He walked into her office, troubles in hand, hoping that a female’s perspective might help him rectify his thoughts. He was expecting an older looking woman, he’d hoped she’d be attractive enough that he might easily imagine the hearts she used to break back in her prime. But what he saw, was a woman he was certain still broke her share of hearts. This wasn’t really a problem though, since he’d come here for something else. Her office was impressive, it was obvious that she’d done well by herself in this career. He sat down, and after a brief introduction she began to the session. She’d had all the information she’d request of him, in the file she held in her hand. He was there because of anxiety, performance anxiety to be precise. But this wasn’t a typical issue of sexual inadequacy, it was deeper than that, more of a mania. It didn’t take much to get him speaking about his problem. After all, that was why he was here, and so he went straight into it.

Arousal’s not difficult, at least not in the casual “showed up for the party” way… a kind of soft readiness. this can be accomplished through any genuine moment of connection… the closeness of a real hug, an honest and meaningful conversation, even a gaze filled with trust and love coming from another’s eyes. Of course, this kind of readiness can also be produced by feelings of longing or anticipation, or through oral stimulation… my lips, my tongue, against her lips, her body, her sweet nature. But true arousal, bursting at the seams, veins on the verge of exploding… that’s another story entirely. Unfortunately for me, that’s a head trip… Ego. You see, I need to drive her wild, over the edge of her every depth and height, to redefine what pleasure means to her. For me, it’s not enough to be good, good is adequate, and adequate is unacceptable. I have to be incomparable, because even being compared to someone else leaves a bad taste in my mouth. If I fall short of my expectations, if I feel as if I have failed to accomplish what I set out to, I lose my drive… I am deflated. My arousal is forged by my ability to pleasure, after all. If I fail to even get the engine running, I have no longing to push forward. But each orgasm, pushes me to hunger for the next, drives me forward… mad with passion. The ideal that I can do more, push further, take her places no one ever has or will, that her body will remember me without rival… the best.

So that’s my dysfunction. I have no idea how to separate this part of myself from my Ego, because this is how it was borne… what it has always been, my desire, my pleasure, my addiction. I have had to learn that not all women react the same, and I’m fine with this… so long as I know that I have done the most, more than anyone else, that I have found the limits of what they can experience, what they can endure… and maybe next time a little more. But anything less, is the worse… because adequate, is inadequate, and anything less than the best is a crippling defeat. Even imagining someone could be better than me, is sickening… if such a thing were true, I’d almost want to die. But every bodies fucked up somehow, right. Yeah, that’s all there is to it…

She didn’t seem to have much to say, or perhaps she was just distracted. He could see that look in her eyes… the hunger. She wanted a demonstration, but she wasn’t quite sure how to ask. What the hell, he thought, as he stood up and moved to take her. There was no objection, only a halfhearted “Oh” followed by conflicted silence. He brought his lips down upon her, and slowly made sport of removing her clothes… teasing her body with his mouth and hands, as he exposed her flesh. Before she realized it, he was full upon her, making her body quake and writhe with pleasure beyond her control. It was some form of genius, she thought, for him to be able to discover her almost instinctively, to take control of something she thought was hers… the body she felt as if she herself was discovering for the first time. She couldn’t imagine what he had to be anxious about, or that he’d needed help with this particular problem. If it was a problem at all, was more than debatable. Afterwards she’d be sure to reassure him. She was sure that would do, though she had lost any sense of objectivity, as she listened to the sound of her own moans as if in a distant room.