What Do You Do When A Girl Has Trouble Opening Up Unless You're Fucking Her Nice And Slow?

This is an issue I think many therapist and intimacy counselors struggle with; a patient who simply won't open up. It's often difficult to find the key. I'm not suggesting you should go to the lengths I went to to get my patient to open up. And some might cry foul. But to those, I say poo poo. On you. Poo. And I mean that both as a pioneer in the intimacy wellness field and a general person in general.

Isobel Sunday was angry. This is all I knew. She was so angry in fact, she wouldn't even come to my office for a session. So, her parents and I had to get a little creative.

We had Isobel, who was a senior in high school, called down to the guidance counselor's office, where I would be waiting. Her usual guidance counselor, a Mr. Chapney, I believe, was glad to free up his office, having given up on getting anywhere with Isobel a long time ago. Some, including members of the faculty, even joked that Isobel and other difficult students like her had driven him to drink. 

When Isobel knocked, I was standing behind the door. "Come in," I said, muffling my mouth a bit with my cupped hand.

The door opened and Isobel peeked inside. I grabbed her hand and pulled her the rest of the way in and shut and locked the door. As soon as I let Isobel go, she slapped me across the face. Once. Twice. Three times. I grabbed her wrists.

"Let go of me! I'll scream!" Isobel hissed.

"No you won't," I said, bluffing.

"Why won't I?"

"Because if you do, I'm not sure what will happen to you. You see, Isobel, this is the end of the line for you. Everyone is at a total loss. And the next stop for you might be a mental hospital. You ever see One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest? Did that look like a vacation paradise?"

"Hospitals aren't like that anymore."

"Aw, don't let anybody fool ya. They're more like that than anyone would care to admit."

"What do you want from me?"

"Not very much. First, I would like you to stop hitting me. I'm generally a good person and don't appreciate being hit for no good reason. Second, I would like you to sit or lie down on this nice comfy couch. Third, I would like you and I to have a nice, polite conversation. Okay? Can I let you go?"

"Yes."

I released Isobel. She immediately sat down on the couch and put her book bag on the couch next to her and folded her arms and proceeded to stare off. I turned a nice comfy chair toward her and sat down. I reached over for my tape recorder and pressed record and grabbed my notebook and pen. Isobel was still sitting the same way. Her expression was angry and cold.

"Hello. My name is Dr. Mosely Untreu. I would like it if you call me Dr. Mosely. Or just Mosely. Or Mo. Or M." I smiled, slightly.

Isobel remained unchanged.

"Okay. I think we're doing great. Now, where were you when we called you down to the office?"

"Math."

"Would you like to return and maybe continue this at my home office, say, Tuesday at 4pm?"

"Yes. Thank you." Isobel stood up.

I stood up. "Isobel?"

"Yes?" she said, annoyed.

"What sort of things would you like for our session? Any particular music? Incense? Lighting? It's no wonder you wouldn't want to open up in here. Despite your usual Mr. Chapney's efforts, I find it a little cramped and sterile in here. Don't you?"

"I don't know. I like it in here. I like that it's small. I like that much."

"Good. Would you like to maybe stay a little longer? I think you could survive one day without math."

"Okay." Isobel sat back down.

"Would you like me to do anything else? Anything to help relax you. Is there anything in here you could do without?"

"That." Isobel pointed at a big colorful ceramic frog on the desk.

"Done." I put the frog in the desk.

"I've always hated that thing. It always makes me think somebody ate a rainbow and threw up all over it."

"What else?" I asked.

"Those stupid posters." Isobel pointed at all the cheesy posters about teen suicide or pregnancy.

"Absolutely. Wise choice. But before I do that, look what I found in good ole Chapney's desk." I held up an open bottle of red wine and a wine glass. "How old are you again?"

"18."

"Well, that was old enough to drink in 1976. And what's good enough for 1976 is certainly good enough for 2003." I poured some out in the glass and handed it to Isobel. "We'll have to share the one glass. So don't snoz it all down." I looked up at the posters. "Now, for those idiotic posters." I took them down and rolled them up.

While I did that, Isobel set her glass of wine down and got up to shut the lights off and closed the curtains most of the way, cutting the light in the room down significantly. "I don't like so much light," she said.

"Okay." I sat down in my chair.

Isobel sat down on the couch. "I'm a little cold. Is there a blanket in here?"

Isobel's outfit was a bit on the skimpy side, mostly black with a black and pink top, which was partly see-through, showing a blue bikini top underneath. She was also wearing extremely small black shorts, which made her extremely smooth-looking legs seem to go on forever. Then little black sandals. It was summer attire. But it wasn't quite summer yet. Plus, the school was a little on the cold side.

"Blankets?" I glanced around. I looked in a few drawers. "Here, why don't you use my jacket" I slipped off my jacket and laid it over her bare legs.

"Thank you."

"No problem. Music?"

Isobel pulled her Ipod out. But she didn't have a dock for it. I looked around and found a small radio. I turned it on, turning it to public radio, which was playing classical. I lowered it.

"When we meet in my office, we'll have access to more music. And you can bring your Ipod. I'm sure my daughter has one of those dock things. If not, I'll buy one. I've been meaning to update my music technology."

Isobel nodded and took a sip of wine.

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What Do You Do When Your Friend Asks You To Fill In For Him With His Wife On Scrabble Night While He's Away?

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What Do You Do When A Job Applicant Lists Fellatio As One Of Her Additional Job Skills?

Recently, I've been toying with a little hypothesis of mine. Something to combat, what I feel, is a growing epidemics in today's business world. And that is sluggish productivity. My theory is simple, but I would need an assistant to, well, assist me in conducting the experiment. And that's where Connie Cryer came in.

Once my wife, Jennifer, and I moved to New England, my practice really started to pick up. I was building a substantial practice and there was no looking back. Then I was approached to teach some classes at the local university. I decided to give it a go. I guess I was feeling pretty indestructible. This is when I first started utilizing the help of assistants. My assistants would help me research, compile data, conduct experiments, review clients, and whatever else was needed to continue in my psychological endeavors.

So, on that fateful day, when I was in my home office, easing back and reading through the applicants, there was one in particular who caught my eye. Her name was Connie Cryer.

For the most part, her credentials were pretty standard. She was a grad student at the university. She had done some work in the field. But frankly, it was her resume which particularly caught my eye.

Really, it was quite serendipitous. Right there, listed among her additional job skills was, of all things, fellatio!

After an extended game of phone tag, I was finally able to get Connie on the phone. To my delight, she sounded very well-spoken and appeared to know her stuff. I scheduled an interview for the very next day.

The next day, Connie arrived on time and dressed exquisitely. She wore a very respectable business suit and short skirt, with a white blouse that opened up low but not too low, revealing just enough cleavage to hold ones attention, which I thought highlighted her willingness to slut it up, while exercising just enough discretion. When she first arrived, I have to say, I was a little alarmed by her height, which couldn't have been more than 5 feet, which she attempted to combat by wearing very high heels. Her long dirty blond hair was corralled neatly and her makeup was very slight, very professional. I especially made note of her piercing blue eyes, which seemed to suspend me where I sat.

Connie's demeanor couldn't have been more pleasant. Her attitude reflected that of a very receptive, eager to learn person. To my delight, she was already quite a fan of mine. She was prepared to recite my history in the field of psychology, including my landmark discoveries and published essays on interpersonal relationships and intimacy. I was surprised when she mentioned a seminar I spoke at, when I first arrived in New England, and how she hoped to one day meet me, and if she's lucky, work with me. Sure, it could all be bullshit in order to get her foot in the door, but I was willing to accept her words on faith they were genuine. Cleavage can sometimes have that affect on a person.

"All right, well," I said as the interview was coming to a close. "Let me say, Miss Cryer, you strike me as a very impressive person, let alone candidate for this position. In fact, I'm tempted to forgo my other interviews and offer you the position outright."

"Go ahead. I won't mind." Connie smiled with a quick wink.

I smiled, seriously thinking about it. Especially since there were no other candidates I was considering. "Well. There's the matter of due process. And due diligence. As you start out in this field, especially with me, you will learn that I like to be thorough, and try to cover all our bases."

"Of course." Connie nodded, projecting disappointment.

"Oh, but be of good cheer. You've done extremely well for yourself. And I wouldn't be surprised if I'm calling you late this very day and offering you the position."

Connie lit up and then shot to her feet to shake my hand. "Thank you so much, Dr. Untreu!"

"Thank you, Miss Cryer."

And so, that's exactly what I did. After I shot a round of golf. I made the call and offered Connie the position, to which she accepted immediately, sounding as if she might be jumping for joy.

"Miss Cryer, there is one condition I failed to menion," I added.

"Yes. Anything!" she said, still sounding ecstatic.

"You must be available to start tomorrow. I have a hypothesis I've been anxious to start working on and I simply cannot wait any longer."

"Absolutely, Doctor! Whatever you say. Whatever you want. I will be there."

I choked a bit. "Splendid," I struggled to say.

The next morning couldn't come quick enough. I was thinking about my hypothesis the entire night. The logistics. And if it could even be done. I would know soon enough.

Connie arrived at 8 on the dot. My wife, to my disappointment, hadn't quite left yet. From what I understood, she would be going on a shopping trip to the Lakes Region with her niece, Kimberly, who had been living with us for some time now. Last minute, Kimberly got called into work at the veterinarian clinic. However, there was still a good chance my wife would be going anyway.

Regardless, I told my wife I would be busy working in my office all day and I wasn't to be disturbed. My wife, who might have already been starting to grow tired of me and my work, didn't say much about my request. However, I was pretty sure she'd honor it, either way.

Then I returned to my office, where I had asked Connie to wait.

Connie was wearing a more informal outfit than the day before. A similar blouse and long skirt and boots. Her long, wavy, dirty blond hair was down this time. She was sitting by the window where I had set up two chairs, overlooking the garden outside. I found it to be a peaceful place for my sessions. I sat opposite her.

"Hello, Connie," I said.

"Hello, Dr. Untreu," she said.

"You look very lovely."

"Thank you."

"By the way. I usually have my clients call me Dr. Mosely. I just like the way it sounds better."

"Absolutely. Dr. Mosely."

"Splendid." I opened up my folder. "Now, for my little hypothesis..."

Connie sat up, eager to hear about it.

"The problem is sluggishness. In the work place. Our task is to figure out what we can do to help increase productivity. And so, here's my hypothesis."

Connie listened intently.

"As you know, my specialty is in the arena of intimacy. So, my solution, naturally, is going to be related somehow to intimacy."

Connie nodded.

"And in this situation, what could possibly be added to the equation to remedy all this sluggishness. A little something to inspire workers to press on, and keep working?"

"I'm not sure."

"Think about it. What does a man desire?"

"Women?"

"Certainly. More specifically?"

"Women's breasts?"

"No. It's something that women do. Something to breathe life into an otherwise deflated man."

"I couldn't say."

"Of course you could say."

Connie thought about it. She considered her thoughts. Then, while still looking askance, "A blowjob?"

"Bravo! Give the lady a prize!"

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