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Our breaths labored for several minutes as the haze of pleasure subsided. But once the endorphins receded, the guilt consumed me. God, how did this happen again? This was wrong.
I lifted my head, intending to move away from him. I looked into his dark eyes, his sated smile, and had to drop my head feeling such shame and failure. He was calm and at peace, which should have been a good thing, but it only reinforced his use of sex as a coping mechanism. It was bad enough that I broke my ethical vow, but to engage in this destructive behavior with him made it worse.
“Hey?” his voice is soft and gentle. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I said putting on my glasses and moving to get off of him.
He gripped me, holding me close. “This isn’t wrong, Grace.”
I could see the need for him to believe that in his eyes, and I hated myself more for putting him in this position.
“You’re so sexy. I can’t resist you.” His hands caressed my thighs. Hunter was a large, often imposing man, but sometimes, like now, he could be so sweet and gentle. My heart ached for this to be real and lasting. But it wasn’t. Sex was his therapy. His emotions were related to my being his therapist. And those two wrongs made this all the more wrong, and not something that could last. I couldn’t continue.
Finally, I got the strength to pull away. “We can’t be doing this.” I reached for my clothes.
He watched me from the couch. He was naked, but didn’t seem to feel vulnerable as I did, as I hurriedly put on my shirt.
“I can’t promise it won’t happen again. I want you. Even now, I want you again. I’ve never had that before with a woman.”
I wished it was real, but I knew that his attachment was more to do with transference than true emotion. I was the worst therapist ever. I had to reject him, which would hurt him and he was already a wounded soul. At the same time, if he pushed, I knew I’d be unable to resist.
“I need you to respect my feelings on this,” I said feeling a bit desperate.
He sighed and took the condom off, tying the end. “Where’s your bathroom?”
I nodded toward the door of the tiny room.
“Let me deal with this, then we can talk.”
I didn’t want to talk, which was ironic since my advice to so many clients was to communicate. But I was sure talking would lead to me being weak and letting him stay.
I grabbed a glass of water and waited for him by the window.
The bathroom door opened and he came to stand with me, still naked. God, how I wanted to touch him again. Instead I took a drink of water.
“Sex isn’t bad or dirty,” he said.
“No.”
“Then what’s going on? You’re not my therapist anymore, so this isn’t wrong.”
I closed my eyes. “It is wrong, Hunter.” When I opened them, he was staring at me, but I couldn’t read his feelings.
“I like how I feel when I’m with you, Grace. That can’t be wrong.”
I swallowed because that’s exactly what made it wrong. “Those feelings aren’t real. They’re from our therapeutic relationship.”
“Bullshit,” he snapped.
“There’s even a name for it; transference.”
He simply glared at me.
“It’s when you develop personal feelings for your therapist. But it’s not real, Hunter.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel, Grace.”
“I’m not helping you by encouraging this or by having sex with you.”
“Don’t. Don’t tell me you regretted what we did. I saw and heard you. I felt you come on my cock. You liked that. A lot.”
I nodded, admitting the truth. “But that doesn’t make it right. Your solution to your difficult feelings is sex. And I just participated in that, reinforcing a behavior that won’t help you in the long run.”
“Stop looking at me like a patient then, because I don’t see you as a therapist. I see you as a woman I can’t stop craving.”
God, when he said words like that, the woman in me wanted to melt.
“You don’t crave me. You’ve conditioned yourself to equate sex with relief from your problems.”
“Wrong again, Doc. If that were true, any woman would do, but since the moment I met you, I haven’t had sex or wanted to have sex with anyone but you.”
“It’s the transf—”
“No!” he growled in frustration. “It’s you, Grace. Since the minute I met you, I’ve been drawn to you. I only agreed to the counseling just so I could figure out what it was about you. Perhaps you didn’t notice that I wasn’t into actually sharing during much of it.”
My lips twitched upward. “I noticed.”
“I just wanted to be around you.” He shook his head. “There’s no transfer or whatever it’s called, because I’ve never seen you as a therapist.”
