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 Brother's Wife Will Do Absolutely Anything To Pass College Algebra?

I would have liked to help my assistant, Tommy "Two Times" Johnson, with this problem before he actually tried to handle it himself. I think things would have gone a little better for him and his family. With Tommy's permission, I'm gonna share his story, so that perhaps, in the future, you'll know better how to handle this situation.

As a Doctor of Psychology, with an extensive practice, I must often utilize assistants from time to time. I have three assistants; Wally Mammoth, Tommy Johnson, and Connie Cryer, and all of which are students and/or teacher's assistants at the university. By the way, I also teach at the university from time to time. But like I said, my practice is quite extensive, and now, to go along with that, I've also started working on my first published work, that of which, you are reading right now.

Tommy Johnson, though he is much smaller in stature than Wally Mammoth, can still pack quite a punch. This is one of the reasons why he's so essential in my research. Take, for instance, what happened with his sister-in-law.

According to Tommy, this all happened about a year ago. Tommy, who is still an undergrad, had been putting off some of his gen-eds. One of those gen-eds was college algebra. It's not that algebra was particularly difficult for him. It's just it was tedious, or so he says.

Anyway, the time came where Tommy could procrastinate no longer and signed up for a summer session of college algebra, figuring this would make the class shorter, which in a way it did. Unfortunately, Heatherly, Tommy's sister-in-law had the same idea. And so, on the first day of class, Tommy, who was full of dread over taking the class, suddenly heard a familiar voice he couldn't quite readily place.

"Well, hello there," her mousy voice sang out.

Tommy cringed at the sound, as it somewhat startled him. Then he glanced over, and standing there was Heatherly, his sister-in-law, in all her brightly colored glory.

"Hi," Tommy uttered dryly.

"Jake was tired of me hanging around eating Bon-Bons all day. It's funny too, because I don't even know what Bon-Bons are. He told me, 'Heatherly, why don't you go do something. Get your nursing degree. Something. And maybe you can help out a little with all these bills.' To which I replied, 'Bills? Why, I thought bills were your department. While kids are my department.' Then he said, 'Well, do you see any kids running around here?' I told him, 'Nope, but that doesn't mean we won't be seeing them someday soon.' 'Right. Well while we're waiting, you can go get your nursing degree and help out with some of these bills.' Isn't your brother just a hoot?"

Tommy wasn't sure how to respond. His brother was just sort of a jerk. At least that's what Tommy thought of him. But he was big. And prone to fighting. Tommy knew that all too well from growing up being Jake's number one target for butt-kickings.

With nothing else to say, apparently, Heatherly decided to sit down next to her brother-in-law.

Once the class was underway, Mr. Jensen, the instructor, started laying down the class rules from the syllabus. After about fifteen minutes or so, Heatherly nudged Tommy's foot. Tommy sighed. Then he looked over. Heatherly was rolling her eyes as she sat hunched to her side and leaning against her arm.

"I'm so bored," Heatherly whispered a bit too loud.

Tommy nodded. "It's just the syllabus. It'll get better. I think."

"It better!" Heatherly sighed. "My first day of college and I'm already bored out of my mind."

After class, as folks were gathering their things together, Tommy was doing the same, thinking all the while about riding his bike home to see if he could catch Connie Cryer, one of my other assistants, on the phone, so he could talk to her while he masturbates, which was something he liked to do. Tommy has always been quite fond of Connie.

With these thoughts racing through his head, Tommy suddenly got a tap on his shoulder.

"You're gonna walk me to my car, right?" Heatherly asked, waiting.

Tommy nodded, reluctantly.

Not much was said as they walked to Heatherly's car. Then Heatherly decided to say, "Wow, feels like we've been walking for miles."

"Yep," Tommy uttered.

"It's true. I betcha I parked a good mile from our class. These parking lots are bigger than the mall parking lot, I swear!"

"Yep. Lots of students. Lots of parking."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not looking forward to this class."

"It's college algebra. It shouldn't be too hard. You took algebra in high school, didn't ya?"

"Yeah. I think. But that was what, ten years ago?"

"I think it'll all come back to you."

"You're so sweet."

Tommy shrugged.

"You know, I was really dreading this whole college thing. I mean, seriously dreading. But then I saw you there. And I thought to myself, 'You know what, Heatherly. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.'"

"Good," Tommy said, still thinking about Connie and what she might be doing and what she might be saying whilst, unbeknownst to her, he's beating himself senseless.

Heatherly continued, "I mean, how can I fail when you'll be right there, next to me, to help? I mean, you are gonna help me, right? You wouldn't let your own sister-in-law sink and drown right there next to you, would you?"

"I'm sorry. What? I was thinking about something else."

Heatherly looked disappointed.

"Help you? Yeah, I'll help you."

"Good, because Jake said he's gonna be pissed if I don't pass all my classes. That'd be pretty bad if I didn't pass the very first one, huh?" Heatherly laughed.

Tommy smiled, stilling thinking about Connie.

As the weeks passed, and the class progressed, it wasn't long before Tommy realized, no matter what, the compounding difficulty of an algebra class was more than likely impossible for Heatherly. This realization was a bit of nuisance to Tommy.

Plus, there was the issue of his own work being affected. To Tommy, the class wasn't all that difficult. The material came back to him from high school. Just like he thought it would. The problem was hiding this fact.

When he got papers back, he had to do his best to hide them from Heatherly. If she saw how well he was doing and how bad she was doing, well, instant depression would come over her. Tommy couldn't concentrate on his studies when Heatherly was sitting next to him contemplating driving her car into a tree on the way home.

Then, things took a turn. About midway through the semester, Heatherly's demeanor seemed to change completely. And Tommy was perplexed. He thought for sure she was just going to drop the class at some point. But no. Heatherly kept coming to class. And her hopeless descent seemed to miraculously turn around. How was it possible? Was she somehow getting it now? Perhaps, she was finally sticking with it instead of giving up before she even started. Tommy was pleasantly surprised and alleviated by the turn around.

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