Couples Therapy

Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Nov 18, 2005

“Sup?” I always laugh when Sara greets me this way. Clearly she’s mastering the urban vernacular.

We pop open a bottle of riesling and pop in Leslie’s mystery movie of the week. In this naked household, my girlfriend is in charge of all audiovisual materials not related to pornography. She usually manages to surprise me with some bizarre selections. This week it’s a lesbian slasher flick—a real gore fest—causing us to shudder and titter nervously.

“You’re not gonna go all crazy on us, are you?” I ask Sara as the credits roll.

“I’ll try not to.”

I imagine psychologists have to be at least somewhat sane. Part of the job description, innit?

The city is shrouded in mist as we make our way down the sidewalk to Chocolat. Yellow emergency lights pulse through the haze: the parked cars on Fifth Avenue are being towed en masse. Poor suckers.

Sara’s profession provides her with a wealth of story-time material, and as we relax in a corner of the bar she discusses the fetishes and weird sexualized compulsions she encounters. My girlfriend loves these sordid tales. “It must be embarrassing to wet your pants in front of someone,” Les says, “but there’s also something disturbingly sexual about it.” As they continue talking I cannot help but shake my head.

“So you’re a sexual anthropologist?” Sara asks me when we have a moment alone.

“Yes, I study human mating habits—particularly those of young females like you.”

When she laughs the tiny metal stud on the side of her nose glints in the light.

Sara likes to watch—she tells me so when I’m curled up in her lap as the two of us recline naked on the leather sofa. She smiles as my girlfriend straddles me, places her hand over a brown, silky buttock, and I imagine she’s taking mental notes. It’s a kind of sex therapy for all of us.

More: Threesome | Sara

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