Hold the presses!!!

Would you Adam and believe it, Shocked Reader?!

Having repeatedly said in counselling that I wanted to talk about sex, and after Kirsty,our counsellor, finally picked up the baton, and My two subsequent quite explicit conversations on the subject in individual sessions, then Kirsty (privately) agreeing with Me that a) it was reasonable to say that if We aren’t going to talk about sex, I am going to phone a divorce lawyer, and b) that she shared my lack of confidence that my Wife would willingly subject Her sexuality to scrutiny …

First thing this morning I hear retching and heaving from the bathroom.

There are occasions, Sympathetic Reader, when I can be a jaded cunt, even to the point of being uncharitable. So my first thought was … Oh great! The day my Wife was due (or not due, depending on Her disposition – I still didn’t know) to talk to a sex therapist about sex, and She’s got bloody food poisoning! Admittedly, my second thought was, I’ll go and check if She’s Ok and whether I can do anything for Her. As much ill feeling as there may be from time to time, I cannot stand by and watch people suffer. [Ed: See, Judgemental Reader? AM’s not a complete cunt. Further proved by His third thought, which was to put down the porn, stop wanking, get out of bed, and even stuff His impatient cock into a pair of jeans before heading downstairs to see how his Wife was.]

She then spent half the day in bed, whilst I spent it torn between simultaneously home-schooling and thinking about My homework from My last session (to reflect on sex and intimacy throughout my childhood #Freudianorwhat).

And yet, 2hrs before Our joint (or individual???) session was due, when I checked to see whether my Wife a) wanted any chicken soup, and b) felt up to speaking to Kirsty, She announced that She was expecting to have an individual session.

I was so shocked you could have shoved a stick of dynamite up my urethra and lit the fuse without me noticing!

I cant help wondering what’s going through Her head, and what She expects from the conversation. [Ed: It’s undoubtedly going to be an entirely different conversation to those which AM has had with Kirsty about sex.]

Moreover, I’d dearly love to be a fly on the wall! But I guess that, as I asked Kirsty not to disclose my rubber fetish, use of porn, a distinctly different recollection of the lingerie narrative, let alone various other politically complicated sexual landmines to my Wife, I should respect the therapist / client confidentiality paradigm.

And I am profoundly thankful that at last my Wife may be asked to reflect on what’s in Her head … or in Her pants uk … or even just in Her pants uk drawer.
Even if I never get inside any of them ever again.

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