What a warm and lovely day.

And so, on entering my room I switched on the radiator with the honest intention of making the room even warmer to ensure, of course, that client R., on receiving my lovely welcome, would slowly peel off all her clothes. And yet, as R. arrived wearing only the bare minimum, I felt my hopes had been simultaneously raised, and dashed. Does she not know that it is the slow revelation of flesh, not flesh itself, that excites and returns every man to his tortured playground.

I was aware that some consolidation was required in my work with R.and that, following the release of grief a fortnight ago, we needed to ground her experience and so, deciding to approach this indirectly, we spoke of something else entirely. So, she wants to have a baby. I allowed her a few minutes on this and it gave me, in my stillness, a chance to experience her physicality as she articulated, ruminated, as she talked herself into the space as entire subject while I sat back, a blessed object. I was mildly aroused by one or two signs of imitation but toward the end, as I crossed my legs and she crossed hers, I had already decided I didn't want any more children.

And so, as I left for the day, reflecting on the difficulties of presence and authenticity, the desperate urge to wreck our own peace, I had a sudden desire, or renewed desire, to see Thom's mother. Instead, I played safe with a quarter pipe and my old Mapplethorpe, limited edition.