Thursday, 27 March 2014

Therapist Teasers...

These are perhaps startling when taken out of context.

Then again, they are rather startling when read within context.

Therapist is a few weeks in the life of a sociopathic Therapist. Dr. Alexandre Dane specializes in treating women who have suffered traumatic sexual events.

He's very good at what he does because he really enjoys his work.

TBR him today, and hang on until late April/early won't be long now before you have a chance to climb on the couch with the good Doctor Dane.

And wait, what's this? You made it this far?

Goody for you, you get to read a small extra excerpt from Therapist. ;)

As always, unedited first draft, subject to change etc etc:

I unwrap my hand from her hair, pick up her panties and clean myself off. She moves slowly, like she’s in shock. She takes the panties as I hand them to her, balls them up with the tissues, pulls her skirt down and sits back on the sofa.
Her face is streaked with tears and she looks stunned.
I zip my pants up, sit back down in my Eames lounger, and scribble a few notes. Nonsense, it's just for show. She is watching me like a mouse in front of a snake. I love it, she’s really into this little performance.
“Now do you understand how much I want to help you?” I ask her and lean back, cross my leg and stare at her.
“Yes,” she mumbles and tries to straighten her hair. She’s a mess. She takes a long breath and wipes her nose with the balled up panties and tissue. She can’t make eye contact yet.
“Hey,” I tell her and she looks up, “it’s ok, tell me what’s on your mind.”
She looks at me then, takes another shuddering breath and asks, “Are you ever going to kiss me?”
I smile and nod and reply, “Yes, when you are worthy. When you are clean.”
She gives me the smallest smile and sits up straighter on the sofa. We make small talk until I see the clock hit four forty five. I cut her off in mid sentence and say, “You need to leave now, you’re a fucking mess and I can’t look at you any more.”
Her face falls, but she doesn’t protest. She takes the ball of tissues and panties and shoves them into her bag. As she stands, she looks over at me and asks, “Is there somewhere I can clean up?”
“Yes,” I say, “there’s a public restroom on the second floor. I’ll see you next week, same time.”
“Yes, I'll be here Dr. Dane,” she replies and opens the door to leave. She pauses with her hand on the doorknob and says, “Thank you for today’s session, I feel like we have made progress.”
I smile at her and see her face light up. She’s like a puppy, the more you kick her the less it takes to make her happy. “That’s right, there's my bright little girl. I’ll see you next session.”
She closes the door and I lean back, hands behind my head, to examine the trigger. What was it about the booze and cigarettes that brought about that response in me?
It occurs to me at last and I reach for my phone. I call Plain Jane and ask her to meet me for drinks. I have the oddest compulsion to talk to somebody about this.