Chapter 2

He suggested taking a break and she suggested going for coffee. It was unorthodox, but her blatant sexuality was causing feelings in him that were unorthodox, too. She didn’t seem to be concerned that her attire was also unorthodox, particularly when compared to his open-necked shirt and tan chinos. They drew a few stares when they entered the coffee shop together and sat down. Some of that might have been because of the difference in their ages. His professional eye noticed that most people who looked at them spent much more time with their eyes on her, than him. Even the women.

He left her at the table and gave the barista their orders, waiting until the drinks were prepared. When he took them back, he saw she was watching him.

“Something wrong?” he asked, as her eyes went up and down his body.

“No,” she said, carelessly. “I’m still having trouble understanding why no woman has bagged you.”

“Maybe because I don’t want to be ‘bagged’,” he said. “That term suggests objectification, which is a poor basis for a good relationship.”

“Why do psychiatrists tend to speak in psycho-babble like that?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“It’s not psycho-babble,” he said. “I merely told you why I avoid women who see me as a prize, something to be won.”

“Isn’t that usually the woman’s line?” she asked. He thought she might be teasing him, but didn’t assume that.

“Objectification is equally damaging to both genders,” he said.

“All I meant was that you’re handsome and, from what I’ve seen during our sessions, present none of the usual male traits that tend to put a woman off.”

“Well,” he said, grinning. “Thank you for the upgrade from ‘not bad looking’ to handsome. It’s nice to know I’m not driving women away.”

“It’s puzzling,” she replied.

“A puzzle that shall remain unsolved, for now,” he said.

“You’re not going to tell me, then. Is that it?”

“As I said before, we’re here to talk about your issues.”

“I thought we were here to have a cappuccino.” Her tone communicated she was teasing. It was fascinating how she could be so serious in one moment and so frivolous the next. Assuming she wasn’t trying to skirt a serious issue by being frivolous.

“We are,” he said, firmly. “And this is a less than desirable setting in which to discuss the fact that neither of us has found a mate.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll just drink my coffee and we can chat about something else.”

“I agree,” he said. “We can talk about any number of other things.”

“Wait,” she said, softly. The frown was back. “Wouldn’t that make this sort of like a ... date?”

He felt his eyebrows go up.

“I mean, isn’t that what you do on dates? Just talk about things?”

“That’s what you do in any kind of conversation,” he responded. “But speaking of that, tell me about some of your dates.”

“Not here,” she said, her eyes darting to each side.

“Shall I get us cups to go?”

“Maybe that would be best,” she said.

As they walked back to his office, he suggested that if she had other things planned, they could leave things where they were and pick them up later. She said she had nothing planned, and wanted to keep working on her “problem.”

When they entered his office she went straight to the couch, but sat on it, rather than lying down. She sipped at the little hole in the cover of her cup and he found himself staring at her lips as they seemed to almost caress the lid. He chose one of the overstuffed leather chairs near the couch.

“Which date should I start with?” she asked.

“Give me a range throughout the years,” he said. “I’d like to see what the progression was like from back then to now.”

“There hasn’t really been much of a progression,” she said.

“That’s hard to believe,” he said. “Teenage dating is rarely like adult dating.”

“Not for me,” she sighed.

“Tell me about some dates you had in your later teens,” he said.

“I wasn’t allowed to date until I was sixteen,” she said. “The first boy I went out with was Dennis Sturgis. He was a jock, and the only thing he wanted to do was make out.” She sipped her coffee and went on. “I mean that literally. He took me to a burger place and got the food to go. He hadn’t taken two bites before he was trying to get me to show him my breasts. As I recall, I believe he said I had ‘killer tits.’”

“Not a great first date,” said the doctor.

“Especially not after being with Uncle Bob,” she said.

“It’s not fair to compare an inexperienced boy like that with an older man who knows much more about what a woman needs,” said the doctor.

“Look,” she said, frowning again. “I went out with Dennis because I wanted to go on a date. You can’t go on a date with your uncle. Everybody would have laughed at me. So Dennis was my only option at the time. But I didn’t need Dennis, or any other boy. What I needed was for Uncle Bob to fuck my socks off,” she said. “But he wouldn’t do that so ... I went on dates, to see if any other male might make me feel that way, too.”

“Surely other dates went better,” he said.

“Well, there was Frank Hisson. He was a nice guy. I went out with him twice. We did some fun things and he didn’t talk about my ‘tits’ on the first date. But I didn’t feel anything for him. I found myself wishing I was back home, on the couch with Uncle Bob. That sort of puts a damper on things, you know?”

“I can imagine,” he replied.

“And, basically, all the others were the same thing. The guy might be handsome, or witty, or fun to be around, but that was always all it was. Lots of them wanted to get hot and heavy, but they just weren’t interesting. Even when I tried to do something for one of them, I’d be right in the middle of it and find I was comparing his anatomy to Uncle Bob’s.”

“Anatomy,” he repeated.

“I was trying to be polite,” she said. “Let’s just say every cock I ever looked at got compared to Uncle Bob’s cock.”

“So he showed it to you,” suggested the doctor.

“Many times,” she sighed. “I loved his cock.”

“Loved it.”

“I loved fondling it, and stroking it, and sucking it. One time I got the tip of it right in the opening of my vagina and I had an orgasm just from that. And then he pushed me away and ruined it.”

“You wanted more,” he said, softly.

“How many times do I have to tell you I wanted him to fuck my socks off?”

“Didn’t he stop molesting you when you started dating?”

“He didn’t molest me. I loved everything he ever did to me,” she said, frowning more deeply than she had in the past.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was judgmental and unhelpful.”

She sipped her coffee.

“I used to flash him,” she said, blushing. “I’d run around braless and commando. I wore skirts a lot, just so I could bend over and show him my pussy.” She sipped. “I thought, based on the boys I went out with, that if I made myself available... blatantly available ... he’d lose control and give me what I wanted. I was so stupid. I had no idea he was getting his rocks off in my mother and didn’t need me.”

“Now you’re being judgmental,” said the doctor.

“Why do you say that?”

“You have no idea what he needed. The mere fact that he did so much with you, for so long, suggests that he got as much out of it as you did. The fact that he didn’t engage in intercourse with you is indicative of very strong feelings for you. Based on what you told me, he really was trying to protect you from getting yourself into trouble.”

“You mean pregnant,” she said.

“That, of course,” said the doctor. “But it’s also likely he didn’t want you to fall in love with him.”

“Then he was stupid,” she said. “I was in love with him by the time I was fifteen.”

Her comment had been delivered with undisguised heat, and he stayed silent to give her time to calm down.

“As a woman of twenty-three, I’m sure you know that your fifteen-year-old self had no idea what ‘love’ was,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. “The problem is that my twenty-three-year-old self feels exactly the same way, now.”

He stopped at noon. She said she’d like to go home, get cleaned up and then come back around two, if he was willing. He had nothing else planned. He still didn’t know what course of action ... treatment ... to take with this young woman. What she wanted was something society wasn’t willing to let her have, whether her uncle wanted to or not. What she wanted was taboo. He didn’t think of it as unnatural. He’d learned long ago that “natural” was just how life played out. It might not be acceptable to others ... but it was natural.

Of course it was more complicated than that. That generalization had issues. One was when people had the urge to harm others. That urge might be “natural” but civilization had to mediate it or things could become uncivilized very quickly. But, again generally speaking, from a psychiatric point of view, the urges of a human that were not intended to harm others, were less troublesome, taboo or not.

Basically, if the worst thing Jennifer ever did was fall in love with, and have an adult sexual relationship with her uncle, then the world wasn’t the worse for it.

Of course he didn’t tell her that. There might come a time when he would, but he hoped some way could be found to channel her carnal desires in other directions.

He was only mildly conflicted when, after she left, he lay on the couch she’d been sitting on, and slowly, lovingly, stroked a load out of his swollen balls.

It had happened after sessions with other patients, after all.

He was relaxed and ready to resist her charms when she returned. He kept the session centered on her feelings about her uncle and heard in great detail about a number of times she remembered as being especially satisfying events. She said the best times were when they went on some errand together, spending time in mundane pursuits for a few hours, and then went home where they could get naked on her bed while he gifted her with orgasm after orgasm. It was one of those times that she almost got his penis inside her. He had pulled away when she stroked him and a dollop of precum oozed out of his penis, getting rubbed thoroughly into the opening of her vagina. He had lectured her that even precum had sperm in it, and that sperm had been observed to be able to travel ten feet or more.