Page 3 of Psycho Therapist

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LORI

Iknow he’s not still following me. I saw them take him away. Well, I saw a wall of cops and a bunch of flashing lights the night right before my parents were due to go on vacation leaving me alone in the house for two weeks.

Mom freaked and Dad ordered me to stay in my room. Threatening to cancel their planned vacation this weekend altogether until he heard the man was in police custody and knew I wouldn’t be alone in the house if when they leave. My only kinda-sorta friend, Becky offered to come stay once she heard what happened.

The whole street knows about it and they got the guy. I don't need a babysitter, but anything’s preferable to my parents treating me like I'm made of glass. Having them out of my hair for a few days is probably just what I need. And some time with Becky would be neat. She’s a gossip and a busybody, sure. But she’s the closest thing to a friend I have.

Might stop me fingering myself to death as I try to match the feelings that night has stirred up in me…

I’m already wishing they never caught him. Already craving the things he would have done to me given half the chance. I feel it inside, just like I felt those eyes on me the past few nights last week. The unseen eyes of a complete stranger driven to madness… watching me like that. Pleasuring himself like a wild animal right under our pepper tree…

But doing it while looking at me!? I mean, come on. I’m not a circus freak but I’m not exactly wank bank material. Or so I thought until the other night.

Since that night it’s all I can feel in my body and it won’t stop replaying in my mind. As stupid as the suggestion of therapy was from the police counselor at the time, Ineedto speak to someone about it now. Like, right fucking now. Because it's started to drivemeinsane.

Those eyes…Unseen but like fingers reaching for me in the dark. The shadow of a huge man watching a plump, curvy girl undress and feel herself where she wants it, god only knows how long he’d been there. An even bigger shadow cast from his groin as he pumps himself furiously in her parents’ yard. Groaning to a voluminous and spectacular climax that looked like a geyser erupting.

I can’t get it outta my head. It’s the hottest fucking thing I can think of any which way I look at it and I've already grown tired of trying to recreate the thrill of that moment myself.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I need to know if this is normal. To be so turned on by someone watching me. To want to re-live it… To wishing I'd gone outside that night even. Give the guy a hand… How do I begin to explain that to my new therapist who’s known me less than two minutes?

That crazy notion mixing with the friction between my legs walking from the bus, along with the constant sensation of still being watched? Stillwantingto be watched by the man in the shadows. It’s no surprise I'm acting kinda crazy by the time I get to my appointment a half hour early.

My usual shyness disappears and I barge my way in, somehow getting past reception and up the stairs. In moments I meet who I know must be Dr. Schmidt. The renowned Psychiatrist and therapist.

He’s not at all what I pictured in my mind though. I figured he'd be much older, kinda scrawny. Like a professor or something. But no. The man in front of me obviously looks after himself and with a frame like an athlete that cuts through his smart casual dress, it’s one lucky girl, whoever she is who gets to hook her arm around a specimen like this.

See? I’m seeing that beefcake of a shadow man everywhere I go now… Even my new therapist here reminds me of him. The sight of his huge, thick hands gives me an instant flush of wet heat in my groin. And when I feel him gripping me gently with them. I feel like I'm about to come undone.

I can hear a girl sobbing somewhere, realizing it’s me by the time he comforts me.

It’s not just a rush of fear and anxiety that’s brought me here either, so I’m not surprised really when I hurl myself at my therapist - the one man I know has to be able to help. I’ve spent all night grappling with the mental image of that night as well as grappling with the bedsheets. Trying to satisfy the desire it’s woken in me. Spent longer trying to find the words to even begin to describe how crazy this is making me.

But Dr. Schmidt is a professional. He holds me close a few moments to calm me, a low and deep hum from his body through mine doing nothing to quell my need to be held and touched in other places. He directs me straight to a huge easy chair I can see is well-worn from years of clients. I hear another low rumble from him as he lets me go. And I miss his touch already too - that’s how crazy needy and horny I am right now.

It’s just shock…Like the police said. I might feel weird for a few days…

“You have had an interesting few days!” Dr. Schmidt exclaims with restraint, an edge in his voice making me wonder just how obvious my condition must be. Sitting himself opposite me and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Dr. Schmidt’s looking more like a pitcher waiting in a dugout than a therapist, but I was told that his methods are a little…irregular.

“…I only have a brief report from the police, but I want you to know-Needyou to know, Lori, that you're safe here with me and everything and anything we talk about is justbetween us, okay?”

His dark eyes are blazing with an intensity I can't focus on, I daren’t. It’s like something in them dialing my insides to boiling point. “…Why don't you start from the beginning… Tell me what happened that night.” He says in a softer tone. Lifting his brow in invitation before he eases himself back in his own chair, Sweeping that huge hand of his through his thick dark hair, flecked with grays that make him look every bit distinguished as he is handsome.

Stop it! He’s your therapist!

The smile he shoots me, showing rows of perfect white teeth in his chiseled jaw and lips that look as if they were made for kissing sees me start to squirm on the spot.

I’m either losing my mind or I have a thing for my therapist as well as my stalker now…?

“Can I-? I need to open a window-” I suddenly gasp, feeling my eyes rolling back in my head and trying to fight the urge to finger fuck myself right here and now, just so I can have someone watch like that night. Catapulting from my chair and making for the antiquated wood frame, sliding it up and feeling a rush of cooler air on my skin as I gulp in oxygen, I hear that low rumbling sound again. Almost like a growl coming from Dr. Schmidt which makes me spin my head.

Man moves like a cat and he's already perched behind the huge wooden desk, settled in a thick leather chair. His eyes shifting to meet mine as I feel myself redden. Feeling exactly like I did that night… And every second since really. But if I’m actually thinking Dr. Schmidt’s eying me now, in the same way? Imustbe losing it.

There must be something wrong with me and I need this man's help more than anything right now.

“I- I dunno what's wrong with me… I just-” I stammer. Feeling like I’ll burst unless I just tell somebody how all this hasreallymade me feel.

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