.
"Sexually speaking," I rolled up my eyes in irritation and loudly exhaled, "Do you endow him the power of penetration or do you have it?"
I snorted bemused "Big pass."
"I require this question to be answered regardless the boundaries we've allowed for your comfortability. This has to do with how my verdict may change for your diagnosis, as well as further benefit to the recovery."
I was pissed.
"He fucks my ass nice and good," I crossed my arms over my chest, "there you have it." I snarled insolently.
He wasn't surprised, "Any particular reason you've given up this presumed power-clout to him?"
I enthused my head in disagreement, "…Nah." I calmed myself, "It's for how the prostate works."
"Have you switched this role?"
I moved my head 'No.'
"Have you wished for a change and notwithstanding, do you consider the act of penetration as some type of control over you?"
"No and nope."
"Is this a role he suggested you'd take or is this a role you automatically took and assumed?"
"No, I did."
"Do you think he would be comfortable if you ever switched?"
"No. Plus I wouldn't be interested."
"He has this strong personality then." He almost spoke to himself.
My eyebrow raised, I was becoming tense "What was the question?"
"I'm sorry," he rearranged the papers upfront, "Is this a boundary both are comfortable with?"
"Aha, pretty much."
He examined a paper that was on the back of the stack and reached for a new folder on his left, we stood silent for a minute or two when he looked me dead in the eyes and asked, "Are you absolutely-" he emphasized, "-comfortable with the sexual role you play in your…" he hesitated, "-Relationship?"
"I am."
"Would you say this role is a mismatch for who's actually dominant in the relationship?"
My lips pursed in thought, "I wouldn't."
"It means he is more dominant than you?"
I moved my right hand in a 'more or less' motion.
"Do you think you are submissive?"
"Same question?"
"Different nature, more specifically, and since you didn't seem to grasp on the idea of my last question, I will elaborate again;"
"Sure."
"Personality-wise, are you submissive whether this is in behavior or in character when it comes to his resolutions, dispositions and or beliefs?"
My finger twirled a strand of wine colored hair around it, I moved my head 'No.'
"You are only submissive when it's sexual?"
"Mhm." I was jaded.
"Going back to personality," he wasn't even looking at me, his fingers roamed in different sheets as he asked, "Has he expressed openly the aforementioned aspects of himself to you?"
I gave it a thought and ultimately responded frankly "He has."
"Has any of these opinions from him affected how you viewed certain aspects?"
"Like in every close and intimate relationship with someone I guess. Their opinion weights over every matter."
"Further expand."
"…Like in a conversation, specially, like I said before, with someone you cherish dearly, you exchange ideas and though sometimes contrary, conflicting or opposing, I guess with enough argument and some valid perspective, your opinion may end up diverging or at least flexing in favor of the other's idea." I shrugged feebly, "But that's just the standard of basic human interaction right doc?"
"Correct."
"It doesn't mean we are too different or too alike each other, at least that doesn't predict it. However out of certain debatable topics, I wouldn't say he is not like me in many things, because I guess he is."
He serenely reclined on his seat as he listened, once I finished he didn't waste time to probe "Out of extrapolated ideas. Can you tell me if your opinion on weighty topics are often too polarized from what he has to induce, debate or differ?"
"Not usually."
"Would you say he is very alike you."
"Yeah, I would. I said it before."
"Okay," he closed one folder, "What do you do in unbendable disagreements on what you both classify as 'weighty' matters?"
I saw his inquisitiveness behind the question, "We agree to disagree."
The calming sound of his pendulum resided until he was ready to ask again "In what topics do you usually differ your opinion from his?"
With that question I indubitably dithered, "He doesn't give life much value."
His eyes suddenly appeared staggered; though his façade remained composed, he wrote something down on his notepad and then his eyes fixated concernedly on me "Does he tell you to harm someone? Has he ever told or suggested you to harm yourself?"
I snorted raucously diverted, "God no," I snickered, "that's a mere bias alongside some shit he's done, plus" I sneered, "It's not like I would tell you, so don't even ask."
"Tell me, exactly what?"
"This cognitive therapy isn't about what my man does…" I tapped my fingers against my knee, "It's about me and I don't presume I'm wrong."
"If some information of his is of vital importance for the final diagnosis I would ask you to entrust me-"
"Fuck the diagnosis," I offered scornfully, "that's a boundary I'll put right there, no threshold close either."
He sighed, "Advocating for his-" he paused, "-privacy when some of his ostensible behavior might be potentially harmful for your mental stability isn't something that should be up to closeted choice. I want to help you."
"What behavior and what harmful," I defended, "I hinted for the laughs, I am not going to tell my therapist about his secrets."
He lounged in his seat and placed his notepad on his lap, "I won't cross what boundaries you've placed." I nodded in agreement, "But I do want you to expand on some subjects that may be of my interest for this session."
He went on, "You might understand if some of these subjects subvert into secrecy but for the love of god, I only intend to help you."
"I simply won't say." I tempered. "I can also lie if you don't leave it."
Another minute of silence passed and he nodded, "Alright then, remember you will tell me only what you want me to know, as well as being conscious that it is you who need the diagnosis to continue your life as healthy as it used to be."
"…"
"I would love to help you still."
I remained silent until a full minute of tenseness engrossed us both "Alright, but not about his past or what he goes through."
My therapist's wrinkled mouth uplifted in triumph, "Alright, shall we continue?"
.
.
.
