The eye with which my therapist sees me, is the same with which I see him.

I wonder if he notices this..

If he notices me.

I wonder if he knows that I spend the same amount of time analyzing him as he does so with me.

Fantasizing about him and the kind of man he is outside of his office; Fantasizing about the kind of lover he is with his wife.

I can’t help myself..

The sight of the forbidden is just too tempting..

I mean, there’s a reason why I’m in therapy after all.

So, I pay close attention to him and his body language during our sessions. I listen carefully to what he chooses to share about his life - I stare at his lips, hands, and cock..

It takes no real effort for him to arouse me with the masculinity that emits off him.

God..

My thoughts overpower my good moral compass, he’s there to help me but all I want is for this man to fuck me, to take advantage of me..

To corrupt me.

And I can’t help but wonder if my therapist, wishes to fuck me too…

In fact, if I’m being honest, all I can think about lately is being on my knees for him. Whether it’s to take the pain that emits off his hands coming in contact with my soft flesh or to take his cock in my mouth and worship it.

I want both. Even if I shouldn’t. Even if I can’t.

So, I touch myself after our sessions.

Does he ever touch himself to the thought of me, too? To the thought of the taboo and forbidden?

Perhaps, I’m even more fucked up than I thought.. For wanting him. For wanting him to cross lines for me. For wanting him to risk it all just for a taste..

A taste of the forbidden fruit.