My Wife’s Psychologist and Her Unexpected Therapy

Marina, my wife, left an open phone book on the kitchen table, open at the letter C. In large letters, underlined in red and standing out from the rest of the names, you could read Carolina. Carolina has been her psychologist for about four years now, ever since shortly after the birth of Lucas, our oldest son, when Marina went through a pretty nasty bout of depression.

At first I didn’t really believe in that sort of treatment. I thought we’d be throwing money away in exchange for pretty words and magazine advice. I admit I was wrong: in a couple of months Marina was back to being the cheerful, cheeky woman I fell in love with twelve years ago.

The thing was that for several months Marina and I hadn’t been having sex. What had once been an enviable sex life had been reduced to awkward silences and stupid excuses. I blamed work stress, so I asked for a few days off and took Marina and Lucas to a cabin in the mountains. I was sure that with fresh air and no pressure, everything would go back to normal. It didn’t.

The vacation ended the way it had begun: me giving Marina pleasure with my mouth and fingers because my body refused to respond any other way. I tried everything. Movies, toys, the damn blue pills. I’d get half-hard erections, enough to start and never enough to finish. Every failed attempt gnawed at me from the inside like a silent termite.

Marina, at first, told me not to worry, that it happened to men sometimes. But as time went on, the concern showed in her eyes. She’s an affectionate woman and fully devoted in bed, and I knew perfectly well that the drought wasn’t comfortable for her either, no matter how well she hid it.

One night, after dinner, she told me that in her last session with Carolina she had mentioned what was happening to me. Carolina offered to see me, in case a conversation with someone neutral could unlock what no trick had managed to unlock in bed. I didn’t really believe in that stuff, but seeing Marina excited about the idea was enough for me. I dialed the number and made an appointment for the following Thursday.

Carolina is an attractive woman. She must be about thirty-five, though I always found it hard to pin down her age. I already knew her from before because, when Marina started therapy, she asked me to go with her to the first session. She’s one of those women who grow more striking with age. Confident, independent, with green eyes that seem to be smiling even when she’s talking about serious things, and a low voice, almost a whisper, that makes you lean forward to hear her properly.

—Hi, Diego. How are you? It’s been a while since we saw each other —she said when I walked into the office.

—Yeah, quite a while —I replied.

My voice came out broken. Talking about that with a stranger, no matter how many diplomas she had on the wall, made me nervous.

—Marina has told me the essentials. How long have you noticed the dysfunction?

—About five months, I’d say.

—Does it happen every time, or only sometimes?

—Always when I’m with my wife.

—Have you talked about it between yourselves?

—Yes, we’ve tried not to make a big deal out of it. Doesn’t work.

—Have you tried anything different?

—Lingerie, toys, even an afternoon in a sex shop watching videos. Nothing.

—And your morning erections? What are they like?

—Weaker than before —I made a gesture with my hands to back up the answer and instantly regretted it, thinking it might sound vulgar to her.

—That’s a good sign. It means the mechanism works, it’s just blocked —Carolina smiled—. Did anything happen just before the first time your body failed you?

—I don’t know… —I hesitated—. Well, a few days earlier I had an exam of my intestines. Inside, with a device. I’d been having discomfort and my doctor wanted to rule things out.

—A colonoscopy.

—Yes. That’s it.

—How did you experience the exam?

—Badly. I was always very much a man, you know? When that device went in from behind, I felt something close to humiliation. Like they were taking something away from me.

—There you have it —she said, with a certainty that left me speechless—. Your mind linked the exam to punishment and blocked the response. It’s more common than you think.

—And this can be fixed just by talking?

—Sometimes, yes. But I want to do a test.

What came next I wasn’t expecting. Carolina unbuttoned the first buttons of her cream blouse and revealed a black lace bra. The desk lamp cut diagonally across her cleavage.

—This can’t be —I muttered.

—What can’t be? —she asked, already taking off her bra.

—This. I think something’s happening to me.

I pulled down the zipper of my pants without really knowing what I was doing. Carolina came around the desk, crouched beside me, and slid her hand over the boxer fabric until she found what she was looking for. For the first time in months, my body responded as if nothing had ever been broken.

—Look at this —she said, holding me with one hand and running her fingers up and down—. Talking to me has unlocked you. Let me check the firmness.

And she took it into her mouth without warning. It wasn’t a caress: it was a professional movement, almost clinical, with a sense of rhythm that no woman had ever given me before. I reached for her breasts, which were just the right height, and stroked them in time with her tongue. I’d gone so many months without feeling anything like that that within minutes I had to warn her.

—I’m going to… —I began.

She didn’t pull away. She took everything I had without breaking the motion, until my body stopped trembling. When she straightened up, she wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled at me as if she had just taken my blood pressure.

—No need to apologize. This is part of the therapy —she said—. But it’s going to take a while. I’ll see you next week.

***

Seven days passed. Seven days in which I recovered everything I’d lost over the past months. I made love to Marina every night, sometimes twice, and the poor thing laughed in surprise at my new appetite.

—I told you that girl was amazing at her job —she said the first time she saw my body responding again.

She certainly was, I thought, remembering Carolina’s mouth pressed against me only hours earlier. For some reason, I pictured Marina sitting in that very chair during her depression, skirt hiked up and stockings lowered to her thighs while Carolina, kneeling in front of her, applied something very different from cognitive therapy. I don’t know where that image came from, but there it was.

—Carolina says I’m not fully recovered yet —I told Marina—. That to avoid relapses I have to go back a couple more times.

—Sounds good to me —Marina replied, taking me by the hand to the bedroom.

***

The second visit lasted less than twenty minutes. Carolina locked the door as soon as I walked in.

—So, how are we doing with our little issue? —she asked, already in a different tone.

—Like clockwork.

—On time?

—Unstoppable.

—Take your pants off. I need to check the patient’s condition.

I thought I’d get the same treatment again, and just the idea made me hard before time. But that afternoon Carolina had other plans. She undressed in front of me with the same natural ease another woman might take off a jacket. She appeared before me wearing only a tiny pink thong.

The first time, between nerves and surprise, I hadn’t been able to look at her properly. She had evenly tanned skin, small but firm breasts, blonde hair falling over her shoulders, and a shiny piercing in her navel. Later I would discover she also had a small tattoo on one buttock.

—I’ve got half an hour before the next appointment —she warned, while running her hand again over the boxer fabric.

This time it was my turn to do the work. I liked the idea. We embraced standing up and my hands went for her breasts while she rubbed herself against my hips. After several minutes of kissing and biting her neck, I pulled down her thong and found that down there she was wetter than the cab of an indoor swimming pool. I lifted her up and sat her on the edge of her own desk, brushing aside a few folders with my elbow, which ended up on the floor.

—And the case files? —I asked, laughing.

—You pick them up later —she replied, spreading her legs.

I went in slowly to feel the first contact and immediately set a faster rhythm. Carolina was noisy. She panted, moaned, let out words any hallway neighbor would have heard if they’d pressed an ear to the door. At times I had to clench my teeth not to finish too soon.

—More, more, like that, don’t stop —she kept repeating, her head thrown back.

When she came, she did it with a cry that seemed excessive to me for the thin walls of the building. I came inside her a few seconds later.

When we stood up, we discovered that some loose sheets had been stained.

—And that? —I asked.

—Your medical file —she replied—. I think I won’t need it anymore.

—Does that mean you’re giving me the all-clear?

—No, not yet. These things have to be monitored. Come back next week. And give Marina my regards.

***

When I got home, Marina was waiting for me in a yellow bathrobe, fresh out of the shower. Normally, that sight alone would have made me lose my mind. But I’d just left a good part of myself in Carolina’s office, and my body, though willing, was out of breath.

—How did it go with Carolina? —she asked, untying the belt of her robe.

—Good. We talked, you know.

Marina let the robe fall to the floor and came over to kiss me, one hand sliding downward. My body responded on instinct. Not with its usual urgency, but enough not to disappoint her.

In bed, while I held her from behind, I couldn’t stop comparing them. Carolina was a little younger, without children, with a more streamlined body. Marina had wider hips, softer buttocks, breasts made fuller by pregnancy. I pinched her buttocks gently the way I used to when we were dating, and Marina understood at once. She turned face down and offered me her ass.

It wasn’t the first time. We had done it since before we were married, not very often, but enough that there was no need to talk about it. I placed a pillow under her hip and prepared her slowly. When I went in, I did it with my mind on somewhere else. I imagined it was Carolina, and that idea took me to the end with more force than I expected.

Marina came before I did, twice. When I finally let go, I collapsed on top of her without separating our bodies for a good while. For the first time in months, I felt something like calm. But also something new. A small suspicion I still didn’t know how to name.

***

Tuesday arrived, Carolina’s fixed day. And this time Marina insisted on coming with me. I couldn’t dissuade her. No way. I arrived at the office convinced Carolina would cancel everything when she saw her, but I was wrong again.

As soon as I walked into the office, Carolina licked her lips shamelessly and looked straight down at my crotch.

—How come you brought Marina?

—She insisted and I couldn’t say no.

She stood up, went around the desk, and kissed me on the mouth like we’d been lovers for years.

—Then I’ll have to be more discreet when I’m done, won’t I? —she said with a smile.

That woman was incredible. She took off her skirt and underwear with the same ease with which she’d open a folder. She pulled down my pants and stared at what she had in front of her.

—Come on, put it in, don’t make me wait.

But I’d been turning over one idea for days. A specific idea, almost stubborn.

—I want to take you from behind.

—What did you say?

—I want to fuck your ass. I’ve been thinking about it for days.

For the first time since I met her, Carolina hesitated.

—It’s just that… no one’s ever done it to me.

—If you don’t try it, you won’t know. I promise to be careful.

She gave in. I positioned her on all fours on the office rug. I spread her buttocks apart and discovered, on one of them, a small tattoo with a word: “devour me.” I smiled. I prepared the ground patiently, first with one finger, then two, until her body stopped resisting. I entered her little by little, millimeter by millimeter, attentive to every breath she took.

—Does it hurt?

—A little. Keep going slowly.

When she finally yielded, I began to move. Carolina breathed with her mouth open and her eyes closed. Right then the office door opened.

Marina walked in without knocking.

I froze. I made to pull out, but Carolina pushed back to stop me.

—Wait —she said.

Stunned, I watched Marina hike up her skirt and show, without underwear, what she had beneath. She came over to us and stopped a hand’s breadth from Carolina’s face.

—Your wife is part of the therapy —Carolina said with a calm that didn’t seem human—. Couple therapy, it’s called. I was the one who called her.

—You two…?

—From the very first day —Marina answered, closing her eyes when Carolina’s mouth sank between her legs.

I said no more. The image of Marina surrendering to Carolina’s tongue while I kept thrusting into the psychologist shattered every last trace of dignity I had left. I gripped Carolina’s hips and let myself go, no longer thinking about anything, until I emptied myself inside her with a sharp удар that left my legs trembling.

When I caught my breath, Marina looked down at me with a new smile. A smile I had never seen in any year of marriage.

—Welcome to therapy, Diego. Today we’re starting for real.