The First Session

Therapy isn't for everyone...

He nods sympathetically,
Taking notes,
As she tells him stories;

Public stalls,
Hotel lobbies,
Married men,
Two brothers,
Half-sisters,
Church steps,
Airport lounges,
Cuffed,
Plugged,
Filmed,
Stuffed,
Raw,
Wet,
Willing.

“It's like hunger,” she says.
“I can’t stop.”

“I see.”
He says.
“Thank you,
For sharing.
If you’re happy to continue,
We can work,
To understand,
The underlying patterns,
That drive,
This behaviour.
And together,
We can begin,
The healing.”

“Oh,” she says,
Leaning back in the chair.
“I don’t want you to heal me.”
She hikes up her skirt,
Opening her legs,
Revealing panties,
That are little more,
Than a string of pearls.
She presses her stilettos into each arm of the chair.
“I don’t want that at all.”

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