Sex Therapy

He laughs like an idiot.

“I’ll see you later, Jackson,” mystery girl says, placing emphasis on his name.

Dismissing the girl with the wave of his hand, his focus remains on me. I shoot daggers in his direction, unsure if I want to murder him for turning into such a jerk. Part of me, a tiny part, would like to kiss him until I forget about this entire encounter. He looks so delicious I want to take a bite. But the idea is ridiculous, especially given the situation.

“You really should go, Jackson. I have to use the restroom, and I don’t need an audience when I do it.”

“Right,” he says, lowering his head in shame. And he should be embarrassed. “I’ll leave you to it. Nice to see you, Chloe.”

I wish I could say the same though I’m not sure how I feel. Conflicted, I guess. Seeing Jackson with that girl, sort of hurts, and I have no idea why. I’m the one who ran away from him, not the other way around.

“Bye, Jackson.” I brush past him and enter the last stall, hoping the tears will wait until after he leaves.

“Bye, Chloe.” His voice is so low, almost a whisper. Then, he exits the bathroom without another word, leaving me to sort through my feelings.

I was already a mess over Mike br

eaking off our engagement. Jackson only added a complication I was not expecting. I wonder if he still teaches the same class. Olivia would know.

Despite my curiosity, I cannot let it get the best of me. Jackson wasn’t ready to see if there was something more between us five years ago, and after witnessing one of the most appalling things since I found Mike getting head at his desk, I have no desire to know.

Chapter Six

Jackson

The entire way back to my office my heart was beating out of my chest, ready to explode. I waited years for that moment with Chloe, only to ruin it because I cannot keep my dick in my pants. My hands are shaking again, but this time, it has nothing to do with my cravings. Nervous energy shoots through my body, sending shockwaves down my spine. I haven’t been able to sit still since I left Broad Street Beans.

Either I need to fuck the tension from my body or medicate myself with the secret stash I keep locked in my desk drawer. I look worse than normal, like an actual junkie needing a fix and not the sex-crazed hunger I usually can keep at bay. Chloe has me so off my game my head is spinning.

My patient sits across from me on the couch, fiddling with the tension ball in his hands. He’s driving me fucking crazy. Watching him makes me more anxious than I was before our session. I’m doing everything in my power not to take the ball and shove it up his ass or jam it down his throat. I wasn’t cut out to become a therapist. Dealing with problems is not one of my strong suits.

In all honesty, I have no idea why I sought out this profession. My colleagues show love and care to their patients, have a certain amount of understanding and empathy for their situations, while I could give two fucks about any of them. The more they whine and complain I want to open the window of my office and leap from the skyscraper. I have a fucking problem. A big one. And now that Chloe is back in town, I have an even bigger one.

Sitting in a leather chair across from Drew, I doodle on my notepad, trying not to think about my patient from hell. Every week he shows up ten minutes early, demanding to see me before our time slot until he wears down my secretary and finally irritates me to the point I want to get this over. I have gone through three assistants since taking on Drew as a patient. Drew is on his last leg, about to get the boot from this office for good if he doesn’t stop with his bullshit.

On rare occasions, I want to be more sympathetic to Drew and his broken dick and the plethora of problems that comes along with it. I would love to be able to fix every marriage in shambles, except most of their issues stem from sex-deprived men with wandering eyes.

Some shit you cannot fix. If the people want to suffer through a loveless marriage or jerk off to porn for the rest of their lives instead of talking to a woman, I have few options available to help them. Words at that point mean nothing.

“Drew,” I say, my voice firm, as I look up from my paper. “Have you listened to a single thing I have told you in our sessions?”

He stops yapping about his latest Internet porn searches and quits playing with the ball in his hands. Our eyes lock for a second. We both know we have a problem. Only he thinks I have my shit together when in reality, I am far from having my issues figured out. At least I can get it up to a woman in real life. Not like that makes me the winner of this weird fucked up game, but it sure as hell feels like it.

Part of me enjoys working with broken people because it makes me feel better. For every hour I spend each week with Drew, my need to fuck every woman in sight seems better in comparison. I still flip through my fair share of porn on the web, search for something new to masturbate to, but at least I don’t have stage fright when it comes to women. At least I have that to be thankful.

“Drew, you’ve been coming here for months, yet you haven’t taken any of my advice. You need to find someone you can experiment with.”

He gives me a blank stare. “Like an actual girl? You know I can’t…” His voice trails off as he goes back to squeezing the ball between his fingers.

“Yes, like an actual girl. A living, breathing human. Your problem with intimacy is your lack of intimacy. If you spent more time around women, you would be less nervous about approaching them. I can’t help you get the courage to hit on women in bars, but you could give online dating a try.”

“I created a profile like you told me to last month.” He bites the inside of his cheek, mulling it over as he stares out the windows that overlook the city.

“Did you meet any women? Did you engage with any of them? Maybe send them a message or say hello?”

Every week we have the same conversation. I am getting sick of the repetition with some of my patients. They do not want help. All they want is someone to listen to their complaints. And, since their health insurance covers these dreadful appointments, they still show up like clockwork.

“Well…no.” He shrugs. “I tried it.”