Client R.

I woke early, unduly alert, and so, finding some Sibelius on the radio, I then felt a nagging need for a little ontological security, and so grabbed my dick. One or two indistinct scenario's vied for attention, but I was drawn by client R. and her transference, oh heck, her love for me and so I toyed with a little counter-transference of my own, and that was good. Of course, in the reality of the clinical setting this afternoon, the feelings were far more perverse than my imaginings (a la Koon, I was inclined to think afterwards). Client R. has a tenacious passion that would test any man's resistance and so, as she articulated yet another defence against herself, suggesting her feelings are not the transference of father issues, but they are present tense, normal and genuine as any feelings can be, I felt overcome with an afternoon lethargy that had a dangerous, decadent edge. I sensed this could only lead to an oral gratification, perhaps followed by cigarettes at the window, so I tried to centre myself with some deep breaths. However, within a few minutes, she was speaking from the throat and I drifted off, dazed by her white stockings and the hint of a ruddy nipple, aware of a decentering somehow related to my own father and the ontological insecurity I felt this morning, only pulling back from this by a mortal fear of wrecking my whole career for the sake of a blowjob.