I am a therapist connoisseur. I've been sampling therapists since I was sixteen. I've had prim elder therapists who puckered their lips when I divulged my sexual history. I've had hipster therapists that wore turtlenecks and pants that were way too short. And I've had kind therapists with understanding eyes and wise words that could change my day. 

But I had never had a therapist like Dr. Moore. 

I'm just going to lay my cards on the table and let you know that I'm bipolar. It is what it is. I was fresh out the hospital with my shiny new diagnosis when I was recommended to Dr. Moore.

I certainly wasn't feeling or looking my best. In college I was your typical sorority girl. Vain, loved to party, and loved to get fucked. A lot. At 5'8 I was weighing in at about 125, slim with C-cup breasts. Long brown hair that was straight and silky. I worked out all the time (mostly to watch the guys lift weights) and my body was in peak condition. 

After graduating college I got an apartment in the city. I thought I could continue my party lifestyle and get a decent job. However, my brain had different plans and I ended up in the hospital. I changed after that. I lost too much weight and all my muscle. My body went from glowing and round to harsh and 90's supermodel thin. 

The first time I walked into Dr. Moore's office I don't think I had a shred of hope left. I was in a depressive hole, and if you've ever been in one you know just how hard it is to see the top. I didn't feel pretty anymore, and I certainly didn't feel sexy. In fact I had no sexual desire at all for probably the first time in my adult life.

When I first saw him I felt a flicker in my chest. The old me noticing that he was a very good looking man. He was in his late forties and god did he make it look good. He had a beard that was turning grey, and an athletic body that showed he was obviously fit. But as cheesy as this sounds, what really makes him attractive is his personality.

He was so understanding and compassionate. And he was funny, my god he was so fucking funny. He was the only person at this point in my life who could make me laugh. And he actually listened to me. He didn't interrupt me, or try to preach at me. I told him everything. For the first time ever I completely opened up to a man. And he would sit there leaning back in his chair, or sometimes leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as I told a particularly crazy story. 

I saw him twice a week for months and time went on and my body and mind became accustomed to my medication. I began to feel good again. And Dr. Moore and I developed a deep friendship that went outside the professional world. I knew he cared for me, one time even saying he felt like I was his daughter. Which made me feel a little uncomfortable. 

As I started to feel better my appetite slowly came back, and along with that came my curves. I began to wear makeup again and dress for my body type. I remember the first time I walked into Dr. Moore's office with makeup and a tight fitting shirt instead of my usual sweatpants and old t-shirt. He literally stopped mid sentence and had to clear his throat several times before we were able to begin our session. 

Seeing him have such a reaction to me ignited something inside me again. My sexual drive was suddenly back with a vengeance. I began doing yoga naked again and admiring my body in the mirror. I felt a new love and respect for my body and health that I hadn’t had before.

And I began touching myself at night again. Every single time I thought about Dr. Moore, I was slightly obsessed with him I guess. He just had so much to do with making me better and on top of that he was so damn sexy. The way he dressed drove me crazy. So pristinely professional. I just wanted to grab him and rip his shirt open, making the buttons go flying. I wanted to get on my knees and beg for his cock in the middle of his office. 

I knew that he was married and I knew that he had kids, but I couldn't help my thoughts. With my sexual drive back I could have gone and fucked anyone, but I only wanted one person. I wanted Dr. Moore to fuck me. I wanted him to bend me over his desk and fuck me till I cried.

I wondered if he ever thought about me. Did he ever lay in bed and wonder what I looked like naked? Did he ever think about my ex boyfriends I talked about in therapy and become jealous that they got to fuck me? Did he ever run his hands up and down his cock and picture me riding it?

I began dressing measurably more slutty each time I came to visit. I loved it. Teasing him and seeing him trying to pretend like it didn't effect him made me so fucking wet. I would wear a low cut top and lean over as he explained coping mechanisms. I would touch my lips to force his attention to my mouth. I would wear sweaters that hung off the shoulders and would slowly slide down during the session forcing me to look embarrassed and pull it back up. 

And each time I teased him I would see his jaw clench or his hand tighten into a fist. You would think someone trained in the art of the human mind would be better about hiding his emotions, but a man is a man I guess. And this man had me acting like a cock obsessed crazy person. I felt like I was a teenager again. 

"My sex drive is back and it's really messing with my life, Dr. Moore," I said as I picked at the pillow on his leather couch. 

The pillow seemed oddly out of place in his masculine office. It was a huge office with an entire wall of windows and a huge mahogany desk that I had never seen him sit at. Instead he always chose to sit in a leather (of course) chair facing the couch, balancing his note pad on his knee. 

"Why do you think it has returned?" Dr. Moore asked, making a note in in his note pad. 

I continued to pick at the pillow. It was truly an ugly pillow to be honest with you. It looked as if it had been lovingly crocheted and then picked at by dozens of people over the years and now had real no shape or form. How many people had picked at this pillow or held it? 

I tossed it aside and laid back on his couch, resting my head on his armrest. I wondered if anyone else ever laid on his couch. He never told me to do it, but I saw people do it in movies and it felt right to have him watching me as I laid there. 

"I don't know," I sighed. "I hope this means I'm getting better and I'm not just hypomanic or something. I did have such a high sex drive before my melt down."

"I told you not to call it a meltdown Tayler," Dr. Moore said smiling at me. "You went through a dark spot and you learned from it and overcame it."

I rolled my eyes. I didn't understand why I couldn't call it a meltdown. I turned to my side and stole a glance at him. He was wearing dress pants with a button up shirt. The top button of his shirt was unbuttoned and he had his glasses tucked into it, which was pretty casual for him. 

It was winter, albeit winter in Georgia, but it was still cold enough that I could no longer wear shorts. I was wearing a V cut white sweater dress with thigh high dress boots. I wondered absently if he is bothered by me putting my boots on his couch. 

“Yeah whatever. Anyways, since my sex drive has been back I’ve been finding it hard to sleep at night. I’m up all night doing…..things,” I said glancing up at him again. His jaw clenches and I couldn't help but smirk.

“What kind of things?” he asked while obviously trying to look innocent and nonchalant. 

“Oh, you know,” I said as I made a vague hand gesture and stretch, which allowed my sweater dress to hike up a little too high. 

I peaked a glance at his pants, and sadly I didn't see a bulge. I tried so hard to tease him and get him hard and it just hadn't been working.

“Listen this is stupid.”  

“What?” he asked, looking startled.

“I’m all better now. I don’t need to be here. Look how normal I am,” I said and pointed at my face as I smiled.

He smiled too.

“But if you stopped coming to see me I would miss you terribly.”

“Oh Dr. Moore, you flatter me. With that kind of talk I will never be able to leave you,” I genuinely smiled for the first time that day.

Later as I laid in bed around midnight I replayed the session with Dr. Moore in my head. Maybe I had lost my touch with men. Maybe after my meltdown (I was going to use that word I don’t care) I lost the seductive side of myself. I’ve never had to work so hard for a man before. I mean maybe he just wasn't attracted to me and it’s as simple as that. Maybe he thinks I’m a fucking looney. Maybe it’s time I moved on.

My phone buzzes, and surprisingly I see a text from Dr. Moore. He had given me his cell number for emergencies when I first began seeing him and I had only ever called him once when I was afraid I was having an allergic reaction to a medication. But now he was texting me? Strange.

The text read “Are you still having those insomnia issues?”

“Yes, why what’s up?” I replied

“I was just worried about you… I don’t want you to stop coming to therapy. I feel like you benefit greatly from it.” 

What the fuck. Is he worried he’s losing a customer? He's rich as hell, it took me a month to even get in to see him the first time. 

“I’m sure you’ll find other patients to help,” I texted back and threw my phone onto my nightstand. 

I stared angrily at the wall. He doesn’t care about me. He just wants my money so he can buy his wife a fucking jet ski or liposuction or whatever. I was fuming. I angrily ripped my panties off. I had to release some of this frustration. 

I rubbed my hands up and down my body, closing my eyes and let my breathing slow. I pushed up my sleep shirt and felt my breasts and tugged on my nipples just a little. 

I will NOT think about Dr. Moore tonight, I scolded myself. But who could I fantasize about then? I thought about my old science teacher. I sighed, because I had already touched myself to him a thousand times and I was sort of over it. I could watch porn, I mused. Nah, not in the mood tonight.

I ran my hands down my tan stomach to my pussy. I traced one finger down my slit slowly, teasing myself. Slowly I slid a finger into my pussy and I let out a little moan and arched my back. 

My nipples were sticking straight up, and as I began to thrust my finger in and out of my pussy my breasts began to bounce a little.

I wished Dr. Moore’s dick was inside me. I wished he was pressing me against the glass window in his office, forcing my legs apart as he shoved his big cock into my little pussy. 

I took my finger out of my pussy and sucked on it and then I began rubbing my clit. I tried not to think about Dr. Moore but I just couldn’t stop.

I pictured him calling me a whore and a tease and spanking me. I pictured him holding my face as he came into my mouth. 

I was frantically rubbing my clit and opening my legs as wide as I could, forcing myself to orgasm. The feeling began to creep up on me and I couldn’t help but let out a loud cry. The orgasm crashed over me and left me breathless and then panting. 

I licked the wetness off my fingers, and then reached for my phone. A text from Dr. Moore. I sighed.

“You are by far my favorite patient.”

I didn't reply.

-

A week later, I was getting ready for my decidedly last appointment with Dr. Moore. The mixture of taking my medicine religiously, changing to a healthy lifestyle, and staying mindful really had put me in a much better place than I could have ever imagined. Also probably giving up drugs and alcohol, but I digress.

Anyways, I decided that I was well enough to see a less expensive therapist once every two months instead. As much as I adored Dr. Moore, the crush I had on him was interfering with my life. I couldn’t constantly be fantasizing about his dick. I wanted to fantasize about whatever normal people fantasize about. Like… saving up for a Roomba or whatever the fuck normal girls my age think about.

I leaned over the bathroom sink in my apartment to apply my Tarte lipstick. I had really gone the whole nine yards for my last appointment. I had curled my long hair in lazy spirals that trickled over my shoulders and down my back. I had applied winged liner that accentuated my usually hidden asian features. 

For clothing I slipped on a red dress that was, no other word for it, business-slutty. I paired it with a black winter coat, and black thigh high boots. It was a bit over the top I will admit, but I wanted the last image Dr. Moore saw of me to be burned into his brain. I wanted him to close his eyes while he was fucking his wife and picture me in that red dress for the rest of his life. 

As I walked into his building I saw the young secretary give me a “look”, and I had to resist sticking my tongue out at her. Even with my winter coat hiding the majority of my dress I still looked pretty scandalous. I purposely sat across from her desk in the waiting room so that she was forced to stare at me. And then I purposely crossed and uncrossed my legs a few times just to show her my panties and give her something to talk about with her coworkers. 

Dr. Moore opened his door and called my name, and turned around without looking at me. I got up and picked up my handbag and blew a kiss at the shocked secretary. She was actually kind of cute, but that’s irrelevant. 

I sauntered into Dr. Moores office and saw that he was looking down at his notes (AGAIN not paying attention to me). I dropped my handbag on the floor, which made a satisfyingly loud thump causing him to glance up at me. I slowly began to unzip my coat, revealing the low cut which exposed about half of my breasts, and hugged my body in the way that only an absurdly expensive dress can.

He cleared his throat and glanced back down at his notes. Sighing, I dramatically flopped down on the couch, accepting defeat. 

“So how are we today?” he said, finally holding eye contact with me.

“Fan-fucking-tastic” 

“That’s terrific. Have you been sleeping better?”

“You know what Dr. Moore.. I have. I’ve actually decided this is going to be our last session. I don’t believe I am in need of your services after today, but I really do appreciate your help and all that you’ve done for me.”

“Well if you believe that is what’s best.”

“I do.” 

He leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen against his notepad, not saying anything for a few seconds.

“Would you mind if I tried something different for our last session?” he said looking at me seriously.

“Sure whatever doc,” I said absently. 

To be honest I was sort of over the whole thing. I felt rather childish in my inappropriate dress sitting on his stupid leather couch next to his weird ratty pillow. I wanted to go home, take a shower, and then pull out my vibrator. 

“Have you heard of hypnotherapy before?”

My gaze snapped to his. 

“Yes…”

“With your permission I would like to try it with you,” he said smiling. 

Hypnotherapy is fucking creepy and I certainly didn’t want him messing around in my head while I was off in Lala Land. 

“I don’t want to think or do anything that I don’t want to do,” I said narrowing my eyes at him.

“You won’t, trust me. I would never do anything to you that you didn’t like.”

“Mmkay…” I said reluctantly. 

“Lay down. Close your eyes. I want you to think of some place that makes you happy and try to fall into a meditative trance.”

I closed my eyes and tried to keep a smirk from appearing on my face. This man had no clue what he was doing.

“Stop smirking and relax,” he barked.

I immediately stopped smiling. He didn’t really sound like himself just then. Way too forceful. 

“Really try to let your mind go. Acknowledge your thoughts as they come, but then let them pass by like clouds.”

I inwardly sighed and tried...