Chapter 6
Lane
The next day, I arrived at Dr. Cohen’s office for our session. Amelia, the receptionist - a kind Asian girl who looked to be around my age - lit up as I walked up to the check-in desk.
“Hey, Mr. Bennett! Let me just tell Dr. Cohen you’re here,” she smiled. “He just came back from a break between patients, so I have to check to make sure he’s ready for you.”
Amelia speedily dialed his extension, tapping her manicured nails on her desk as she waited for him to pick up. She gave me a nod before speaking into the phone, “Hi, yes, he just arrived.” She nodded again, responding, “Okay, just a sec!” Putting the phone back on its receiver, she said to me, “He asked if I could just send you back, I think he’s just getting his things back together or something. Do you know the way? If not, I can totally walk with you!”
I gave her a friendly smile. “No, I got it, but thank you.”
I opened the door to enter the hallway leading to Dr. Cohen’s room. Finding his door, I knocked.
The door swung open and I was faced with a smiling Dr. Cohen. He stepped to the side to allow me entrance into the room.
“Lane, come in. How have you been since I last saw you? Or rather, our last session,” he joked. His face then softened as he asked gently, “Any new issues since the break-in?”
I shook my head as I answered, “No, nothing’s happened Um… Can I ask you something, though? It’s just that it’s… I’m not sure - I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.” I glanced up and met his eyes.
“You can ask me anything, Lane. I promise I will not judge you,” he replied gently.
“Okay.” I took a deep breath and spilled. “Uh, well - I think I like the attention I’m getting from whoever this person is. Ugh, I don’t know. That probably makes me sound pathetic. But, I guess in the back of my mind, I thought they’d get tired of it and move on. I mean, it still hasn’t been very long but they’ve been leaving me more flowers and stuff and… I don’t know - It’s dumb.”
I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the judgement I knew would be in Dr. Cohen’s eyes.
“Hmm.” Dr. Cohen spoke carefully, “Are you not used to getting attention?”
“I mean - No and yes,” I hesitated, opening my eyes to find Dr. Cohen’s curious gaze on me. I began to fiddle with the rings I had on while answering, “I’m used to attention, but it never lasts long. Like I’ll have a guy’s attention for the couple hours I’m with him, but then once the interaction is over, it’s gone. I think it’s that their interest is only in what they can get from me, not actually me?”
“I see. Do you get a lot of those spurts of attention?” he asked, a tick in his jaw.
“Oh. Um, no - not anymore,” I answered quickly, not wanting him to think anything bad of me.
Dr. Cohen tightly smiled as he questioned further, “Anymore? Let’s expound on that. I’m sure it will give us some insight on your current… issue.”
“Ah, okay. Well, do you remember the cousin I told you about? Tate?” He nodded, expression softening instantaneously. I continued, “Well… The stuff with him ended when I was twelve. I kinda tried to pretend it didn’t happen for a while. Isolating myself and convincing myself it wasn’t anything I needed help with. Then when I was fourteen, I told people about being assaulted - not the full extent of it - but still. And um… Well, you know how most boys going through puberty are. And I know the abuse would have affected me at any age, but I think that it messed something up with… Ugh. My sex drive? My attraction towards others? It just didn’t seem like my body wanted that sort of thing. And that was fine for a few years, but then I did start feeling attraction towards other boys. But… when I went to…do things - I couldn’t get hard. I desperately wanted a relationship and I was definitely interested in sex, but it’s like my body thought otherwise.” I paused, looking at the slight furrow in his brow.
“That’s rather normal. Each survivor is going to be different, but typically they either develop a deep aversion to sexual acts, or become hypersexual as a healing mechanism - reclaiming their sexuality, per se. Are you comfortable continuing?”
I nodded, “I learned about the sexual aversion thing myself, and I thought maybe exposure therapy would help?” He raised his brows, surprise evident in his expression. “I had tried a few things in high school with classmates but not much. So I wasn’t too concerned about it then. But, when I went to college, I decided to start trying harder. I assumed that if I got used to things, then it’d fix everything, and then I could get a serious partner, you know? The first year, I tried to hookup with fifteen guys. And I don’t want to slut-shame myself, but I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds! Well, I mean… it is still bad in a way. I don’t know. Anyways, I never got aroused and had to stop each time before it even got under the clothes or anything. A lot of them would get pretty angry at me, but even if I’m a bottom, I feel like being hard is a prerequisite of sex? Being touched never scared me, but it was more like I was numb to any physical stimuli. After that, I’ve tried a handful of times, maybe four or five. Same results. I gave up almost a year ago now.”
He tilted his head, “What do you mean by saying that you gave up?”
“Oh… Well, I stopped trying. Stopped looking for hookups, stopped myself from getting too close to guys, stopped believing that I’ll ever have someone of my own,” I said, a solitary tear dancing down my cheek.
His expression looked pained as he murmured, “Oh, Lane…” Suddenly, he got up from his chair and sat on the other end of the couch. He very lightly placed a hand on my lower thigh as he said, “You’re so young… I understand no longer entertaining casual encounters but… you shouldn’t give up on having a long-term partner.”
I stared, perplexed by the weight of Dr. Cohen’s touch. He gently squeezed my thigh, igniting a heat that shot to my groin. His thumb rubbed small circles on my skin, making it unbearable for me to look away. I was wearing a tennis skirt, which left the majority of my legs bare. Not a minute later, he removed his hand, but remained sitting on the couch with me. I continued to stare at the part of my thigh that his hand had been on for several seconds, amazed at the tingling sensation I was feeling.
“Have you had intercourse with anyone after the abuse?” He asked.
I shook my head, replying, “No. But it’s really not that I don’t want to, it’s just that it never works.”
“What sexuality do you identify with?”
“Homosexual,” I scoffed, not understanding what he was getting at.
Dr. Cohen nodded before asking, “Have you considered you may be asexual or demisexual?”
“I’ve thought about asexual, but I want to have sex. And I’m not sure what demisexual is.”
“Well, some people who identify as asexual are attracted to the idea of sex - the intimacy of it - but not the act itself. Others are aroused when consuming erotica, but are averse to partaking in sexual activity with another person. Some simply aren’t interested in it in any way, but asexuality as a whole is certainly more complex than just that. It’s also not something that doesn’t allow you to be in a romantic relationship. On the other hand, someone who identifies as demisexual may only experience sexual attraction and arousal with a person they have a strong emotional bond with. From what we’ve spoken about, I think that could potentially be you - but - that’s not something I can determine for you as an outsider. Regardless of sexuality, I believe that your past experience - and only experience - with sex is greatly affecting your ability to engage in sexual activity with others. Lane, you went through a very traumatic situation, spanning two years, at such a young age. The body remembers trauma, even if the mind tries to suppress it. For a moment, think about the memories you have of sex. What were you feeling when the sexual abuse was actively occuring?”
I couldn’t help the tears escaping, my heart fracturing as I remembered. Tentatively, I spoke, “Confusion, fear, despair, pain, guilt, regret, self-loathing, discomfort.” He nodded emphatically, causing me to falter as my cries became heavier. “I remember him holding me down, fingers wrapped so tightly around my biceps that I was scared he was going to break my arms. I remember the bruises in the shape of fingerprints that I painstakingly hid from my parents. I remember him telling me that I liked what he was doing, because sometimes my body would react to his touch involuntarily. That if I ever came - despite the never-ending hatred towards myself when it happened - that it meant it was consensual because I enjoyed it. I remember him groping me under the table at family events, abusing me right in front of our family members. And I was so fucking terrified that one of them would see and I’d get in trouble. My parents had already given me the whole sex talk and I knew they expected me to wait until I was much, much older, even married, before –” I choked on the words, my hands shaking as I continued.
“I thought they’d be furious and disappointed and possibly disown me. I was fucking ten. Eleven. Twelve. That wasn’t sex, and they would have never seen it as me being promiscuous, they would’ve seen it for what it was - rape. I remember how the first time that he raped me, my asshole tore and I hid the blood from my parents. I remember when I vomited from searing pain the second time because he didn’t wait until I had healed. I remember how I couldn’t - can’t - have alfredo sauce on pasta anymore because we ate it one night, after he had just forced me to swallow his cum, and he made a joke about the sauce looking like semen. I remember thinking I was going to literally drown on his cum because he would hold his hand over my mouth until I swallowed every drop. I remember him –” I wasn’t able to finish my sentence before becoming unable to speak, overwhelmed by the force of my sobs.
Dr. Cohen slid towards me on the couch, wrapping his arms around me, hushing and cooing at me. I leaned into his embrace, placing my head on his chest, hands clenching his shirt. My tears were absolutely soaking his clothing, but he didn’t say a word. He stroked my hair as he rocked us ever so slightly from side to side.
He didn’t let go as he whispered, “That’s why, baby. Your only experience with sex taught you that it wasn’t a pleasurable act - it was torture. Shhh, it’s okay.”
He continued holding and rocking me until I had no tears left. He spoke about random news articles he had read about, the newest baby animal at the city’s zoo, anything to calm my aching mind. Eventually, I glanced over at the clock.
“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s past our hour,” I mumbled.
He gave my head one last pet as he released me from his arms. Gently smiling at me, he said, “It’s alright, I didn’t have anyone scheduled after you. Besides, I feel like we’re making progress today. Are you able to stay a bit longer? I’d like to just ask some lowball questions - make sure you’re alright before I let you drive home. ”
I rubbed my eyes, hiccuping, “Yeah, that’s okay. I didn’t have any plans tonight anyways.”
Still on the couch but no longer touching me, he took a deep breath before offering me another soft smile.
“Would it be alright to circle back to giving up on finding a partner?” He asked, throwing me off guard.
“Oh… Uh, sure. Yes, that’s fine. I don’t really remember what I was saying before. Me being an attention whore?” I joked.
He laughed, “I wouldn’t put it like that, but I do think you crave attention. However, it’s not unwarranted. You’re used to potential partners only giving you attention when they want sex. I don’t think it’s wrong for you to be soaking up the attention your stalker is providing. I’m of course concerned for your safety in the situation, but I understand where your feelings are coming from. Your needs for a potential partner aren’t unusual, but since you haven’t experienced a healthy romantic relationship before, you’re going to feel attached to anyone showing you attention, even if it’s toxic. I’d like to try an exercise with you - how would you describe your ideal partner?”
“And this will help me how?” I pondered aloud.
“Ah yes, you must excuse me - I’d like you to list off attributes you want or need in a potential partner. We’ll also make a list of your needs in a relationship. I simply believe that you need to be shown that your wants and needs are not so ridiculous that they’d inhibit someone from entering into a relationship with you.” He offered me a smile.
“Oh, sure. Um… Are we talking physically?”
“Let’s do physical traits and personality attributes for the first list, and things you would like or need your partner to do or provide in a relationship for the second list. It might seem silly, but I promise that it’ll be helpful for you.” He tapped his pen expectantly against his notebook.
I huffed out a small laugh, “Well, alright. A man– obviously,” Pausing for a moment, I asked, “You have to promise not to laugh or anything, okay?”
He chuckled, “I promise, Lane. Just say whatever comes to mind, don’t think about it too hard.”
“Okay… I guess someone intelligent… assertive… established? Like he’d have a job and a place to live. I’m not picky about physical appearance but I’d like someone bigger than me, that I feel safe with. Dominant? Someone who could make most of the decisions for me, that I could trust to take care of me like that, and umm… Uhh… Okay, I can focus! I don’t want to seem like a gold digger, but I’d really like a partner who could spoil me a little bit. Not like anything too crazy, you know? Oh! He’d also have to be nice to my cat, Chloe! Maybe someone a bit older than me…?”
He grinned, teasingly he said, “So, a Daddy?”
If I had been drinking anything, I would have done a spit take. My entire body seemed to flush. I stammered, “I mean– If you wanna call it that…”
His head tilted, clocking my full-body blush with a grin. A predatory look glinted in his eyes for a moment, but he quickly laughed it off.
“It’s okay, Lane, we all have our preferences,” he teased, not helping my embarrassment.
“Ughhh, please just forget about that,” I whined, hiding my face behind my hands.
“Alright, alright,” he mused. Looking at the time, he said, “I suppose it’s getting late. Do you think you’re okay to drive home now? Are you feeling a bit better?”
I smiled, saying, “Yes, I’ll be okay. Thank you– for everything.”
As we stood, he gave me a quick hug. “Okay, please be safe. I’d like to see you back in a week. Does that work for you? Amelia’s probably left by now, but I can make sure she schedules it first thing tomorrow.”
“Sure, that’ll be fine,” I agreed. After deciding on a date and time, Dr. Cohen escorted me outside, locking the door to the office behind us.