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CougarGirl
Star
- Joined
- Nov 5, 2013
This follows on from “Raped by my son 2 – the police interrogation”
It took me a while before I could accept that counselling might help. But what the hell, it couldn’t make things any worse, could it? I’d been raped by my son and treated as a child molester by the police. If anyone needed counselling, I did. So I booked an appointment.
I met Sally at her office. It wasn’t at all what I had expected. No couch for me to lie on. No subdued lighting for relaxation. Just a typical office in a typical building furnished with the typical desk and chairs.
I outlined what had happened and waited for her to start counselling me.
‘How can I help?’ she asked.
‘How can you help?’ What a stupid question. ‘You can get the police to believe me and arrest my son and let me tell the jury what the little bastard did to me, that’s how you can help.’
‘I don’t want to put words into your mouth, but I’m detecting some anger issues. Am I right?’
‘Anger, of course you’re detecting anger. How would you feel?’
‘This isn’t about me, it’s about you and your feelings. My role is to help you sort out those feelings and work through them. You tell me how you feel and we’ll take it from there.’
‘OK, so I’m angry. No actually I am absolutely tamping mad. So there you go, take it from there.’
She remained irritatingly calm.
‘Right, anger it is then. That’s as good a place to start as any. What are you angry about?’
‘Come on. I just told you my history and you ask why I am angry? Isn’t it obvious? Do I really need to spell it out?’
‘I didn’t ask you why you were angry. I asked what you were angry about, not why.’
I swallow hard and fight to keep my patience with this woman. If this is supposed to be helping, I don’t see how.
‘I am angry about being raped, which I think is a reasonable, rational and proportionate response for any woman and for a mother in particular. And I am angry that the police have been taken in by the way my son skewed a perfectly innocent series of events into something obscene.’
She patted a slim file on her desk.
‘The police have provided me with the statements that you and your son made. I’d like you to put yourself into their position and tell me what you’d do. Here are two statements of the same incident. The basic facts are identical. All that differs is the interpretation of those facts. The police weren’t there. And if they were, they wouldn’t be able to see into the minds of the participants. How would you decide who to believe?’
‘That’s easy. I’d believe me.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because I’m telling the truth. I’m the mother. Mothers don’t have sex with their sons, we’re programmed against it. It’s immoral, obscene and disgusting. So why would a mother rape her own son?’
‘One possibility is that you were so aroused by the film you were watching that you weren’t thinking straight. When had you last had sex, sex with a partner, a man?’
I needed to correct this right away and to put her straight on some history while I was at it.
‘For a start, I was not aroused. I had only just settled down. The opening titles had barely finished. And as for sex, the answer is 12 years, 7 months, 18 days and 4 and a half hours. I can tell you the time, because my husband fucked me and then told me he was leaving. He’d barely pulled out. I can still see his cum hanging from his cock and dripping onto my belly. I can still feel the small hot blobs running off me. Does that answer your question?’
‘Thank you, yes it does. It obviously made a big impression on you. Traumatic events often do imprint themselves into our memories like that. And memories that linger can have a lasting effect.’
‘Hang on just a minute. Are you suggesting that I was so frustrated that I had to rape my own son? Is that it? Well let me tell you that I have had plenty of offers. I just haven’t bothered with them. My husband betrayed me and left me, left me for his PA, left me with his son. I found fulfilment through my work and bringing up our son. I am not one of those women who depend for their satisfaction on a man and his cock.’
I glared across the desk, hinting as plainly as I could that she was one of those women.
‘No, you are wrong. I am not suggesting anything as crude as that. I just noticed that you were watching a lesbian film. Had you seen it before?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I had. It’s one of my favourites.’
‘Tell me about it. What’s the storyline?’
‘Storyline?’ I laughed. ‘These films don’t have storylines. Well nothing you’d call one. Just a peg on which to hang a meeting between a couple that leads to sex. This one involved a new gay PA who seduces her straight boss.’
‘Have you been seduced by your PA?’
‘No, I most certainly have not.’ This was another line of investigation that I could shut down right away. ‘She’s in her sixties with 8 grandchildren.’
‘And the other films, your other favourites. What are they about?’
‘The same sort of thing. Lesbian lovers.’
‘Have you ever had sex with a woman?’
‘No, no I have not. It’s just a fantasy that’s all. We all have fantasies. The whole point is to fantasise about something different from reality.’
‘And what for you was reality?’
Sally said she wanted to help, and she couldn’t do that if I wasn’t completely honest with her. So what exactly was my reality? It took me a long time to work out the answer.
‘Work first and foremost. Work because I had to support myself and my son. Work because I enjoyed it, always have enjoyed it, because it made me feel worthwhile and fulfilled. Distrustful, that was another of my realities, especially of men. Who won’t be? I mean, the guy made love to me – no he didn’t do that, he just had sex with me – knowing all along that he was leaving me. He knelt there with his sperm dripping onto me. Fuck, Sally, I had just cum, I was still feeling the waves and he tells me, that’s it, that the last orgasm you’ll be getting from me and here’s the last of my sperm to keep you going.’
I pause to collect myself.
‘And my son. He was my other reality, but he’s gone now and I won’t be taking him back, not if he crawls on his knees and begs me. Despite all the time and effort I’ve put in to bringing him up, he’s turned out as twisted and warped as his father.’
I wipe away a tear that has forced its way out of the corner of my eye.
‘So that’s it. I was right not to trust men. Both the men I trusted have betrayed me. And I’ve lost the things that mattered most to me. Even my work is in ruins. I was good at my job, it was an important job, but I needed authority. How can I command respect from anyone when I let myself raped by a child, my own child?’
I stare back, pleading with my eyes for her to start this healing process that her counselling is supposed to bring for me.
‘Your husband’s behaviour made a lasting impression on you. Might not the police think that you were taking revenge on your son, your husband’s son, for how he treated you?’
‘Sorry, taking revenge? Just how exactly was I doing that?’
‘By humiliating him. Making him show himself to you like a child when he is a man now. Causing him pain by examining him when you knew he was sore. By handling his penis when that wasn’t necessary. By arousing him or at least carrying on when you saw he was becoming aroused.’
I cannot believe what she is suggesting.
‘Look, this wasn’t about me taking revenge on my husband or men in general by humiliating my son. What I did was to respond to my natural maternal instincts. He was in pain and I wanted to be sure he was OK. I wasn’t thinking about what I was wearing or whether I was leading him into my bedroom or he was getting an erection. All those things were happening, sure, but I was only thinking about him and his pain and whether he had suffered any damage. He is a man, as you say, and his balls are important to him and to his future. He’s no use if he’s impotent or infertile, is he? I just wanted to make sure he was OK. Nothing more. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, it is clear, very clear. It is very clear that that was how you felt. But how did he feel? Did he know that that was what was in your mind? Like you say, he is a man and men aren’t usually taken into a bedroom by a nearly naked mature woman who handles their genitals unless there is a sexual interest there. I’m not saying he was right, just asking if that may not be how he saw it.’
‘Just what sort of person, what sort of mother, does he think I am? The sort who would seduce her own son? He’s never had any reason to think of me like that? He’s never seen me with another man, except his father? Besides, I’ve not brought him up to think of women as sexual objects.’
‘He told the police that he knew about your online porn and your vibrator and how you spent your time on a Saturday afternoon. How did he know that?’
‘No idea. You tell me. Snooping probably. Checking my browser history maybe. Going through my drawers perhaps. Doesn’t that tell you something about what he is like? Spying on his own mother. What sort of son would do that?’
‘I was wondering if he might have seen you, caught you in the act so to speak.’
‘No way. I was always careful. It’s not the sort of thing a mother would want her son to watch. He was out and I always kept an ear open in case he came back early for some reason, like he did this time.’
‘Yes, but this time you were only just starting. Isn’t it possible that you might have been so engrossed in what you were doing that you didn’t hear him?’
‘I’m sure I would have heard him. but even if he did come in, why would he want to watch me? That isn’t a natural act for a son is it? He’s been brought up to respect privacy.’
‘It’s possible, I don’t know, I’m just trying to get you to explore possibilities, that he may have thought you were in pain. A woman’s orgasm can sound like she is in pain, especially for a boy who doesn’t have any sexual experience. He might have been concerned and come to check if you were OK, but you didn’t notice.’
‘Don’t tell me that he doesn’t have sexual experience. I’ve been raped by him remember. He certainly wasn’t a virgin, that’s for sure.’
‘Did he ever walk in on you and your husband making love?’
‘Only once, although we weren’t making love. We were always very careful to make sure we weren’t disturbed. My husband found it put him off his stride if he was worried about being interrupted. It wasn’t conducive to him providing a satisfactory performance.’
‘What a lovely way to put it. You mean he couldn’t get hard, is that it?’
I nodded.
‘I see. Now you say you were interrupted but you weren’t making love? What were you doing?’
This was not somewhere I had been for a long time and I had no wish to go there now.
‘All I meant was that we were having sex.’
‘And that is different from making love?’
‘Definitely. Don’t you agree? Mechanical sex without emotional connection is just that, it doesn’t count as love.’
‘And mechanical sex was what you were having, or trying to have, when your son came home early.’
I nodded again, unsure where she was heading off to this time. but she didn’t follow that up. Instead she back tracked.
‘Why was it that you were just having mechanical sex with your husband rather than making love when your son interrupted you?’
Shit.
‘He didn’t interrupt us. We weren’t aware that he was there, watching, listening, not until it was over. If we had realised, things might have been different.’
‘Different? How?’
Double shit.
‘We’d been going through a rough patch. It was a few months before he eventually left. I was convinced that he was having an affair with his PA, so I had withdrawn privileges.’
‘By which you mean?’
‘No sex.’
‘Is that how you saw sex with your husband, as a privilege?’
‘Certainly. And it was a privilege that he forfeited just as soon as I got wind that he had his cock up his cute little PA's cunt.’
‘Right, but on this occasion he was having sex with you, so you had reinstated his privileges. How did that come about?’
‘No, I hadn’t. That was the whole point. I had not reinstated privileges.’
‘Isn’t it time that you stopped hiding behind these fancy expressions of yours? “Conducive to providing a satisfactory performance.” “Privileges.” What is it that you are trying to say here?’
Did I need to spell it out? Was she so stupid that she couldn’t see for herself?
‘You’re a woman. Put yourself in my position? What do you think it means?’
‘I know what I think it means, but I need to be sure and I cannot help you if you won’t acknowledge it to yourself. Admitting something to yourself is essential to a full healing process.’
‘OK. You want the full story. It was about six months after I had begun to suspect that something was going on and it didn’t take me long to work out who she was. I confronted him naturally. He didn’t admit it but he wouldn’t deny it either. So I said, “Right, that’s it. Privileges are cancelled. You need a fuck, go to her.” Well at first that must have been what he did, because he didn’t argue or try to push it with me. But then something happened. Maybe they fell out or something. But he obviously wasn’t getting his normal rations at work and he started pestering me for sex. But I held out. No sex unless and until he sacked his PA. But he wouldn’t sack her. He assured me that nothing was going on any longer, but said that she was good at her job and he didn’t want to dismiss her.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘Actually, yes, I did, about the sex anyway. He was getting so frustrated and that could only mean they weren’t together any more.’
‘So why didn’t you reinstate his privileges?’
‘Because he wouldn’t give me the reassurance I wanted. I was entitled as his wife to know where I stood and I couldn’t be sure so long as she was around him every day. OK, so she may have been good at her job. But there are lots of good PAs around. He could easily have found another one if he really wanted to, if this thing with her was really over, if he really respected me.’
‘You say he was getting frustrated. How did you feel?’
‘Frustrated, just as much as he was, more so probably because unlike him I’d not been serviced for months. And to save you asking, no I wasn’t using porn and a vibrator, that only came later, much later, long after he’d left.’
‘So tell me what happened the night your son saw you having mechanical sex. How was it that you weren’t aware that he was there?’
‘My husband snapped. He told me that he was entitled to have sex. It was his right as my husband. I couldn’t deny him. I was just torturing him for my perverted pleasure. He went on and on about how desperate he was. How this was preventing him concentrating at work, how he was making mistakes. And then he started threatening me.’
‘Threatening? How?’
‘He said that he was only a normal man with natural needs. How did I expect him to keep control with his PA around him all the time? I’d be to blame if he went back to her. He was making out like I would be responsible for him rekindling the affair if I wouldn’t give in. Well, I wasn’t going to be blackmailed like that. There was a lot of screaming and shouting. I screamed at him that he should have fucked his PA if that is what he wanted. He shouted at me that he wanted me. I shouted back that he had a funny way of showing it. That was when he snapped.’
‘Snapped?’
‘Snapped. He stopped shouting and became very calm. He told me very clinically that he would show me how he felt about me. I was terrified; I’d never seen him like this before. He grabbed me and threw me onto the bed. I expected him to hit me, but he ripped off my clothes, threw them around and then …’
‘Yes, then … Go on, say it. Then …’
I take a deep breath and give her what she wants to hear.
‘He raped me. Took me. I struggled, screamed at him to stop, scratched him, tried to buck him off, but he was too strong, too determined, too rampant. It seemed to go on for ages. It was after, when he’d finished that we realised our son was standing in the doorway.’
‘And what about your feelings in all this? How did you feel about what had happened?’
I slowly spell my feelings slowly, realising at last where this session may be leading.
‘Shocked. Violated as a woman. Degraded as a wife. Humiliated to be treated like this, especially in front of my son. And … aroused.’
‘Aroused?’
‘Yes, aroused. Not by the rape. No woman would be aroused by being raped. But remember that I’d not had sex for even longer than my husband. I had a mind blowing orgasm. Like nothing I’d experienced before.’
‘Did you tell him about that?’
‘No, well, I mean, I didn’t need to. I was writhing, shouting and screaming by the end. He didn’t need to be told. It was obvious.’
‘Despite that, you got back together. You reinstated his privileges.’
‘Yes, I suppose it made me realise that the affair was over. Until he told me that it wasn’t.’
I sit back and wait for Sally to say something, but she sits and looks back, saying nothing. I know she is waiting for me to draw my own conclusions. I put my thoughts to her.
‘So you’re saying that he was copying what he saw my husband do. That he associated rape with showing me how much he loved me. That what has happened is my husband’s fault, not his.’
She thought for a long time, or maybe she was just sitting waiting to see if I said anything else. But I didn’t.
‘Those are interesting thoughts. But remember that this session isn’t about attributing blame or responsibility; it’s about your feelings and coming to terms with them. How does what you’ve told me help with that?’
More time to think.
‘That the films, the gay PA seducing her boss is somehow working out my feelings about my husband and his affair..’
Sally nods, encouraging me to explore further.
‘That the most intense sexual feelings I’ve ever had, the most satisfying have been when I was raped.’
Sally reaches forward and takes hold of my hands.
‘Yes, that is often a woman’s experience. They don’t want to be raped but they can’t control their response. It’s a physical response, not an emotional one, but it’s a powerful one. And that is why we feel such shame about what has happened to us. We feel that we shouldn’t have had that wonderful experience. That it should have been disgusting and horrible. Is it any wonder that we feel as we do, angry, degraded, humiliated, violated. We’d feel all those things anyway, but those feelings are intensified by our disgust at our body’s response. That is what we have to come to terms with.’
I squeeze her hands and think about what she has said.
‘Hang on, you said “we”. Does that mean that you’ve been raped and felt as I do?’
Sally nods. I keep hold of her hands. It feels as if we are healing each other.
It took me a while before I could accept that counselling might help. But what the hell, it couldn’t make things any worse, could it? I’d been raped by my son and treated as a child molester by the police. If anyone needed counselling, I did. So I booked an appointment.
I met Sally at her office. It wasn’t at all what I had expected. No couch for me to lie on. No subdued lighting for relaxation. Just a typical office in a typical building furnished with the typical desk and chairs.
I outlined what had happened and waited for her to start counselling me.
‘How can I help?’ she asked.
‘How can you help?’ What a stupid question. ‘You can get the police to believe me and arrest my son and let me tell the jury what the little bastard did to me, that’s how you can help.’
‘I don’t want to put words into your mouth, but I’m detecting some anger issues. Am I right?’
‘Anger, of course you’re detecting anger. How would you feel?’
‘This isn’t about me, it’s about you and your feelings. My role is to help you sort out those feelings and work through them. You tell me how you feel and we’ll take it from there.’
‘OK, so I’m angry. No actually I am absolutely tamping mad. So there you go, take it from there.’
She remained irritatingly calm.
‘Right, anger it is then. That’s as good a place to start as any. What are you angry about?’
‘Come on. I just told you my history and you ask why I am angry? Isn’t it obvious? Do I really need to spell it out?’
‘I didn’t ask you why you were angry. I asked what you were angry about, not why.’
I swallow hard and fight to keep my patience with this woman. If this is supposed to be helping, I don’t see how.
‘I am angry about being raped, which I think is a reasonable, rational and proportionate response for any woman and for a mother in particular. And I am angry that the police have been taken in by the way my son skewed a perfectly innocent series of events into something obscene.’
She patted a slim file on her desk.
‘The police have provided me with the statements that you and your son made. I’d like you to put yourself into their position and tell me what you’d do. Here are two statements of the same incident. The basic facts are identical. All that differs is the interpretation of those facts. The police weren’t there. And if they were, they wouldn’t be able to see into the minds of the participants. How would you decide who to believe?’
‘That’s easy. I’d believe me.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because I’m telling the truth. I’m the mother. Mothers don’t have sex with their sons, we’re programmed against it. It’s immoral, obscene and disgusting. So why would a mother rape her own son?’
‘One possibility is that you were so aroused by the film you were watching that you weren’t thinking straight. When had you last had sex, sex with a partner, a man?’
I needed to correct this right away and to put her straight on some history while I was at it.
‘For a start, I was not aroused. I had only just settled down. The opening titles had barely finished. And as for sex, the answer is 12 years, 7 months, 18 days and 4 and a half hours. I can tell you the time, because my husband fucked me and then told me he was leaving. He’d barely pulled out. I can still see his cum hanging from his cock and dripping onto my belly. I can still feel the small hot blobs running off me. Does that answer your question?’
‘Thank you, yes it does. It obviously made a big impression on you. Traumatic events often do imprint themselves into our memories like that. And memories that linger can have a lasting effect.’
‘Hang on just a minute. Are you suggesting that I was so frustrated that I had to rape my own son? Is that it? Well let me tell you that I have had plenty of offers. I just haven’t bothered with them. My husband betrayed me and left me, left me for his PA, left me with his son. I found fulfilment through my work and bringing up our son. I am not one of those women who depend for their satisfaction on a man and his cock.’
I glared across the desk, hinting as plainly as I could that she was one of those women.
‘No, you are wrong. I am not suggesting anything as crude as that. I just noticed that you were watching a lesbian film. Had you seen it before?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I had. It’s one of my favourites.’
‘Tell me about it. What’s the storyline?’
‘Storyline?’ I laughed. ‘These films don’t have storylines. Well nothing you’d call one. Just a peg on which to hang a meeting between a couple that leads to sex. This one involved a new gay PA who seduces her straight boss.’
‘Have you been seduced by your PA?’
‘No, I most certainly have not.’ This was another line of investigation that I could shut down right away. ‘She’s in her sixties with 8 grandchildren.’
‘And the other films, your other favourites. What are they about?’
‘The same sort of thing. Lesbian lovers.’
‘Have you ever had sex with a woman?’
‘No, no I have not. It’s just a fantasy that’s all. We all have fantasies. The whole point is to fantasise about something different from reality.’
‘And what for you was reality?’
Sally said she wanted to help, and she couldn’t do that if I wasn’t completely honest with her. So what exactly was my reality? It took me a long time to work out the answer.
‘Work first and foremost. Work because I had to support myself and my son. Work because I enjoyed it, always have enjoyed it, because it made me feel worthwhile and fulfilled. Distrustful, that was another of my realities, especially of men. Who won’t be? I mean, the guy made love to me – no he didn’t do that, he just had sex with me – knowing all along that he was leaving me. He knelt there with his sperm dripping onto me. Fuck, Sally, I had just cum, I was still feeling the waves and he tells me, that’s it, that the last orgasm you’ll be getting from me and here’s the last of my sperm to keep you going.’
I pause to collect myself.
‘And my son. He was my other reality, but he’s gone now and I won’t be taking him back, not if he crawls on his knees and begs me. Despite all the time and effort I’ve put in to bringing him up, he’s turned out as twisted and warped as his father.’
I wipe away a tear that has forced its way out of the corner of my eye.
‘So that’s it. I was right not to trust men. Both the men I trusted have betrayed me. And I’ve lost the things that mattered most to me. Even my work is in ruins. I was good at my job, it was an important job, but I needed authority. How can I command respect from anyone when I let myself raped by a child, my own child?’
I stare back, pleading with my eyes for her to start this healing process that her counselling is supposed to bring for me.
‘Your husband’s behaviour made a lasting impression on you. Might not the police think that you were taking revenge on your son, your husband’s son, for how he treated you?’
‘Sorry, taking revenge? Just how exactly was I doing that?’
‘By humiliating him. Making him show himself to you like a child when he is a man now. Causing him pain by examining him when you knew he was sore. By handling his penis when that wasn’t necessary. By arousing him or at least carrying on when you saw he was becoming aroused.’
I cannot believe what she is suggesting.
‘Look, this wasn’t about me taking revenge on my husband or men in general by humiliating my son. What I did was to respond to my natural maternal instincts. He was in pain and I wanted to be sure he was OK. I wasn’t thinking about what I was wearing or whether I was leading him into my bedroom or he was getting an erection. All those things were happening, sure, but I was only thinking about him and his pain and whether he had suffered any damage. He is a man, as you say, and his balls are important to him and to his future. He’s no use if he’s impotent or infertile, is he? I just wanted to make sure he was OK. Nothing more. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, it is clear, very clear. It is very clear that that was how you felt. But how did he feel? Did he know that that was what was in your mind? Like you say, he is a man and men aren’t usually taken into a bedroom by a nearly naked mature woman who handles their genitals unless there is a sexual interest there. I’m not saying he was right, just asking if that may not be how he saw it.’
‘Just what sort of person, what sort of mother, does he think I am? The sort who would seduce her own son? He’s never had any reason to think of me like that? He’s never seen me with another man, except his father? Besides, I’ve not brought him up to think of women as sexual objects.’
‘He told the police that he knew about your online porn and your vibrator and how you spent your time on a Saturday afternoon. How did he know that?’
‘No idea. You tell me. Snooping probably. Checking my browser history maybe. Going through my drawers perhaps. Doesn’t that tell you something about what he is like? Spying on his own mother. What sort of son would do that?’
‘I was wondering if he might have seen you, caught you in the act so to speak.’
‘No way. I was always careful. It’s not the sort of thing a mother would want her son to watch. He was out and I always kept an ear open in case he came back early for some reason, like he did this time.’
‘Yes, but this time you were only just starting. Isn’t it possible that you might have been so engrossed in what you were doing that you didn’t hear him?’
‘I’m sure I would have heard him. but even if he did come in, why would he want to watch me? That isn’t a natural act for a son is it? He’s been brought up to respect privacy.’
‘It’s possible, I don’t know, I’m just trying to get you to explore possibilities, that he may have thought you were in pain. A woman’s orgasm can sound like she is in pain, especially for a boy who doesn’t have any sexual experience. He might have been concerned and come to check if you were OK, but you didn’t notice.’
‘Don’t tell me that he doesn’t have sexual experience. I’ve been raped by him remember. He certainly wasn’t a virgin, that’s for sure.’
‘Did he ever walk in on you and your husband making love?’
‘Only once, although we weren’t making love. We were always very careful to make sure we weren’t disturbed. My husband found it put him off his stride if he was worried about being interrupted. It wasn’t conducive to him providing a satisfactory performance.’
‘What a lovely way to put it. You mean he couldn’t get hard, is that it?’
I nodded.
‘I see. Now you say you were interrupted but you weren’t making love? What were you doing?’
This was not somewhere I had been for a long time and I had no wish to go there now.
‘All I meant was that we were having sex.’
‘And that is different from making love?’
‘Definitely. Don’t you agree? Mechanical sex without emotional connection is just that, it doesn’t count as love.’
‘And mechanical sex was what you were having, or trying to have, when your son came home early.’
I nodded again, unsure where she was heading off to this time. but she didn’t follow that up. Instead she back tracked.
‘Why was it that you were just having mechanical sex with your husband rather than making love when your son interrupted you?’
Shit.
‘He didn’t interrupt us. We weren’t aware that he was there, watching, listening, not until it was over. If we had realised, things might have been different.’
‘Different? How?’
Double shit.
‘We’d been going through a rough patch. It was a few months before he eventually left. I was convinced that he was having an affair with his PA, so I had withdrawn privileges.’
‘By which you mean?’
‘No sex.’
‘Is that how you saw sex with your husband, as a privilege?’
‘Certainly. And it was a privilege that he forfeited just as soon as I got wind that he had his cock up his cute little PA's cunt.’
‘Right, but on this occasion he was having sex with you, so you had reinstated his privileges. How did that come about?’
‘No, I hadn’t. That was the whole point. I had not reinstated privileges.’
‘Isn’t it time that you stopped hiding behind these fancy expressions of yours? “Conducive to providing a satisfactory performance.” “Privileges.” What is it that you are trying to say here?’
Did I need to spell it out? Was she so stupid that she couldn’t see for herself?
‘You’re a woman. Put yourself in my position? What do you think it means?’
‘I know what I think it means, but I need to be sure and I cannot help you if you won’t acknowledge it to yourself. Admitting something to yourself is essential to a full healing process.’
‘OK. You want the full story. It was about six months after I had begun to suspect that something was going on and it didn’t take me long to work out who she was. I confronted him naturally. He didn’t admit it but he wouldn’t deny it either. So I said, “Right, that’s it. Privileges are cancelled. You need a fuck, go to her.” Well at first that must have been what he did, because he didn’t argue or try to push it with me. But then something happened. Maybe they fell out or something. But he obviously wasn’t getting his normal rations at work and he started pestering me for sex. But I held out. No sex unless and until he sacked his PA. But he wouldn’t sack her. He assured me that nothing was going on any longer, but said that she was good at her job and he didn’t want to dismiss her.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘Actually, yes, I did, about the sex anyway. He was getting so frustrated and that could only mean they weren’t together any more.’
‘So why didn’t you reinstate his privileges?’
‘Because he wouldn’t give me the reassurance I wanted. I was entitled as his wife to know where I stood and I couldn’t be sure so long as she was around him every day. OK, so she may have been good at her job. But there are lots of good PAs around. He could easily have found another one if he really wanted to, if this thing with her was really over, if he really respected me.’
‘You say he was getting frustrated. How did you feel?’
‘Frustrated, just as much as he was, more so probably because unlike him I’d not been serviced for months. And to save you asking, no I wasn’t using porn and a vibrator, that only came later, much later, long after he’d left.’
‘So tell me what happened the night your son saw you having mechanical sex. How was it that you weren’t aware that he was there?’
‘My husband snapped. He told me that he was entitled to have sex. It was his right as my husband. I couldn’t deny him. I was just torturing him for my perverted pleasure. He went on and on about how desperate he was. How this was preventing him concentrating at work, how he was making mistakes. And then he started threatening me.’
‘Threatening? How?’
‘He said that he was only a normal man with natural needs. How did I expect him to keep control with his PA around him all the time? I’d be to blame if he went back to her. He was making out like I would be responsible for him rekindling the affair if I wouldn’t give in. Well, I wasn’t going to be blackmailed like that. There was a lot of screaming and shouting. I screamed at him that he should have fucked his PA if that is what he wanted. He shouted at me that he wanted me. I shouted back that he had a funny way of showing it. That was when he snapped.’
‘Snapped?’
‘Snapped. He stopped shouting and became very calm. He told me very clinically that he would show me how he felt about me. I was terrified; I’d never seen him like this before. He grabbed me and threw me onto the bed. I expected him to hit me, but he ripped off my clothes, threw them around and then …’
‘Yes, then … Go on, say it. Then …’
I take a deep breath and give her what she wants to hear.
‘He raped me. Took me. I struggled, screamed at him to stop, scratched him, tried to buck him off, but he was too strong, too determined, too rampant. It seemed to go on for ages. It was after, when he’d finished that we realised our son was standing in the doorway.’
‘And what about your feelings in all this? How did you feel about what had happened?’
I slowly spell my feelings slowly, realising at last where this session may be leading.
‘Shocked. Violated as a woman. Degraded as a wife. Humiliated to be treated like this, especially in front of my son. And … aroused.’
‘Aroused?’
‘Yes, aroused. Not by the rape. No woman would be aroused by being raped. But remember that I’d not had sex for even longer than my husband. I had a mind blowing orgasm. Like nothing I’d experienced before.’
‘Did you tell him about that?’
‘No, well, I mean, I didn’t need to. I was writhing, shouting and screaming by the end. He didn’t need to be told. It was obvious.’
‘Despite that, you got back together. You reinstated his privileges.’
‘Yes, I suppose it made me realise that the affair was over. Until he told me that it wasn’t.’
I sit back and wait for Sally to say something, but she sits and looks back, saying nothing. I know she is waiting for me to draw my own conclusions. I put my thoughts to her.
‘So you’re saying that he was copying what he saw my husband do. That he associated rape with showing me how much he loved me. That what has happened is my husband’s fault, not his.’
She thought for a long time, or maybe she was just sitting waiting to see if I said anything else. But I didn’t.
‘Those are interesting thoughts. But remember that this session isn’t about attributing blame or responsibility; it’s about your feelings and coming to terms with them. How does what you’ve told me help with that?’
More time to think.
‘That the films, the gay PA seducing her boss is somehow working out my feelings about my husband and his affair..’
Sally nods, encouraging me to explore further.
‘That the most intense sexual feelings I’ve ever had, the most satisfying have been when I was raped.’
Sally reaches forward and takes hold of my hands.
‘Yes, that is often a woman’s experience. They don’t want to be raped but they can’t control their response. It’s a physical response, not an emotional one, but it’s a powerful one. And that is why we feel such shame about what has happened to us. We feel that we shouldn’t have had that wonderful experience. That it should have been disgusting and horrible. Is it any wonder that we feel as we do, angry, degraded, humiliated, violated. We’d feel all those things anyway, but those feelings are intensified by our disgust at our body’s response. That is what we have to come to terms with.’
I squeeze her hands and think about what she has said.
‘Hang on, you said “we”. Does that mean that you’ve been raped and felt as I do?’
Sally nods. I keep hold of her hands. It feels as if we are healing each other.
