This chapter will piss you off. I won't lie... it's icky. But keep in mind, it's all a ruse!

And on that uplifting note, please enjoy! :-D


FOUR

Ten days later…

Martha and John. Good grief.

Dr. Hilde Weth had no doubt that she would be able to accomplish her goal with this couple – they were a disaster, begging to be broken apart – practically asking permission. Martha had come to a session on her own, then John had come to a session on his own last week. Their second actual couple session had been three days ago, and they had been reluctant even to look at each other.

But by then, she had already got her hooks into John anyhow – his reluctance to meet his wife's eyes probably had a lot more to do with Weth than with Martha, or anything going on at home… concerning his ex, or whatever else.

It was almost disappointing how easy it was going to be – Weth had been hoping to string him along for a few months. She liked this one. He was handsome, clever(ish), pleasantly intense… she couldn't wait to get her hooks in even further.

Today, she said, "I'm glad you've come on your own again."

"Me too," he said.

"It's a relief," she remarked, pouring hot water into a Styrofoam cup that already contained a tea bag.

"It certainly is."

"I suppose, how much of a relief remains to be seen, ja?" she asked, turning around and handing him the cup.

Today, she had had him sit on the sofa like last time, rather than in the uncomfortable armchair, where he sat when Martha was with him.

She had her reasons.

He took the tea, and said, "Wow. That was fast."

"The tea, or me?"

"Both," he said.

She sat down across from him, in the uncomfortable armchair. "Entschuldigung. I'm sorry. Have I overstepped?"

She did that sometimes – humans were inconsistent in the level of intimacy they would accept and the amount of time it took to accept it.

He smirked flirtatiously at her. "You know you have."

She sat back on the sofa and crossed her legs, smoothing out her pleated skirt. "John, allow me to ask you something. Have you always been faithful to your wife?"

He looked at her, surprised. "Well… I think you know…"

"Not counting that," she said. "It was just a… eine Kleinigkeit. It's a… er…"

"A trifle," he said.

She smiled at him. "You speak German."

"Well… yeah, fair cop."

Her smile brightened even further. "Just when I thought you couldn't get any more attractive…" then she caught herself, or pretended to, and cleared her throat. "A trifle, then? That's the English word?"

He nodded. "A small, insignificant thing."

"Then, that's what it was, with you and me. A trifle. Just a kiss. That's all."

"Well, several, actually."

"Still. I stand by what I said."

"It didn't feel like a trifle."

"No, it didn't," she whispered. After a longish pause, she said, "Do you know what I wonder, John?"

"What?"

"How long have you and Martha not been wearing your wedding rings?"

He looked down at his left hand instinctively, and said, "Oh, we wear them off and on. It's just, we take them off for work because of what we do - hers punctures the rubber gloves. And it's hard to wear a ring when you wash your hands fifty times a day. I guess, sometimes we forget to put them back on."

"I think it's very telling."

"You do?"

"That you don't feel naked without the very thing that outwardly lets others know you are married? Taken? Yes, I do think it's telling," she mused. Then, she seemed to come round, and say, "But honestly, it's not the same as being unfaithful. And neither is kissing me."

"In that case, yes, I've been faithful to my wife."

"How about to your ex-wife? The one you can't get over, and it's affecting your relationship with your current wife?"

He frowned at her. This was blunt, by design. Part of a carefully scaffolded plan to climb him… literally and metaphorically.

For a moment, he fired a gaze at her, narrowed eyes, fixed jaw and cheekbones, almost as if he knew something she didn't.

This was excellent: she had hit a nerve. Again, inside, she regretted this task being so bloody simple.

Then it dissipated as quickly as it had come, and he said, "Yes, I was faithful to her, too."

"And her to you?"

"As far as I know," he said. "Until the new job came along, that is. Then she was married to it instead of me."

"Did you entertain fantasies of being unfaithful?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Did you share them with her?"

"No," he responded, as though it were the daftest question he had ever heard. "She would not have handled that well."

"Even if they were fantasies about, say, celebrities, or fictions, not people that could ever possibly come between you?"

She crossed and uncrossed her legs, and made sure he saw. And he did. He watched. This was part of the job, part of her lot as a Tertia Trochos. But it was a bit that she enjoyed almost too much.

She never discussed with her supervisors this aspect of execution. They did not fully understand that causing rifts in the unions of husbands and wives on Earth, messing with partnerships amongst humans was not the same as wedging one's way into a space pod with a two-man crew. They knew, as everyone did, that life in the universe thrived in pairs, but how and why it thrived that way was a more elusive concept.

Humans, in particular, had turned this aspect of existence into an art form: it takes two to create new life, and it was not a small aspect of their day-to-day. They took it seriously, even the ones who didn't take it seriously. No non-contact egg fertilisation for them – it was all about physical congress, making connections, relief and release. And a bit about virility and self-worth and other things that a Tertia Trochos could use to exploit it… and them.

Fantasies were a rich and fascinating part of the tapestry of human relationships, that Weth had always been interested to tap into a bit more.

Perhaps now was her chance.

John sighed, and seemed amused. "I suppose most people have that, don't they? A celebrity they fancy or a character from television or a book…"

Her voice was soft. "Indeed. Those can be trifles as well. Non-threatening ways of experiencing one's sexuality outside of a relationship."

"What about you?"

"Me?" she asked. "Oh, I…"

She hadn't been prepared for this question. She knew startlingly little about the pop culture of this planet… she knew there were films, television, and music, which made idols out of certain "talented" humans, but she didn't know any of their names or anything specific.

"Sorry, that was inappropriate."

"A bit," she chuckled. "I'm sorry that I cannot answer that."

"It's all right. I shouldn't have asked," he whispered, a bit embarrassed.

"I'm glad you did," she said. "And I'm sorry that I cannot give you the answer."

"You're sorry?"

"Yes. I think you would enjoy hearing the answer. I would hate to deprive you of it."

He looked at her, jaw agape. It was a familiar look that men gave her at this stage of her game, though usually not so early in their time in therapy.

But when he shut his mouth and continued to stare at her with almost no expression, the "look" became unfamiliar. Human men were hardly inscrutable when there was an attractive woman discussing sexual fantasies with them.

And yet this one… she couldn't tell what he was thinking for a few moments.

This was the second time it had happened during this visit, where the look he had given her had been incongruous. But before, she had passed it off as surprise or an anomaly. She had even wondered if she had imagined it because he had shaken it off so quickly.

But now, she was almost sure that there was more going on beneath the surface than the usual.

She decided to keep going, not to relent, but change her tack slightly.

"John, are fantasies a part of your relationship with Martha?"

"Perhaps they should be."

"Why so?"

"It would be an extra level of honesty that we don't currently have," he mused.

This set off a slight alarm bell in Weth's mind. "I think that would be dangerous, John."

"Dangerous?"

"It is something that could be explored here in this office, but once the door to my office, so to speak, has been opened, then attempting to touch on something as fraught as fantasies between spouses, can be detrimental to the marriage. I know things are tough for you and Martha, and frankly, I'm not at all certain you'll be able to stay together. But you don't want to bring about an ugly end to your union, do you?"

"An ugly end? No. But just by talking about it..."

"For a couple to address an elephant in the room without a trained professional... well, it very rarely leads anywhere except toward disaster."

"Really?"

It was imperative that he believe her. She didn't know how far he could be trusted to excavate his feelings and those of his wife, without causing harm to Weth's cause.

"Yes," said Weth. "Now, tell me what role fantasy plays in your marriage to Martha."

Something seemed to come over him, and his demeanor shifted, almost to something more "lucid," if that could be the word.

"Er… well, we did talk about them when we were first married. It was exciting, I guess. Perhaps fantasy is what caused us to get married so soon after meeting each other," he said.

"How so?"

"Well, you know. You meet someone who is beautiful and looks at you as though your eyes hold all the secrets of the universe," he said, with a faraway gaze. "It's a bit intoxicating."

"I can imagine," she replied, trying to hold him in this moment with her, and not let him wander off to better times with his beautiful wife.

He did not immediately shift his focus to Weth, which was not what she wanted. But she did not despair, of course – she would get him back soon enough.

"And you give yourself to them, and they give themselves to you, and its so good, so fulfilling, that you think… well, first of all, you think it could never end. That this person is the one for ever and ever, that the way they look at you, the way they make love, the exhilarating way they do everything in your presence will never change. And then you start to think, the chemistry is so perfect, so scorching hot, what if you could just… usurp it? Have it forever? Take it behind closed doors and just let it burn itself into your life, your skin? Let people watch the two of you and think, I want to be them, I want that life, I want him, I want her, I want them…"

"I see," Weth said, and by the time he reached this point of his monologue, she was a bit enthralled. She could see how the heat and drive between them, and preserving it forever, had become the fantasy that had caused them to get married after knowing each other for thirty-two days. "May I assume, then, that you had a proper honeymoon?"

He smiled. "Yes. Greece. Three weeks."

"Three weeks? My goodness."

He nodded. "The time we spent with our perfect chemistry behind closed doors, usurping it, burning it into our lives and our love, such as it was, had been almost as long as the time leading up to it. A honeymoon almost as long as the courtship. And we could have had that without getting married, but… when you think you can preserve that passion forever, it's blinding. Almost impossible to resist."

"Interesting to think of what might have been, if you had simply taken her to Greece and had that time with her, then brought her back and got to know her before getting married."

"Indeed," he said, and he sighed. "Probably a lot less frustration."

She regretted saying it, because it was almost too real.

If she had been a proper therapist, she might have suggested at that moment that Martha and John start over. That they pretend this was the beginning. That the marriage didn't exist yet, maybe go back to Greece for another three-week fantasy, then date properly, dig into one another's lives and psyches, dreams, passions (outside the bedroom), hopes, foibles, flaws, and whatnot… perhaps even live in separate quarters for a while.

But she wasn't here to analyse their relationship, in truth. She was here to exploit the fantasy, and the letdown it was causing.

"Is there still a fire?" she asked him. "A desire to continue the fantasy? To fulfill it further?"

"There is, but…"

"Does it feel like it has nowhere to go just now?"

"Definitely."

"Does it feel like your wife has stopped entertaining it?"

"It does."

"Does it feel like she has stopped having fantasies of her own?"

"It does."

"Does it feel like her obsession with your ex has caused her to shut herself off?"

"Her obsession?"

"Of course," said Weth.

"It rather does, yes."

"That must be very painful."

"Yes."

"Do you feel like you need someone in your life who still cares about fantasy?"

"Of course. Don't we all?"

"May I sit beside you, John?" she asked, almost inaudibly.

"Of course."

And in one smooth motion, she had moved across the space and took the seat beside him.

This time, it was easy. Their lips met immediately, and hands found one another's arms, neck, jowls. They had done this before – betrayed the boundary between therapist and patient, breached trust, thrown a complete conflict of interest into the mix.

This time, she took his left hand and caressed the knuckles where the fingers met the palm. It was a pointed effort at demonstrating that the outward symbol of "taken" was absent, and she was all about taking.

He was ripe for it. It felt almost as though he had not come here for help with his marriage… he had come here for this. But not for the first time, she observed that his kissing was skilled, technically quite good, but it lacked passion. Perhaps he was still experiencing trepidation with her, though he wanted this. Even his hands were in the right places, oscillating between her hair and her waist, her jaw and her back – it all felt right, like he knew what he was doing, but for the moment, it felt scripted.

She could not help but feel that his lovemaking would eventually be the same – accurate, practised, and satisfying. That is, if she angled too soon toward a sexual relationship. As long as he was still scared, there would be no fire, no fantasy in his touch, no matter what he said.

As such, she reckoned it might be difficult to get him out of his kit here in the room.

Finally, a challenge.

Either she would have to chip away at whatever was holding him back from devouring her lips the way she knew he could, and then devouring her (metaphorically, of course, the way humans devour things), or she would have to get him to agree to a "session" in a hotel room.

For the first time, she started to feel that John and Martha's marriage might not be on the splintering, shaky legs she thought it was. He wasn't giving up as easily as perhaps even he would like. Feelings for his wife were still there, strong, but beneath the surface…

She smiled as she began to kiss her way up his neck, anticipating licking behind his ear, reckoning she had been naïve to think this would be easy.

"What's that?" he asked, interrupting her reverie, her planning.

"What's what?" she asked, trying to stay "in."

"The eagle."

She nibbled on his ear a bit and said, "The statue?"

"Yeah," he said. "Has it always been there?"

"I took it out of storage a few days ago," she said, sitting back from him, and turning to look over her shoulder at her desk, where the fourteen-inch statue stood. "Why?"

"Just… striking."

"The black eagle is a German symbol of strength and resilience," she told him.

"No doubt," he said, training his gaze on it. "And what's the thing on its foot?"

"A bumblebee."

"Why a bumblebee?"

"The symbol of hard work and toil."

"Toil?" he asked, a bit bemused.

"Yes, toil," she said. "Is that not an English word?"

"It is," he said. "It's a good word. Hard work and toil. At the centre of everything."

"Funny you should say so," she mused, and leaned back in to continue nibbling his earlobe. "Because I feel like you and I have got a lot of work to do."

"I'll bet you do," he muttered, before standing up. "I'd better go."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious, Dr. Weth," he said. "This is… not right."

"Call me Hilde."

"No, I don't think so," he said, backing out. "I… I… I have to go."

And he was gone.

Curious. Very curious, indeed. And much more toil was on the horizon than she had initially thought.


Communication is love (or so a REAL therapist might say)! So how about leaving a review? ;-)

Thanks so much for reading!