclose his mouth. No move to advert his eyes. He just continued to gaze adoringly at my womanhood, frozen, perhaps with disbelief, perhaps with delight. I could only guess.

I wondered when the last time he saw a pussy was. Did his wife show him hers?  Perhaps she didn’t share in the same grooming practices as myself (based on his reactions I would say, no). Perhaps she didn’t show him her box at all. And that made me sad. Did he not ever visit the plethora of porn sites that could show him what I was and even more?  Did he not frequent gentlemen clubs that afforded granted views?  My guess was no.

I felt bad for this man, whose perspiration was now running down the side of his speechless face. I slowly pulled at the hem of my skirt, so that even more light from the window behind him was shed on my mound. I tilted my head to the side as I watched him, watch me. I allowed one hand to slide up the inside of my thigh, pulling my skirt up even further in the process. I gently began to insert my middle finger into my pussy, and his note pad slid from his lap to join the pen on the floor. He didn’t even notice.

I stopped, withdrew my finger and slowly pulled my skirt back towards my knees, the whole time his eyes watched my groin until it was covered in shade once more and my knees were touching again. Like coming out of a day dream his eyes snapped up to meet mine, his face immediately reddened. He could barely mumble an ‘um’ as he averted his gaze and began looking around for his notepad and pen.
 
I took the opportunity to stand and straighten my skirt, collect my purse, as he gathered his fallen tools. He didn’t get a word out as I thanked him for his time and opened his office door. He merely mumbled things I could not understand.  His secretary appeared a little shocked, sitting at her neat and tidy desk, as she realized our session was ending nearly thirty minutes early.

“Would you like to schedule your next session?” she asked. I smiled kindly at her and continued to walk out the door without reply. Not that I had an aversion to seeing this therapist again, but I knew he would cancel any further appointments that might be booked. I saved us both the trouble. He was going to be scheduling his own sessions with a mentor he trusted in the next day or so to sort out what just happened in his office.

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