My Wife’s Psychologist and Her Unexpected Therapy

Marina, my wife, left a phone book open on the kitchen table at the letter C. In large letters, underlined in red and standing out from the rest of the names, was Carolina. Carolina had been her psychologist for about four years, ever since shortly after Lucas, our oldest son, was born, when Marina went through a pretty severe depressive slump.

At first I didn’t believe much in that kind of treatment. I thought we were going to throw our money away in exchange for pretty words and magazine advice. I admit I was wrong: within a couple of months, Marina was once again the cheerful, shameless woman I’d fallen in love with twelve years earlier.

The thing was, Marina and I hadn’t had sex for several months. What had once been an enviable sex life had dwindled into awkward silences and silly excuses. I blamed it on stress at the office, so I took a few days off and brought Marina and Lucas to a cabin in the mountains. I was sure that with fresh air and no pressure, everything would fall back into place. It didn’t.

The vacation ended the way it had begun: with me pleasuring Marina with my mouth and fingers because my body refused to respond in any other way. I tried everything. Movies, toys, those damned little blue pills. I could get half an erection, enough to start but never enough to finish. Every failed attempt gnawed away at me like a silent termite.

At first, Marina told me not to worry, that it happened to all men at some point. But time passed, and the concern was evident in her eyes. She’s an affectionate, giving woman in bed, and I knew perfectly well that this dry spell wasn’t easy for her either, no matter how much she pretended otherwise.

One night after dinner, she told me that during her last session with Carolina, she’d mentioned what was happening to me. Carolina was willing to see me, in case talking to someone neutral could loosen whatever no trick had managed to loosen in bed. I didn’t have much faith in that sort of thing, but seeing Marina so 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, although I’ve always found it difficult to guess her age. I knew her already because when Marina began therapy, she asked me to accompany her to the first interview. She’s one of those women who become more striking with age. Confident, independent, with green eyes that seem to laugh even when she’s talking about serious matters, and a low voice, almost a whisper, that makes you lean forward to hear her properly.

“Hello, Diego. How are you? It’s been a while since we last saw each other,” she said when I entered the office.

“Yes, quite a while,” I replied.

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

“Marina has told me the essentials. How long have you been noticing the dysfunction?”

“About five months, I’d say.”

“Does it happen every time or only sometimes?”

“Every time I’m with my wife.”

“Have you talked about it between yourselves?”

“Yes, we’ve tried to make light of it. It doesn’t work.”

“Have you tried anything different?”

“Lingerie, toys, even an afternoon in a sex shop watching projections. Nothing.”

“And your morning erections? What are they like?”

“Weaker than before.” I gestured with my hands to emphasize the answer and immediately regretted it, thinking she might find it vulgar.

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

“I don’t know…” I hesitated. “Well, a few days earlier they gave me an examination of my intestines. From inside, with an instrument. I was having some discomfort, and my doctor wanted to rule things out.”

“A colonoscopy.”

“Yes. That.”

“How did you experience the examination?”

“Badly. I’d always been a real man, you know? When that instrument went in through the back, I felt something like humiliation. As if something had been taken away from me.”

“There you have it,” she said, with such certainty that it left me speechless. “Your mind connected the examination with punishment and blocked your response. It’s more common than you think.”

“And it gets fixed just by talking?”

“Sometimes. But I want to try something.”

What happened next was not what I expected. Carolina undid the first few buttons of her cream-colored blouse and revealed a black lace bra. The desk lamp cast a diagonal band of light across her cleavage.

“That can’t be,” I murmured.

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

“This. I think something’s happening to me.”

I lowered the zipper of my trousers without really knowing what I was doing. Carolina came around the desk, crouched beside me, and slid her hand over the fabric of my briefs 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 consistency.”

And she put it in her mouth without warning. It wasn’t a caress; it was a professional, almost clinical movement, with a care for rhythm that no woman had ever given me. I reached my hands toward her breasts, which were at exactly the right height, and caressed them in time with her tongue. I had gone so many months without feeling anything like it that within minutes I had to warn her.

“I’m going to…” I began.

She didn’t pull away. She received everything I had without interrupting the movement, until my body stopped trembling. When she stood up, she wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled at me as though she’d just taken my blood pressure.

“You don’t have to apologize. This is part of the therapy,” she said. “But this is going to take a while. I’ll give you an appointment for next week.”

***

Seven days passed. Seven days during which I recovered everything I’d been missing for months. I made love to Marina every night, sometimes twice, and the poor woman laughed in amazement at my renewed appetite.

“I told you that girl was wonderful at her job,” she commented the first time she discovered that my body was responding.

She really was, I thought, remembering Carolina’s mouth pressed against me only a few hours earlier. For some reason, I imagined Marina sitting in that same chair during her depression, her skirt pushed up and her 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 completely recovered yet,” I told Marina. “To prevent relapses, I have to go back a couple more times.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marina replied, taking me by the hand and leading me to the bedroom.

***

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

“How are things going with our little problem?” she asked, already speaking in a different tone.

“Like clockwork.”

“Punctual?”

“Unstoppable.”

“Pull down your trousers. I have to check the patient’s condition.”

I thought I would receive the same treatment again, and just at the thought of it, my erection showed itself ahead of time. But that afternoon Carolina had other plans. She undressed in front of me with the same naturalness with which any other woman might have taken off her jacket. She appeared before me wearing nothing but a tiny pink thong.

The first time, between my embarrassment and surprise, I hadn’t been able to look at her as closely as she deserved. Her skin was evenly tanned, her breasts small but firm, her blond hair falling over her shoulders, and a bright piercing glinted in her navel. Later I would discover that she also had a small tattoo on one buttock.

“I have half an hour before my next appointment,” she announced while running her hand over the fabric of my briefs again.

This time it was my turn to do the work. I liked the idea. We embraced standing up, and my hands sought her breasts while she rubbed herself against my hip. After several minutes of kissing and biting at her neck, I pulled down her thong and discovered that she was wetter down there than a covered swimming-pool stall. I lifted her off the ground and sat her on the edge of her own desk, sweeping aside with my elbow some folders that ended up on the floor.

“What about the files?” I asked between laughs.

“You can pick them up later,” she replied, spreading her legs.

I entered slowly to feel the first brush of contact, then immediately set a faster rhythm. Carolina was loud. She panted, moaned, and let out words that any neighbor in the hallway could have heard by pressing an ear to the door. At times I had to clench my teeth to keep from finishing too soon.

“More, more, like that, don’t stop,” she repeated with her head thrown back.

When she came, she did it with a cry that seemed excessive for the building’s thin partition wall. I came inside her a few seconds later.

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

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Your medical history,” she replied. “I don’t think I’ll need it anymore.”

“Does that mean you’re discharging me?”

“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, freshly out of the shower. Normally, that sight alone would have driven me crazy. But I had just left a good part of myself in Carolina’s office, and my body, although willing, was running on empty.

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

“Fine. 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 by 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 somewhat younger, childless, with a more slender body. Marina had wider hips, softer buttocks, and fuller breasts from pregnancy. I gently pinched her buttocks as I used to when we were dating, and Marina understood at once. She turned onto her stomach and offered me her behind.

It wasn’t the first time. We’d done it since before we were married, not very often, but often enough that we didn’t need to talk about it. I placed a cushion beneath her hips and prepared her slowly. When I entered her, my mind was somewhere else. I imagined she was Carolina, and that thought carried me to the end with more force than I expected.

Marina came before I did, twice. When I let go, I collapsed onto her without separating our bodies for quite some time. For the first time in months, I felt something resembling peace. But I also felt something new. A small suspicion I didn’t yet know how to name.

***

Tuesday arrived, Carolina’s regular day. And this time Marina insisted on coming with me. I couldn’t talk her out of it. There was no way. I arrived at the office convinced that Carolina would cancel everything when she saw her, but I was wrong again.

As soon as I entered the office, Carolina licked her lips without trying to hide it and looked straight at my crotch.

“How come you brought Marina?”

“She insisted, and I didn’t know how to refuse.”

She stood up, came around the desk, and kissed me on the mouth as if we’d been dating for years.

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

That woman was incredible. She took off her skirt and underwear as easily as she opened a file. She pulled down my trousers and stood looking at what was in front of her.

“Come on, put it in. Don’t keep me waiting.”

But I had been turning an idea over in my mind for days. A specific idea, almost obsessive.

“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’d met her, Carolina hesitated.

“It’s just that… no one’s ever done that to me.”

“If you don’t try it, you’ll never know. I promise I’ll be careful.”

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

“Does it hurt?”

“A little. Keep going slowly.”

When she had finished yielding to me, I began to move. Carolina breathed with her mouth open and her eyes closed. Just then, the office door opened.

Marina entered without knocking.

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

“Wait,” she said.

Dazed, I watched Marina lift her skirt and reveal, without underwear, what she was wearing beneath it. She came toward 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. “Couples therapy, they call it. I was the one who called her.”

“You two…?”

“From the very first day,” Marina replied, closing her eyes when Carolina’s mouth sank between her legs.

I said nothing else. The sight of Marina surrendering to Carolina’s tongue while I thrust into the psychologist destroyed whatever remained of my dignity. I gripped Carolina’s hips and let go, no longer thinking about anything, until I emptied myself inside her with a hard thrust that left my legs trembling.

When I caught my breath, Marina looked up at me with a new smile. A smile I hadn’t seen in any year of our marriage.

“Welcome to therapy, Diego. Today we’re getting serious.”