Fanfic Sex Therapist

If Jim had felt self-conscious going for his an annual medical, it paled in comparison next to this. Shifting uncomfortably in the waiting room chair, Jim wished he was absolutely anywhere else buthere. How Blair had managed to talk him into this, he had no idea.

Of course, Blair had tried to reassure him beforehand. “This’ll just be a regular appointment for your therapist,” he’d said. “In fact, she’ll probably have heard far more extreme stuff.” Blair grinned, getting into his usual spiel. “There was this guy I used to know, Mulder he was called. Anyway, he once got this huge thing stuck right up his-”

“Stop right there, Chief!” Jim had ordered. And, to his relief, his partner let the matter drop.

Drawn out of his reverie by the receptionist calling his name, Jim straightened his shoulders and girded his loins. He’d single-handedly led the Chopec into battle, taken down serial killers and eaten Blair’s experimental cooking. He could go get advice from a sex therapist, for christ’s sake!

Once Jim got into the therapist’s office and sat down, he frowned. “Have we met before?” he asked.

The familiar looking woman tossed back her long, red hair, crossed her long, slim legs and smiled. “I don’t recall,” she said. “You may have met my twin sister, though. She’s a doctor at Cascade General. People often get us confused.” She looked at Jim earnestly. “How can I help?”

Jim decided to cut any further small talk off at the pass, and get straight to the point before he lost his nerve. “I’m here because my partner and I,” he blushed. “I… we… I mean he…”

The therapist smiled sagely. “You and your male partner wish to embark upon a sexual relationship. Am I right?”

“Um, yes, that’s right,” Jim agreed. “That is, we kind of already have. How did you know?”

She smiled. “I see situations like this every single day, Detective Ellison. There’s really nothing to be embarrassed about. Please, do go on.”

“Okay.” Jim took a deep breath. “It’s just, you know… we haven’t actually… um...”

The therapist rescued Jim once again. “Ah, you haven’t achieved penetration yet. I see.”

“So,” Jim said pleadingly, “what should we do?”

The therapist looked Jim up and down appraisingly. “You’re the larger of the two of you, I’m guessing? He’s smaller, and of a slighter build?”

Jim nodded, amazed at the therapist’s uncanny insight. “Um, yeah, yeah I am. Older too. Not much older,” he added hastily. After all, there was life in this old dog yet!

The therapist was nodding again. “I see,” she said. “I’m guessing he’s pretty much in touch with his feminine side too, am I right? Maybe he’s got long hair, and works in a less, shall we say physicalprofession?”

“Wow!” Jim was amazed – it was as if she’d actually met Blair! “That’s totally on the money, Doc!”

“Then that can mean only one thing,” the therapist told Jim gravely. “No question about it, I’m afraid. You’ll have to top, and he’ll have to bottom.”

Jim was aghast. “But I kinda hoped…” he admitted weakly, “that we might be able to try it the other way around!”

“A minority of my peers would advocate that approach,” the therapist said. “And some,” she continued, a disapproving sneer flickering across her otherwise pristine features, “might even suggest that you take turns.” She shuddered, as though the thought pained her. Then she fixed her earnest gaze on Jim. “But I strongly suggest you take my advice, Detective Ellison. I prefer… um I mean I would highly recommend that, as the larger partner, you should take the more dominant position. Anything else is just, well, unnatural.”

Jim thought the woman looked a little flushed after her impassioned speech, but he could definitely see her point. “Right, Doc,” he conceded, “I get that. But what I want to know is the, um, technical stuff. I mean, I want us to do it right, you know?”

“The best way to explain,” the therapist said, “is to use a visual aid.” She held up a clenched fist, and before Jim had a chance to get really nervous extended just her index finger. “First of all,” she said, “make sure you have plenty of lube to hand. This should be kept in the drawer of your nightstand.”

“What if you don’t have a nightstand?” Jim asked.

The therapist shook her head. “I guarantee, once you begin this phase of your relationship there will always be a nightstand, and it will always contain lube.”

Jim still felt dubious. “What if we run out of lube?” he asked.

“It is probable that you will discover tubes of it places in strategic places around your home, such as under cushions on the couch, in the kitchen drawer, and so on,” she insisted. “And if all else fails butter is rather a hot, um, I mean suitable substitute. Especially when the kitchen table comes into play.” She fanned herself as she finished speaking, and Jim thought that she was looking more and more flushed by the minute.

The images conjured up by the kitchen table scenario did, in fact, rather tickle Jim’s fancy, and he was feeling a little flushed himself. Nevertheless, there was still a lot for him to learn. “And so I what, just lube him up and stick my, um…” Jim faltered – all the words that came to mind sounded either too clinical or too goddamn embarrassing. Finally, out of desperation, he gestured vaguely down below. “I just stick it in?”

“Oh, no!” The therapist wiggled her index finger, which was still pointing straight up in the air. “You must follow this procedure first. Watch me, now.” She wiggled it some more, then added more fingers, continuing to wiggle as she went. “One finger, then two, then three.”

“One, two, three?” Jim queried dubiously.

“Yes, exactly that. No more, no less. Although let’s back up a little,” she said. “When you’re still at two fingers, there’s a nifty little technique you will need to master.” She opened and closed her index and middle finger rapidly in an intimidating way. “We experts call this scissoring,” she said.

Jim winced in reaction, his butt cheeks clenching in horror. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Oh, yes,” the therapist agreed. “It’s extremely painful.”

“But does it help, you know, ease the passage, so to speak?” Jim asked, squirming in vividly imagined discomfort.

The therapist shook her head. “Not at all. But fanfic sex therapists like myself generally recommend it.”

Dreading Blair’s reaction to that news, Jim decided that he should probably raise his other little problem - or rather, enormous problem. “I’m, um, rather large. You know, in the pants department,” he confessed. “Will that make things more difficult?”

“My clients usually are rather well-endowed,” the therapist told him. “It’s not caused any difficulties before – usually they manage to have perfect sex every single time.” She laughed suddenly. “Except for that one client of mine who had two penises. Compared to him, you’re lucky!”

Jim silently thanked his lucky stars for that – definitely something to celebrate! “Just one last thing, Doc,” he asked as he prepared to leave. “I’m concerned about safe sex, of course, but this worries me a lot more. What about a plot?”

“Oh, you won’t need one of those,” the therapist reassured him. “And if you find that one creeps in anyway, just stick in some gratuitous sex right at the end. That should do the trick!”

“Thanks a lot, Doc,” Jim said. “You’ve been a big help.”

On the way home he bought extra lube, just in case.

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