And it was irrationally intense, the feelings mutual.
Young, blonde, but unattractive she was. Just an intern, unfamiliar with my temperament.
Attractive, charming, but Borderline I was. It probably wasn’t fair.
We were both seeking validation. Yet, I had not yet realized my proclivity to do so in women.
We were set up for failure.
As humans, we better entertain attractive individuals. I’m not being an asshole, but it’s the truth. She flips her hair, finds reason for subtle touches, and bites her lip to hide unmanageable smiles. She hangs upon every word, attention enduring. She seems to care more.
When passing by, her and her talkative friend come to hush as we brush shoulders. As if on cue, they dart glances at one another, the words unspoken. A babbling Brooke never runs dry of gossip. The signs of attraction are easily distinguishable. This is why I gravitate towards women.
Rarely, I am unsure if they care. I can see they are attracted, invested. It is evident in the chase. We go to greater lengths for the attractive. We hand out one too many hall passes. The hall pass equals validation. I can get away with things other men can’t.
Attraction is on a pedestal.
So, while you wish that it weren’t, I wish that it is. It is powerful. I take advantage of my good-looks and charm. You deem me worth pursuing, and I am flattered. You approve of me. There is no second-guessing. Some might see it as manipulative, but this is why I want you to be attracted to me.
Even if you are my therapist.
Still, it felt wrong that I left a gaze that exited upon the lips and lingered longer than the last with each coming appointment. At first, I just wanted to see her chase. Instantly though, I was the one chasing. I had lost control.
I wanted her.
A lust burned itself into the memory of my gut. What had happened?
Unbeknownst to me at the time, a complex interplay of emotions, memories and subconscious had evoked deep and intense erotic desires for love and intimacy with my therapist. This phenomenon is known as transference.
Psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud first observed transference in the therapist/patient relationship. In this relationship, the patient feels a genuine love and longing for their analyst, sometimes extending to erotic desires. He theorized that the origins of transference are rooted in a re-enactment of a patient’s early life impulses and fantasies that emerge during the process of analysis.
I should note that I harbor neither weird fetishes, nor suffer from past trauma that would suggest a predisposition towards transference. I was never consciously looking to fulfill a particular fantasy. It just happened. And I can’t tell you why. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to fuck my therapist. So bad. And, it all felt weird as shit.
And so, even though she was my therapist, and I could tell her everything, you could understand why I was hesitant to tell her this.
But, I did it anyway.
“I want you.”
“What do you mean Mr. Kuper?”
“I said, I want you. Like physically. But, I feel weird telling you this.”
“You shouldn’t, because I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Even outside of our sessions I think about you. Believe it or not we share similar thoughts. I just want to know then, what role do I play for you Mr. Kuper?”
I paused. “Role?”
This has to be some freaky role-play porno. Right?
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about all of this though Mr. Kuper. Let’s talk further about this next session.”
Except, next session never came.
As you expected, I suffered labral tears in both shoulders, underwent MRIs, the subsequent surgeries, and missed the follow-on appointment. The academic year ended; I was sent to a Navy ship out of Yokosuka, Japan for training, and never saw her again. I wasn’t starring in a porno, this was Dear John.
In retrospect, it probably wasn’t love, but it felt close.
I felt so open, exposed, and vulnerable in a space with someone so safe. That is unique to the patient/therapist relationship, but it is also unnatural.
We are programmed to be guarded in society, protecting our taboo desires and true identity from reproach. Therefore, when thrust into this environment, I experienced a phenomena so unnatural, but also very normal. The suggestion for follow-on sessions felt like a communication of her approval, her love. She was here to listen, to stay. Even if it was her job. I just wanted to communicate this love I was feeling back, albeit sexually.
Surely, this relationship was detrimental to my therapy. Honestly though, I really don’t care. I just hope she still thinks about me.