A Deep Dive into the Back of the Closet --

Psychotherapy

by Anonymous

"Hmmm, so this woman you saw. Was she attractive?" Jennifer, my therapist, said.

"Oh yeah, she was about 5'8", 140 lbs. Long dark hair in a ponytail. Blue eyes. She was wearing this white short-sleeved top, full pink print skirt and white heels," I said. "I couldná­t take my eyes off her as we walked up the steps from the train."

"What do you mean 'full skirt?'"

"Not a mini. It came down just about knee length and kind of puffed out, instead of clinging to her legs."

"Oh." She looked at the clock. "Our session is over. I'll see you next week. Oh wait...can we make next week at 7:30, instead of the usual 1:00?"

"Sure," I said. "Is there a problem."

"Oh, no, I just have another patient who asked for a lunch appointment. If it's a problem, I'll tell her no."

"No problem. Just curious. See you next week."

Jennifer had been my therapist for eight years, since before I got married. I'd been having marital problems for about a year. I began feeling like Jennifer was getting frustrated by my complaining. I kept expecting her to say, "Shit or get off the pot." But therapists never do that. I once asked her if she was annoyed, and she gave one of those classic therapist answers like, "Well, do you think I should be annoyed?" I guess that something you learn in training - "Always answer a question with a question." Anyway, for the past few weeks, we'd been talking about what life would be like if I left my wife. She asked me to fantasize about people I saw on my way to work. I actually found it liberating to imagine picking up someone on the train. Realistically, it would never happen. It takes a certain alpha male type to do that and I, unfortunately, am not that guy. Still, it was kind of cool to imagine myself working my magic on the people I saw.

The next week, I arrived at Jennifer's office at 7:30. The receptionist wasn't there, so she buzzed me in.

"Where's Cheryl?"

"Oh, she gets off at 5:30. It's just me," she said. "Come in."

I looked around the room, and saw a garment bag hanging from the coat rack. "Oh," I said. "Do a little shopping?" I was just making small talk.

"Sort of," she said, as she unzipped the garment bag. "This is for you."

When she opened the bag, I saw a blue sheath dress. It appeared to be slightly higher than knee length, and had white piping around the collar and hem.

"Uh, excuse me?" was all I could stammer. "What do you mean , 'for me'?"

"Strip," she commanded, her tone becoming stern. "This is for you, and so are these," she said, handing me a Victoria's Secret bag with a bra, panties and stockings inside.

"What the hell is going on here?" I yelled. "What the fuck are you trying to do?"

"Look," she said flatly. "We've talked about your crossdressing fantasies for months. But something always seems to hold you back. You once asked me if I was annoyed. Well, I am. For you. You need to do this for you. And for me. It'll help the process."

I began to strip. I know this seems like I gave in too soon. But, secretly, I had always fantasized that Jennifer would lead me to this. Not in a dominatrix kind of way. More like a helpful friend or older sister.

"Could you at least turn around?" I asked. "This is kind of embarrassing."

She laughed. "I think we're kind of past that, don't you? You've bared your soul to me. I would think your body wouldn't be an issue, at all."

I stripped. My cock shrank to nothing in abject fear.

"So, put on the bra and panties first."

I fumbled with the bra. I could never do it smoothly with the few women with whom I had been, and this was a lot more nerve racking.

"I guess you won't be applying for a job with a bomb squad," Jennifer said with a smile.

I turned angrily on her. "I'm glad this is so funny to you. Really professional."

She came over and began adjusting the bra. "I'm sorry," she said, putting a hand of my shoulder. "I saw you were tense, and was trying to lighten the mood. You're right, though. I crossed the line, and again am sorry. 38 chest, though. I was right."

"Well, if this ever falls through, you can get a job at a bra store. Or maybe guessing weights at a carnival."

"OK, now for the stockings. Sit down, and let me show you how to put on stockings." I sat.

"First, ball the stocking like this. Then point your toe towards me," she said and began slowly running the stocking up my leg. My cock began getting hard.

She glanced at it. "Calm down, that's not what this is about, Steve. Besides, I'm married."

Well, my cock inexplicably complied. It must have been that older sister/mother thing I had developed with her. "Stand up," she said. "Let me put these in," she said, taking out a set of silicone bags and slipping them in the bra.

"What are those?" I asked.

"Breast forms. You surf those websites, and you didn't know what these were," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"I thought that's what they were. I just wasn't 100% sure. So what size am I?"

"D cup. With a 38 chest, you really couldn't be much smaller. Now, put on the dress."

I stepped into it, and slid it up.

"Put these on," she said, handing me a pair of black slingback pumps with a 3" heel. They were a little tight.

"How did you guess my size," I asked.

"Just lucky," she said. "Stand up." I stood up "Perfect," she said. "Oh wait, one more thing," she said, pulling out a tube of lipstick. "This will complete the look," she said.

"Maybe not. I think Beth will notice, don't you?"

"Don't worry," she said with a grin. "We'll take it off before the end of the session. Now look at yourself," she said, pointing to a mirror on her door. "What do you think?"

I looked at myself. "I look like a guy with tits wearing a blue dress and lipstick."

"That's it? Anything else?"

"I like the dress."

"Why?"

"It's a good length. Very classic looking. With the breasts, it falls right too."

"Hmmm," she said. "Anything else?"

"The heels."

"Why?"

"They make my legs look longer, and give them a nice shape."

"You do have nice legs, Steve. Most women would kill for legs like that."

"Boy, thanks. You sure know how to turn a guy's head."

"You pointed it out. Not me. What's your name"

"Steve?"

She sighed in exasperation. "You know what I mean."

"Ummm, Jennifer?"

Again, she sighed. "PRO-jection. Try again."

"Jessica," I said. "I always liked that name."

She looked upward. "Good. Well, Jessica, would you like to begin our session?"

"Yeah."

"Girls don't say, 'yeah,' they say, 'yes, please.' Would you like to begin our session?"

"Yes, please."

"Well, Jessica," she said, going to the door, "I have a surprise for you. Tom, come here please."

In walked a 6'4" brown haired, green eyed guy with a good build. You knew he was extremely well built, because you could see it through his shirt. "Jessica, Tom. Tom, Jessica," Jennifer said, with a leer. "I'll be back in twenty minutes," she said, walking out the door.

"Whoa, Jennifer," I said. "What the hell's going on here?"

"You and Tom can talk," she said, closing the door and leaving.

"Uh, look, Tom," I said, backing up against a wall. "I don't know what Jennifer told you, but, uh, nothing personal, I'm, uh not interested and, as you can see, I'm a guy, and..."

He put his finger to my lips. "Shhh, I know who you are. You don't. But I do. And I like a girl with something extra." He began unbuttoning his shirt. His shirt hadn't done him justice. He had the most gorgeous set of six-pack abs I had ever seen, and his arms were perfect. Muscular, without being cartoon-like.

"What the hell are you doing," I said weakly. "I said I wasn't interested..."

"Really?" he said, with a wink. "I can't help but notice you looking at my stomach. Do you like it?"

"It's, uh, very nice. Do you do crunches, or situps, or..." I began babbling. I averted my eyes downward. I tried not to look at the bulge in his pants, but it was kind of hard to miss.

"Yeah," he said, "You're not the least bit interested," he said, pinning me up against the wall. Even in the heels, he was still 2" taller than me.

"Hey, stop. I'll hit you," I said, as he thrust his tongue in my mouth. "Mmm," I moaned, kissing him back. He put a hand under my dress, and began massaging my thigh. I don't know what I was thinking, but I began playing with his abs. I had wanted to touch those abs from the minute he walked in.

"Still not interested?"

"Shut up," I protested, as he moved his hand from my thigh to my crotch.

"Oh, yeah, Jessica," he smirked, "I can see how uninterested you are. Why don't you show me how uninterested," and he began kissing me again. A gay friend had once told me you hadn't lived until you'd been kissed by another man. He was right. My hand moved from his abs into his pants.

"Ooooh," I said, playing with his cock. "Can he come out to play?" I said, unzipping his pants.

I pulled down his briefs, and an 8" cock sprung out. My throat got dry and tight and my pulse began racing. My mind said, "Run," but my body wanted to stay. I started running my hand all over it, and began to go to my knees. Tom stopped me.

"Hold on," he said. "Let's go slowly. Let me show you what I can do first," he said, unzipping my dress. It fell to my ankles. "Now, lay down to the couch," he commanded.

I laid down on the couch, and he climbed on top of me. He began playing with my breast (forms) through the bra. Even though they were fake, I swear I felt my nipples getting hard. "Please, Tom, please let me touch it."

"No," he said, "I'm going to please you and then, and only then, will I let you please me," he said. He moved his hands down, and began massaging my ass while kissing my inner thighs. I was shuddering.

"Try not to cum," he said gently. "It'll be that much better, if you wait. Now, roll over."

I did as he said. He began massaging my back. I never liked massages. They made me more, not less, tense. But, something about his strong arms made me melt. "Mmmm, that feels so good," I whispered. Suddenly, I felt something rubbing against my ass. He began moving his cock around my ass. Beth always liked when I did this. I never understood why. Now I did. The feel of his cock through the satin panties was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was forceful yet gentle. I kept moaning and whimpering.

"Well, clearly, you're still uninterested," he said.

"Shut up, and do it faster and harder," I said. He complied, thrusting harder and faster.

I couldn't hold back any longer. I began making high pitched squeaks, "Unh, oh, g-d, yes..." I came, but it felt more deeper than any orgasm I had ever had. I felt it in the pit of my stomach. Tom stuck his hand in my panties, and came up with a finger full of cum.

"Lick it," he said. "I want you used to the taste." I gladly licked his finger, running it in and out of my mouth.

"Now," he said, with a devilish grin. "My turn to be pleasured. Or is it yours...Jessica?" He straddled my face so that his cock was looking me in the eye.

I still felt like I should run away. But, I couldn't. Instead, I cupped his balls in my hands and began massaging them. "Oooh," I said, "Can I play with your balls, little boy?" After a minute, I said, "Let me get up. You sit right there." I got on my knees, and stared directly at his crotch. I thought I'd go blind, like if you look directly at a solar eclipse. Instead, I began taking him little by little into my mouth. "Mmmm," I mumbled, taking him deeper and deeper each time. After what felt like an eternity, I felt his cock shudder. Before I could move away, I felt him shoot his load into my mouth. At first, I gagged. But, then, I began greedily drinking it in. After he shot his load, he pulled out. He stood up, pulled up his underwear and pants and began buttoning his shirt.

He opened the door, and said, "Okay, Jennifer, we're all done now."

Jennifer walked back in, with a huge smile. "Thanks, Tom."

"Thanks, Jennifer." He leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. "Thanks, Jessica." He walked out, and closed the door.

"Put your dress on, and let's talk," she said.

I put the dress on and sat down. "What the hell just happened?" I demanded.

"What do you think just happened?"

"No offense, Jennifer, but cut the therapist-speak. I come for my usual session, and you force me into a dress and next thing I know I'm being assaulted by some guy."

"Force. That's an interesting choice of words. Did I in anyway exert physical pressure upon you?"

"Well, no."

"Did I threaten to falsely accuse you of a crime?"

"Of course not. Where are you going with this?"

"I'm just questioning your terminology, Steve."

"Well, I mean, you're my therapist. You know I trust you implicitly and I just thought that maybe if you thought this would be a good idea, then..."

"So, if I told you to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge..."

"Ha ha," I said flatly. "I know we've talked about me seeing you as a maternal figure, but that's a little much..."

"Fine. Let me ask you another question. What kind of dress is that?"

"A sheath."

"Sheath. Yes. And tell me about the shoes."

"Black slingbacks. With a 3" heel."

"Do you think other men know that? If I asked my husband those questions, his responses would have been 'blue' and 'black.'"

"So what? We've covered my crossdressing fantasies. What does that have to do with this?"

"You've talked and talked about going to a fantasy facilitator. You've told me about your fantasy of having a female friend who helps you get dressed. I decided it was time to dress up or shut up. And, by the way, you were right. That dress did look very good on you. Baby blue is perfect for your coloring."

"Fine. That doesn't excuse Tom. I never said I was gay and I certainly didn't expect to be assaulted."

"Assaulted. Another interesting choice of words."

"Oh great, this again," I said, with my eyes rolling.

"Well, Jessica," she said, eyes rolling, "I was outside the whole time, and I didn't hear you scream for help. If you were really being assaulted, you would have screamed."

"Do you blame rape victims who are forced against their will and can't scream?"

"Oh please, Steve," she sneered. "Did Tom threaten to hurt you if you screamed?"

"Um, no."

"Did you want to scream?"

"Maybe not," I said, staring at the floor.

"Did you try and hit Tom to stop him?"

"He's like 3" taller than me, at least."

"Did you try and leave the room?" When I didn't respond, she said, "Oh yes, I see the threat. I also couldn't help but notice that, when I came in, your dress was on the floor. It doesn't appear to be ripped, so am I safe in assuming you took it off voluntarily?"

I blushed. "Well..."

"And I can't help but notice that the lipstick you were so worried about seems to be mostly removed."

"OK, I get your point."

"And I didn't notice too much on Tom's face. Would I have found some in another place, Jessica?"

"This is so embarassing," I said, "I never thought of myself as gay," and with that I told Jennifer the entire story. She made me describe every thought, feeling and sensation in excruciating detail. She especially had me linger over my desire for Tom's abs. I told her how much I loved touching each and every muscle in the six pack, and how absolutely carved his chest and arms were. I told her how I hate massages, but didn't want to Tom to stop kneading my back with those magnificent arms of his. I told her about how I wanted to run, but got dry mouth and a racing pulse I got when I first saw Tom's penis. It almost felt like she was living vicariously.

"You know what's amazing to me," she said, after I finished breathlessly. "How alive you were when you told that story."

"What do you mean?"

"When you talk about your sexual experiences with women, you seem disembodied. Like you were physically there, but mentally elsewhere. But when you talked about Tom, you became animated. It was like a different person than the Steve of the past eight years."

"I don't like where this is going, Jennifer," I said, warily.

"Steve," she said, patting my hand, "I'm not judging you. But let me offer some observations. We've been working with 'real-life' fantasies for the past few weeks, right?"

"Right. Where is this going?"

"When you talk about women, you say how beautiful they are. But you spend as much if not more time focusing on their clothing than them. Do you remember what we ended last session with?"

"The woman on the stairs."

"Yes, the woman on the stairs. You told me she was wearing," as she looked at her notes, "a white short-sleeved top, full pink print skirt and white heels."

"I remember."

"I hate to keep going back to the comparison, but my husband would not remember those details. He'd remember that she was wearing heels, and if she had been wearing a short skirt, but he wouldn't remember colors or types of clothing."

"So, your husband's not observant. Sorry for you."

"That's not what this is about, Steve. I've noticed that, even when you talk about a woman's physical attributes, it's usually part of a discussion of their clothing. Like, 'she was wearing a yellow shift that really accentuated her ass. Or the boots really drew attention to her gorgeous legs.' Quite frankly, it's like listening to one of my girlfriends cut apart a woman we've seen."

"So what, I'm a girl? Thanks, Jennifer. That makes me feel sooo much better."

"Look, Steve," she said sternly. "That's not what I'm saying. Stop projecting your insecurities onto me and listen. I'm going to ask you one question, and answer me truthfully. When you see a beautiful, well-dressed woman on the street, what do you want? To get in her panties, or to get IN her panties."

"Come on. What do you think? I'm married, for chrissakes. And it's not like my parents don't have gay friends. If I was gay, I could be out. I'm not out. Therefore, I'm not gay. See?"

She laughed. "Now, that was an extremely convincing argument. We've talked about this before. You've told me about wet dreams you've had..."

"Hey," I protested. "You said those don't necessarily mean anything. I'm so glad I trusted you. Thanks a hell of a lot."

"First off, you just issued the ultimate qualification - 'necessarily mean anything.' I've asked you to describe the guys in these dreams. You never mention clothes and can, in fact, rarely describe their faces. Instead, I hear about their chests. Their arms. Their penises. And their abs. Boy, you sure go on about abs. I haven't decided what that means yet, but you have a thing about them."

"And that's why you chose Tom. Is this a DSM-approved therapy, Jennifer? Bringing in hunks to seduce closet drag queens?" I said sarcastically.

"First off, Steve, try to limit the pyschobabble. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing," she said drily. "Second, hunk, huh? Another interesting choice of words."

"I was being sarcastic."

"Oh really? If I called Tom in, would he say you weren't satisfied with his service?"

"No," I replied.

"Would he be lying?"

"Great," I said, with my tears in my eyes. "I was a married man this morning. Now, I'm some kind of drag queen cock-sucking bottom. Beth will be so thrilled. My life is over."

"No," she said, handing me tissues. "Your life is most definitely not over. First off, being turned on by women's clothes does not mean you're now a female impersonator. It's something that turns you on sexually, and you should be able to find someone who lets it be part of your sex life. You said you approached Beth about once, and she shut it down completely. Do you think that's fair?"

"I didn't think I should force something she hated."

"Fine, do you think sex is satisfying to her?"

"We've covered that..."

"Exactly. Do you think it's fair to her to be with someone who's not psychologically present during sex? Shouldn't she be able to be with someone who is?"

"Well, no."

"Look, I'm not saying to go home tonight, and say, 'Guess what honey? I'm gay!' I think you need to figure things out first."

"Great. Turn my life upside down in one session, and then tell me hold up. That's really fair."

"That's not what I said. I think we both know how this will end, but you don't just upend someone else's life on a one shot deal, Steve. You need to process this, and connect with your feelings before you go and do something."

"I know. You're right."

She looked at her watch. "I'm sorry to end like this, but session's over. I'll see you next week. Regular time," and she left me. I began putting on my clothes, wondering what the hell was going to happen next.....

[to be continued, if there's interest.] (Probably not since this was originally posted 2004-11-11 -- BCEditor)