Sex Addiction Therapy — Part 1 (erotica excerpt)
Mental health made for a controversial topic in modern society, particularly in the African American community. For so long, wearing the slightest emotion on the sleeve could have a black man perceived as weak by outsiders, siblings, mothers and all. This visit didn’t qualify as a mental health check per se, but for a dominant, ego-driven personality such as Connor, signing up for a session was quite the humbling admission.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bradley.”
Connor had no idea what to anticipate upon stepping foot into that office, which in and of itself, was unlike anything he could’ve ever imagined. For starters, the setting was blanketed in a refreshing color scheme. Crisp ivory walls provided a calm and relaxing backdrop for the modest arrangement of light cyan furniture and Irish green accents. Butted against one wall was the sofa. Though a common feature in such environments, it was probably better fit for a high-rise loft. Clients easily found comfort in its foam-fill faux leather and spring-in cushions. In the opposite corner sat a decadent chaise lounge chair that almost looked too lavish for this setting. The soft beige piece of office furniture boasted a sleek chrome finish with velvet upholstery wrapped around a curvy exterior. Topping off the distinct design was an adorable head pillow and timeless button tufts that fit snug in any generation.
“How are you this afternoon?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Connor gently retorted after mentally settling in.
He found the therapist seated at a centralized desk that looked as cozy as the complementary furnishings. Dr. Morelli wasn’t anything special in the looks department. Certainly had the smart and studious thing going with her Sarah Palin-esque hairdo and moderately thick silicone-framed glasses. At the very least, he could focus on processing his feelings without falling victim to lust over the course of their thirty-minute session.
“Please, have a seat,” the doctor offered.
After a moment of indecision, Connor carefully sat down in the lounge chair, resisting the urge to submit to its unyielding comfort. An inherited symptom of the always on defense system he adopted many years ago.
“I have to be honest, Mr. Bradley … I don’t get too many inquiries for sex addiction therapy.”
“Is that so? You seemed pretty passionate about it in your internet ad. Or I guess I should say convincing. I just figured it was …”
“I assure you there is no need to question my expertise, Mr. Bradley. While it’s rarely something my services are retained for, the topic does tend to come up quite a bit. Turns out sex addiction has strong ties to depression, alcoholism, and a host of other issues I deal with.”
“No worries,” Connor promised. “I have a feeling I’m very in good hands.”
“Excellent. So, how about we get started. Mr. Bradley, what I like to do before diving too deep with the boring, uhhh … therapy stuff … is to start off with some very simple questions. Like, why are you here?”
Connor pondered for a moment, embracing a woosah to wash away any trace of annoyance. Once he mapped out a path to the designated right foot, he commenced to fessing up. “Well, as I briefly explained in my inquiry … I have a crazy high sex drive. And I’m starting to worry it might be reaching an unhealthy point.”
“Point taken Mr. Bradley. Let it be known that we move at your pace. You can confide in me as much … as little … as you want.”
“Okay.” Connor paused for a deep breath. “Sex is constantly on my mind. I can go to the grocery store. And stand behind a nice looking woman in line. And by the time she’s paid for her items, I’ve already sexed her. In my mind, obviously. Vividly. I see it all play out like a montage. Even when I’m alone. Or involved with something that has absolutely nothing to do with sex. Crunching numbers at work, for example. In the back of my mind, it’s there. It’s like this crazy, burning desire. This strong, never-ending itch.”
“That’s pretty intense, Mr. Bradley. Kinda sounds like torture.”
“Yeah, I guess it is. Can be pretty maddening at times.”
“I’m curious to know how you deal with it. Clearly you haven’t come up with a way to cut it off completely. But what about neutralizing it? Sort of tone it down so it doesn’t consume you completely.”
“I’m not sure I’ve figured that out, just yet. More often than not I give in to it. Like a slave. An addict. But the relief. The high. The chemical dump … whatever it is … it’s temporary. Before long, everything is wound back up. Raging inside of me.” Connor chuckled after a short pause.
“What’s funny?”
“I even went back home to Michigan. Hoping I can find some clues to sort of nail down what led to all this.”
“Interesting,” Dr. Morelli added, jotting down notes in the billet she unsealed especially for this new client. “And what did you determine?”
“Well, after talking to some of my folks, probably safe to say I wasn’t molested … I think. And my paps was faithful to my mom. The only woman he dealt with until she died, which happened when I was too young to remember her. He didn’t bring a lot of women around me when we moved down south, either, so can’t really blame him as the bad influence. Spent the rest of my time dabbling in that sauce.”
“Sauce?”
“I just mean checking out the freak spots on the Detroit scene. There’s an underground kink culture in every city.”
An excerpt from The Fetish Dictionary: Kinks G thru W, now available wherever ebooks are sold.
(check back in to Medium for part two!)
Contel Bradford is a mystical and complex individual. You can attempt to unravel some of the mystery by visiting his author site at countkrewpublications.com.
