I've fallen in love with my psychiatrist. At least, I think I have.
Or maybe she's manipulated me into falling in love with her.
Her voice is smooth and sweet and slow; she takes long pauses between each thought, and never breaks eye contact; she's like a cult leader.
And with her cult leader voice, she asks, "Do you want to fuck me?"
Her mannerisms are slow and deliberate. She doesn't allow anyone else in the room during our sessions. She locks the door. Sometimes she takes her shirt off and complains about how hot it is.
She isn't wrong. The only place that's cold is the showers. The shower room is frigid. I like to stay under the faucet as long as I can because it's the only place where I can cool down.
The water turns to snow as soon as it leaves the showerhead. I wash myself with snow.
And my psychiatrist, she gives me her shirt to dry myself with. She says, "I want you to think of me when you shower. I want you to touch yourself."
And she asks, "Do you want to fuck me?" What am I supposed to say to that? Yes? No? Maybe? I say, "What about the cameras?" She says "What cameras?" And the cameras disappear.
Sometimes I think I'm losing my mind.
She makes me massage her feet while we talk. Sometimes she feels my dick from over my clothing.
Sometimes I feel like I'm losing my mind; I was supposed to be out of here by Christmas, but on her recommendation I have to stay another 3 months. She says I have delusions of grandeur.
What do I say to that?
"I love you too."