“Actually, how about we do both.” He reaches into his desk, pulls out a magazine and slides it to me. I set the mag on the armrest between Lo and me, and then I flip it open, already knowing the drill. Nude women don’t make me aroused, but the photographs with the couples do. As soon as I glance at a picture—Buzzzzz!—the shock ripples through my wrist and up my arm.
I let out a short breath and clench my hand. Lo rubs my back, and another shock jostles my wrist. My hand twitches.
“What the hell?!” Lo shouts.
Dr. Evans ignores Lo for the moment. “Look at the pictures, Lily, and describe a fantasy you might have if you were staring at these on your own.”
I instinctively glance at Lo, considering he would be in my fantasy, which is the wrong reaction. The shock pulses through my hand again, and I try to keep my arm still so Lo can’t tell. But he’s breathing heavily beside me, forcing himself in the seat and not at Dr. Evans’ throat.
“Loren, can you please move to the other chair.” Dr. Evans points to a cushiony one in the corner, as far away from me as possible.
Lo opens his mouth, and I have to cut him off. Last time he told Dr. Evans to suck his cock, and I’m not sure that’s going to blow over well a second time. “He’s fine. I don’t even see him,” I say quickly, returning my focus to the pictures.
Buzzzz! I flinch. What did I do?
I’m starting to think Dr. Evans just likes to press that little button.
“Find a picture that’s particularly arousing for you.”
I flip through the magazine, bypassing all the large jugs and vaginas but having no luck. They really don’t make these for women. “Anything?”
“The internet just has a better selection,” I admit, still flipping aimlessly.
“Use this then.” He holds out an electronic tablet. I haven’t been on the internet since Lo banned surfing the web, and the lack of temptation has been nice. My days are easier without it.
I swap the magazine for the tablet and log onto Tumblr. This feels different than browsing through the magazine. Maybe because this has been a staple in my routine. I haven’t looked at mags since high school.
Having Dr. Evans watch me do this is a little personal.
“Find a photograph and describe your fantasy.”
I don’t want to, but I remind myself that my parents have been dealing with more difficult stuff than this. Suck it up, Lily.
I easily land on one that causes me to shift in my chair. A sting pinches my wrist. Fuck. I cringe, and Lo cranes his neck to look at the tablet.
“Talk,” Dr. Evans urges.
It’s a gif of a girl without any pants （or underwear） and a fully clothed guy. We can only see the lower half of the couple, but the guy runs his hand back and forth between her legs. “My fantasy?” I ask, wanting to avoid this portion.
“Yes, what do you visualize when you look at the photo.”
“Lo,” I say, “doing this to me, and then maybe he’d actually put his fingers…in…” Buzz! Buzzz! Buzzzz! “Motherfucker,” I curse under my breath and close my eyes tight.
“Take it easy, Oliver,” Lo sneers.
“Find another, Lily.”
I scroll through the tablet and land on a photograph of a girl’s oiled ass, but large male hands massage her butt and even edge closer and closer to her clit. Holy shit. Buzz!
The shock doesn’t dissuade me from picturing Lo massaging me this way. Maybe he’ll get some ideas from this session. Maybe it’s worth the pain.
But as Dr. Evans shocks me again, all my thoughts morph into shame. I guess, I shouldn’t want to like this. Dr. Evans boosts my fears when he says, “You’re trying not to be deviant anymore. This is bad.” He shocks me one more time and I wince. “Understand that we’re trying to relate these images to a negative stimuli. You should reach the point where these images don’t arouse you anymore. We’re going to shock the whore out of you, one way or the other.”
I give Lo another look but his lip has curled into disgust and he grips the armrest with white knuckles.
The clock ticks languidly.
We have one more hour.
***
My favorite part of therapy is the ride home. Even though I feel like I’m a million leagues below the sea, Lo never stops talking. He brings me back to the surface.
I press my forehead to the fogged window, rain pelting the glass. After four weeks in a drought, the downpour almost feels like a dream. He flicks on the windshield wipers and navigates the road. “Next session I’m going to call him a whore,” Lo tells me. “Give him a taste of his own fucked up medicine.” His eyes keep flitting to me in concern.