Hot Therapist: Will She Bring Me Out of Retirement?

I’m out of breath from running up 5 flights of stairs, not wanting to wait on the elevator because I was already running late to an appointment. At this point, sweat is pouring on my brand new Chanel bag. And, I’m not pleased about that. So many things don’t please me.

I’ve already seen one therapist earlier in the day and that shit was lame. She made me fill out paperwork in front of her, which is a clear move to cut into the short session time that we already have. After 45 minutes, I was ready to leave her cold office and never see her again. I mean, damn, at least have a flower or some decorative element to make people feel comfortable. It felt like my gynecologist was about to walk into the room and look at my va-jay-jay.


So, there was a lot riding on this new therapist. Would she be good, or make me sign numerous papers in the hopes of wasting 10 minutes? I would know soon enough I guess.

As I walk into her office, I hear Boys II Men on an old school radio. Okay, I’m digging that. Then, I turn my head and see some long, shiny caramel legs walk towards me. At this point I am telling my vagina to relax and not embarrass me. 

Therapist: Hi, how are you?


Me: Nice to meet you. I’m fine. Sorry I look a mess; parking is a bitch in Los Angeles.

Therapist: It’s completely okay. Come right into my office.”

Girl, you don’t have to tell me twice.

As she walks into her office in front of me, I see that she’s wearing a short dress that reveals a nice, big ass that screams to be touched. On a table in the corner, a candle is lit. It smells like cookie dough and sex. Okay, maybe not sex, but that’s what I am thinking about. As she sits down, I notice her dress is also doing me the great pleasure of revealing some nice cleavage.

“We have to hold it together,” I say to my vagina. When my eyes go to her face, it’s like icing on a magnificent cake. Her skin is flawless, and her smile is shockingly genuine. I can tell by the way she compassionately looks into my eyes that her work means something to her, and that she cares about her patients.

That’s when I start praying. Dear LORD, please get me through this session. Please give me the guidance and courage to focus on her face, and not look at her nice, long legs. Allow me the strength to listen to her words, and not fantasize about doing very dirty things to her.


Truly, I can’t tell if it’s the stairs or her beauty that’s still making me feel slightly out of breath.

Therapist: Are you okay? Do you need anything?


Me: No, I’m okay. Just catching my breath. Haven’t worked out in a minute.

I worked out yesterday. WTH am I even saying?

Therapist: So, what brings you in today?

Me: A handful of things. But, mainly, things relating to relationships and trust. I want to have faith in love again. But, I’m losing it with each Tinder swipe and flakey girl who cancels a date an hour before we’re supposed to meet.

Therapist: I get that. Before I coupled, I felt the same way. Many friends of mine did as well.

We continue to talk and she asks more questions. I quickly feel comfortable and at ease. Sure, it was definitely hard not to let my eyes wander, but eventually I was fine. I spoke a little about dating and my childhood. As I was listening to one of her responses, I thought to myself:


Sure, she probably isn’t perfect. But, she’s beautiful, smart, well-spoken, graceful, has a job, etc. Maybe there’s a rock I need to look under.

Therapist: I can understand losing faith, but it’s important to stay open and not judge the process. Having a certain frame of mind can make you keep attracting more of what you don’t want.

I wonder if she’s related to Rihanna. She’s so damn cute. Vagina, shhhhhh, be quiet.


After 50 minutes go by, she says time is up for the day. As she adjusts her posture and the sleeve of her dress, I smile to myself. Maybe there is hope for me. I glance at the candle and take in the smell. As I zone out she asks:

Therapist: So, how was the session for you? I know you’re deciding on which therapist to choose, which is very smart. Just want to check in with you.


Me: I think this was very positive. I feel very comfortable. What about you?

Therapist: I try to not make this about me. You already have enough going on – I don’t want to make things, ever, about me.

I feel touched. 

Me: Thank you.

When she stands up, we shake hands. DAMN, WHY DO HER HANDS GOTTA FEEL LIKE BUTTER?

As I leave, I see a butch lesbian waiting to go into her office.

Yes, there’s definitely hope.