Teach Me a Lesson (2 page)

Jeanine grabbed another tissue and held it crumpled in her hand in readiness. “Well, um, it was about a month before I started seeing you, and, um, I’d tried to initiate sex, and well, um, he wanted to fantasize about me and . . . other men . . .” Her voice trailed away.

“And this incident was the catalyst for you coming here?” It often took people several sessions to work up to revealing the
real
reason they’d sought help.

Jeanine nodded, gulped a breath of air, then everything seemed to rush out. “The worst part was that he actually got hard. He never gets hard for me anymore, but then he starts telling me how sexy it would be if I went out for drinks with the girls after work, and when I got home, he could smell sex on me, another man.” She paused, looked at Charlotte, and lowered her voice, saying, “Another man’s come. He said he’d put his hand between my legs and find me wet, and then he’d—” Jeanine stopped, swallowed, stared at Charlotte.

“You can tell me whatever is necessary, Jeanine. I have no judgment about it.”

Jeanine nodded, her lips working a moment before she spoke. “He said he’d want to lick me clean after another man had come in me. He’d lick me all over.”

Very interesting. “What was your reaction?” Charlotte prompted.

“My reaction? I was outraged, horrified—” Her gaze flitted about the room as if searching for another word. She grabbed a tissue, wadding it up with the other already in her hand.

Charlotte didn’t push, letting the woman work it through.

Finally, Jeanine let out a long sigh. “The terrible thing is, Doctor, I got turned on. I wanted to have sex right then. I just wanted to climb on top of him and take him.”

Well, well, well. “That isn’t a terrible reaction, Jeanine. You don’t need to feel guilty about a fantasy the two of you had.”

“There’s more, Doctor. He said it was the perfect solution to our problem. That I wanted more sex, and he was willing to let me have it. He even said he’d want me to call him while I was, you know”—she threw her hands up, her voice rising—“right in the middle of things. He wanted pictures. He even suggested hiding in the closet so he could watch.”

Charlotte didn’t allow a single facial muscle to twitch. She’d been a psychologist for twelve years, and she’d heard a lot of stories, but while she’d read a bit about this phenomenon, hearing it in practice was, well, quite amazing. She could write a paper on it.

“How do his desires make you feel?” Her job was about discovering her client’s reactions to events and dealing with those reactions.

“It’s like I’m some sex object. Or his personal porn queen. What if it means he’s gay, that he wants to look at other men? Or maybe he wants to have an affair, so he’s giving me permission first. Then he’ll feel justified in doing it. Or maybe this is a test to see if I’ll be faithful.” She stared at her hands, wadding and unwadding the tissues. “I just don’t know what it means.” Her voice was almost childlike. “Well, ultimately, I guess it means he doesn’t want me anymore, which is what I’ve thought for a couple of years. I haven’t let him talk about it since that night.” She raised her eyes. “You know, it’s always been like he has two faces. There’s the outer one where he’s concerned about his reputation. But at home, he was different, like I was his refuge, a place where he didn’t have to keep up appearances.” Her chin trembled. “But this whole sex thing began, and suddenly he became tense even at home.” Her voice softened into a whisper. “I just want him to be the way he was.”

Another thing Charlotte had discovered was that what a client often thought was the inciting incident had seeds in something much earlier. “Tell me, did he ever talk like this before, when the sex between you was better?”

“No.” Jeanine tapped her lips with three fingers, then dropped her hand. “Well, okay, yes, in a way. He always wanted to know about my other lovers before him. Not my ex-husband, but any other men. He liked me to describe what we did.”

“How did he react to your descriptions?”

She was very still, looking deep. “He’d get pretty worked up. And the sex was, well, he was like a wild man.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“It was kind of arousing, actually.”

“I’d like to offer an opinion, Jeanine. Is that okay with you?”

She nodded her permission.

“His fantasy doesn’t sound like it came out of the blue just a few weeks ago. I would venture the possibility that he was subliminally revealing his fantasy when he asked about your past lovers. Now that he’s experiencing performance issues, he’s resurrected that fantasy to excite himself.” And it had worked, at least for him, until Jeanine became upset.

Jeanine pursed her lips. “But it still means he doesn’t want me.”

Charlotte had encouraged Jeanine to bring her husband to one of their sessions for this very reason. To discuss performance issues. Women tended to see it as an invalidation of their own sexuality, while for men, it questioned their very manhood. However, Jeanine was the client, and it was Jeanine’s psyche she needed to work with.

“It’s not about his desire for you. It has nothing to do with physical attraction or lack of it. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Jeanine began patting her eyes again, ready to burst into another volley of sobs.

“What if you told him you’d do it?”

Jeanine stopped, her mouth gaping. She slapped it shut, stared at Charlotte with narrowed eyes a moment, then said, “That’s a joke, right?”

“No. I’m not saying you should have sex with another man. I’m merely suggesting that you play your husband’s game. Talk to him about what you’d do with another man. Engage him.” She lowered her voice. “Excite him.”

“But that’s sick.” Jeanine shook her head.

“Everyone thinks of sex differently. Diverse activities arouse them. Some people like to watch—”

“You mean peeping toms?” Jeanine interjected.

“No, I don’t mean people who do it in secret at the expense of others. I’m talking about consensual voyeurism and exhibitionism. Some like to watch. Some like to be watched. Has your husband ever asked to watch you masturbate?”

Jeanine’s face colored. “Of course not.”

Charlotte didn’t like labels, but she had to say that Jeanine was a bit of a prude. She wanted sex, she wanted to feel desirable, but she expressed no interest in stepping out of the box. Except for admitting that it turned her on when she’d told her husband about her previous lovers. “There’s nothing wrong with masturbation. It can be part of a healthy sex life.” Charlotte paused, gauged the look on Jeanine’s face. Some psychologists didn’t make suggestions, never offered opinions. Their technique was to listen and lead the client to his or her own conclusions. Perhaps because she was in sex therapy, Charlotte made a lot of recommendations. Some people wouldn’t consider all the possibilities on their own.

“I have a suggestion, and before you discount it out of hand, I want you to consider it.”

“Yes, Doctor.” But Jeanine toyed nervously with the edges of her tissues.

She was a very buttoned-up woman. She could have insisted her husband join her in therapy to talk about
their
issues. But she wouldn’t. She needed to stand up for herself more, but when Charlotte mentioned this, Jeanine tuned out. In a roundabout way, Charlotte’s newest idea was designed to help her grow some backbone while at the same time engaging her husband.

“Play his game,” Charlotte said, “but make it your own. Indulge his fantasy in the least threatening manner. Prepare an intimate setting, no kids, no distractions. You’ve already talked about past lovers with him. Take it a step further and talk about a new lover. Ask him what he’d like you to do with this man. Allow him to get turned on by your words. Touch yourself for him. Excite
him
with
your
excitement.”

Jeanine closed her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to contemplate it.

Charlotte knew it was unconventional, but her therapy techniques often were. She believed couples needed to step out of their comfort zone. As long as they weren’t doing anything illegal or harmful to their partner, or becoming obsessive, just about anything could have a positive effect. Masturbation, sex toys, role playing, fantasizing, exhibitionism, voyeurism, even bondage and submission, could all be incorporated into a healthy sexual relationship. These activities only became unhealthy in the ways a couple dealt with them, not in the acts themselves.

She was even willing to try a bit of BDSM herself, if for no other reason than to be able to recommend it. Or not.

Jeanine, however, had a long way to go. “What if he thinks I’m going to do it for real?”

“Make it clear that you don’t intend to act on anything. What’s important is that you’ll be giving him acceptance for his fantasies.”

“But I don’t accept his fantasies.”

Acceptance was the crux of the problem. “Are you sure you don’t? If you strip away all the emotion about not being desirable, about him no longer wanting you, and you consider the times you talked about your other lovers, are you
absolutely
sure you don’t feel any acceptance?”

“I . . .” Jeanine trailed off, her lips parted.

“You said it was exciting at the time,” Charlotte reminded her.

Jeanine continued to fiddle with the tissues.

The light on Charlotte’s phone—which was on the desk behind Jeanine—began to flash, indicating her next client was out in the waiting room. She glanced at the unobtrusive clock on the table between them, a business-card holder with a small clock on the side facing her. “Our time’s almost up. I’ll leave you with this: While my suggestion might not be the right one for you, maybe another will come up when you’re reviewing what I’ve said. The most important thing is for you and your husband to find a place where you can get these feelings out in the open so they aren’t festering between you.”

“I’ll definitely think about it.” Quickly, almost in relief, Jeanine leaned down to pick up her purse from the side of her chair.

As she exited, Charlotte had the feeling Jeanine wouldn’t even consider the suggestion. She wasn’t past the complaining stage. Charlotte wasn’t sure the woman ever would be. But that was her job, to move people past rehashing their complaints and into constructive work on their issues.

She shifted to the chair behind the desk, tapping a button on the keyboard to bring her computer to life. She had a couple of minutes before the start of her next appointment, and she wanted to type up a few reminder notes for Jeanine’s file.

Fingers poised, an errant thought flitted across her mind. She talked sex all day long, yet she hadn’t been with a man in a disgustingly long time. Months. How many? Nine months at least, maybe even more. Far too long. She flipped to her to-do list.

Note to self: Find a man, have some hot sex.

That made her recall her best friend, Lola Cook. And the new man in her life. And the new kinky sex.

Second note to self: Better yet, find a hot man to spank you.

2

CHARLOTTE WORKED TUESDAYS AND THURSDAYS AS A GUIDANCE
counselor at the same high school she’d graduated from twenty years ago. She had, in fact, planned her future in this very office, from the opposite side of the desk. Carpeting had been installed over the linoleum tiles, but the desk was the same, its veneer slightly more battered, as was the credenza beneath the window. She’d requisitioned a small conference table and four accompanying chairs, two of which sat in front of the desk, and her chair—she’d bought it herself—was ergonomic.

She spent money when it was necessary—like on the ergonomic chair—and she pinched her pennies on things that didn’t matter—like brown-bagging it. Bringing your own lunch could be much healthier and lower in calories because you chose your own ingredients. Pinching the pennies was worth it.

Sometimes she ate her lunch outside, but today, seated at her small conference table, she gazed through the blinds at a sky that was heavy with dark clouds, rain threatening at any moment. Last week, Halloween had been a gorgeous day, in the seventies, warm enough for short sleeves, but come November, the temperature had dropped and the clouds rolled in. November was typically one of the rainier months, though not always. Sometimes the first two weeks brought a deluge while on Thanksgiving Day you could practically eat outside. That’s what she loved about the Bay Area, the variety.

Charlotte had been a part-time guidance counselor at the high school for the past five years. She enjoyed her practice but she’d also wanted to work with kids, helping them the way her counselors had helped her. It also gave her a chance to do something completely different from her therapy work. It was always good to mix things up.

Since she had a student meeting at one o’clock, she should have been studying the file open on the table in front of her. Instead she was thinking about spanking, not the discipline kind, but the fun kind. Lola loved her sex play with Gray Barnett, though even after three months, she was still scant on details. But these days, Lola damn near glowed. Charlotte didn’t believe it was
just
the kinky sex. It was Gray. For the first time in ten years, Lola had a real relationship. Charlotte was happy for her friend.

But she kept thinking about spanking. And wild sex. And how long it had been since she’d had sex, wild or not. As a therapist, it was her duty to find out what this spanking thing was really like from an experiential perspective. And damn if the thought didn’t make her hot and bothered. And extremely curious. Especially with the lack of sex in her life for the past several months.

All right, enough daydreaming. Flipping a page in the folder, she absently stabbed a fork into her salad. Somehow the plastic tub had moved—God only knew how or when—and her fork almost upended the container. She grabbed at the tub, the utensil clattering on the table, spraying balsamic dressing across another folder, but she managed a magnificent save before the entire salad turned into a mess on the beige carpet. The only casualty was her apple, which tumbled off the table and rolled under the desk.