In early 1994, my psychiatrist suggested I would make more progress if I got a psycho-therapist. I agreed.
One afternoon, my girlfriend, nine years older and not Jewish, drove me to the office. I had all sorts of fantasies that my therapist would be hot and when she came out to get me, I was disappointed that she was fat.
“I guess you won’t be fantasizing about f***ing her,” my girlfriend said later.
Many years later, I had a hot therapist. I was thrilled when she came out to the waiting room and introduced herself. She was young and hot and just my type.
I won’t give any description of her to protect her privacy.
For most of our work, I had a girlfriend I loved in my sex-and-love addicted way and I spent most of our therapy sessions talking about the trials and tribulations of my tortured relationship.
I felt quite capable of loving several women at once. It would protect me from being overly vulnerable to any one woman. Sometimes when I was with my girlfriend, I thought about my therapist, and sometimes when I was with my therapist, I thought about my girlfriend.
I loved to make my therapist laugh. Once I regaled her with a story about a past girlfriend who would implore, “**** me like a whore.” My therapist couldn’t stop giggling. Later, she apologized for her loss of control.
There was no need to say sorry. I adored her innocence.
The next session, she said that I could not talk explicitly about sex. She was young and it just didn’t feel right. If I was talking to a male therapist or to an older woman, or to a different type of woman, that would be fine to be as explicit as I wanted.
I told her that I would comply with her wishes but I thought that such restrictions made her less of a therapist.
She said she respected my opinion and that I was welcome to talk about what sex meant to me emotionally.
For the rest of our time together, I kept pushing limits in this area but did not go much beyond them.
A few months in, I asked her what type of therapy we were doing and she said it was psycho-dynamic (the type of therapy most like analysis aka re-parenting).
I don’t think that my being in love with her interfered with our work. I don’t think it interfered with my relationship either as my love for my therapist was on the one hand pure and sweet and childish, and on the other hand, it existed only in fantasy, never in reality.
I often talked to my girlfriend about my hot therapist and on occasion I’d have her pretend to be my therapist so that we could play. After the relationship, I had therapist friends pretend to give me therapy so that I could mind-f*** them.
During the sessions with my hot live therapist, I held nothing back. I made up nothing. I wasted no time trying to impress her. I don’t my lust interfered. It was good for me to relate intimately to a woman I’d never ****.
Near the end of our time together, she said she had seen me walking on the street and wanted to stop and to say hi but didn’t in case it would freak me out. I said it would never freak me out to talk to her publicly.
At the end of our therapy, I asked her if we could have coffee. She said no. That would be inappropriate.
We were both close to tears during that final session. When we said goodbye, I shook her hand, the first and only time I touched her.
We’ve had no communication since.
A few months ago, I Googled her. She appears to be happily married and to be moving ahead in her career. She’s a good good girl and I hope she never reads this.
A friend of mine plooked his therapist. Well, he showed up for one session. At the end of it, she said she couldn’t be his therapist because she found herself attracted to him. So they went out and had drinks and a fling that lasted a few weeks, perhaps months. She was crazy in bed. In the end, he dumped her because she was too psycho.
I suggested that what they had enjoyed did him more good than any talk therapy they could’ve done. He did not agree. He regretted not having what I had had with my lovely chaste therp. He said he could sleep with women any time, but that had been a rare time he’d sought therapeutic help.
Chaim Amalek says to me: “What you need is a motorcycle. Why? Transportation, and to pick up chicks. Also to get you out of your head and away from psychiatry/analysis and other wasters of time and money.”
“Why not try your hand at a horror movie? You meet a nice Jewish Girl, fall in love with her, marry (“Honestly Levi, I am wayyy into older guys”), and then…..she converts to Seventh Day Adventism. After telling you she is pregnant. She begins eating pork in front of you. She decides to raise the kid as a Christian. She starts blogging about your Jewish eccentricities. But you cannot leave her because she makes big bucks and besides, AT has merged with Scientology, and the rabbis forbid it to you.
“Writing for the umpteenth time about an old gf is not a stretch.”