Page 100 of Letters From A Stalker

She wants to find out what happens when the man holding her listens.

I force the thought back where it belongs. Julia is my patient, she is telling me something vulnerable because she trusts the role I occupy in this room, not because she is inviting me into the fantasies she’s describing.

The differentiation is so obvious it should make the desire disappear. It fucking doesn’t and that is my problem, not hers.

“So maybe I’m not reenacting anything,” she says after a moment. “Maybe I’m doing the opposite.”

“That’s possible.”

She watches me.

I add, “But I’d be careful about requiring one explanation. Sometimes people try to turn every preference into evidence of something. If what you enjoy is consensual, chosen, doesn’t cause you distress and isn’t interfering with your life, it doesn’t necessarily require fixing.”

Julia smiles faintly. “So I’m allowed to just be kinky.”

The word detonates somewhere inappropriate. I somehow keep my face neutral.

“You’re allowed to have preferences.”

“That sounded aggressively clinical.”

“I’m a psychiatrist.” I remind her in equal measure as I’m reminding myself.

“I’ve noticed.” Her smile remains for another second before fading into something more thoughtful. “There is one thing I’ve wondered about, though.”

I brace myself privately. “What?”

“Whether I like the fact that someone else is deciding because I spend the rest of my life making decisions for everyone.”

That is a much safer direction. Barely.

“That could certainly be part of the appeal.”

She nods. “At work, at home, with Mom... I’m always thinking ahead. What needs doing, what happens next, whether somebody forgot something. Maybe there’s something nice about being somewhere I don’t have to do that.”

“Temporarily handing over decision-making can be relaxing for people who carry a great deal of responsibility elsewhere.” I add my two cents like the professional that I am. Fucking laughable at this point.

Julia gives me a suspicious look. “You know a lot for someone who isn’t a sex therapist.”

Every instinct inside me trips over itself. I choose my answer carefully.

“Psychiatrists do occasionally learn about human sexuality.”

“Right.” Her expression turns amused. “Medical school. Obviously.”

Obviously. Not years of discovering exactly how much responsibility comes with a woman voluntarily placing herself in your hands. Not the way I know that control feels entirely different when it is offered rather than stolen. Not the way every dominant instinct I possess has been pacing beneath my skin since she said she likes surrender she can revoke.

I glance toward my notes before the silence becomes noticeable. “I'd be more interested in having you pay attention to whether those experiences make you feel more present or less present.”

Julia’s brows draw together slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You described dissociating during the assault. If consensual intensity makes you feel anchored in your body, aware of your choices and connected to the person you’re with, that tells us something very different than if you’re using intensity to disappear.”

She absorbs that.

“More present.” The answer comes after only a few seconds. “Definitely more present.”

I nod. “Then I wouldn’t begin from the assumption that there’s something wrong with the preference.”