deepundergroundpoetry.com
Unrequited Erotic Transference
I might have picked up on your predilection for discussing sex very early on.
I've spent most of my life finely observing men's behavior.
When a man's excited, only the most skilled at concealing, successfully hide from shrewd eyes.
And so I saw you.
You would teach me so much I didn't know.
The strange world of sex and psychology.
A frenzied undercurrent, building with each licentious detail.
Each sentence you spoke, a brush stroke painting vivid pictures in my mind.
Each stroke more fevered; heavier, losing patience.
And so the lessons would come to an end.
You worked yourself into a fit.
On the surface you're seated; legs crossed, little yellow notepad, calm.
Waiting.
But I can see it behind your eyes, like a shiver, a buzzing mad hive.
Then, a question for me.
I shift. Writhe inside. Twist. Agonize inside. Shame.
I lie.
I watch you retreat. Smothered.
No fulmination.
No exudation.
I can tell; there's not enough, detail or debased, for release later.
I feel blood rushing into my cheeks.
I was a disappointment.
A different shame.
A new anger.
That anger would be enough to keep my erotic transference burning low, dark embers.
I'm neglected. Your compliments would restore.
I'm delusional.
He doesn't understand me. You appreciate me.
I'm hollow.
My world is cruel. You give me gentle kindness.
My first.
And so the embers burned red.
My skin blistered.
Leaving your office, there was quickening. Pulse, breath, step, stumble.
In my car there would be a tightening. A familiar, burrowing ache.
A hot seeping, like draping wet silk.
The howling I had to hold back while gripping my steering wheel.
The men I drove past on the way home; all of them oblivious to my wish.
Please. Fuck me.
To be raked and macerated by any of them.
In truth, feeling your hot, solid prick through your clothes
I want that.
Smelling your cologne for the first time during our last session.
When you came close.
I want to feel your breath anywhere on my body.
I want to hear the tautness in your voice while you're painfully aroused.
I want to see your curly ruff crowned with sweat.
Carnal femininity unleashed the beast within; now I'm suffering.
Caged.
Won't you save me from myself?
Please touch me, doctor. Save me.
I want to surrender for you; my blue blood, my dignity.
I want to wear a burgundy dress for your hands to explore.
Fingering under my skin. Your eyes never leaving mine.
Healing.
I want to make you happy. I want to please you, doctor.
I want to sacrifice myself to this fever; let these flames burn into oblivion.
Trap one moment of time.
For that is all it would ever be: one moment.
If ever
A mistake.
It won't ever happen.
Will it, doctor? Healer?
You're devoted to your patients. Truly caring.
Such discipline. Master of your medicine.
And yet, I know, by very definition of my diagnosis
I am insane.
I've spent most of my life finely observing men's behavior.
When a man's excited, only the most skilled at concealing, successfully hide from shrewd eyes.
And so I saw you.
You would teach me so much I didn't know.
The strange world of sex and psychology.
A frenzied undercurrent, building with each licentious detail.
Each sentence you spoke, a brush stroke painting vivid pictures in my mind.
Each stroke more fevered; heavier, losing patience.
And so the lessons would come to an end.
You worked yourself into a fit.
On the surface you're seated; legs crossed, little yellow notepad, calm.
Waiting.
But I can see it behind your eyes, like a shiver, a buzzing mad hive.
Then, a question for me.
I shift. Writhe inside. Twist. Agonize inside. Shame.
I lie.
I watch you retreat. Smothered.
No fulmination.
No exudation.
I can tell; there's not enough, detail or debased, for release later.
I feel blood rushing into my cheeks.
I was a disappointment.
A different shame.
A new anger.
That anger would be enough to keep my erotic transference burning low, dark embers.
I'm neglected. Your compliments would restore.
I'm delusional.
He doesn't understand me. You appreciate me.
I'm hollow.
My world is cruel. You give me gentle kindness.
My first.
And so the embers burned red.
My skin blistered.
Leaving your office, there was quickening. Pulse, breath, step, stumble.
In my car there would be a tightening. A familiar, burrowing ache.
A hot seeping, like draping wet silk.
The howling I had to hold back while gripping my steering wheel.
The men I drove past on the way home; all of them oblivious to my wish.
Please. Fuck me.
To be raked and macerated by any of them.
In truth, feeling your hot, solid prick through your clothes
I want that.
Smelling your cologne for the first time during our last session.
When you came close.
I want to feel your breath anywhere on my body.
I want to hear the tautness in your voice while you're painfully aroused.
I want to see your curly ruff crowned with sweat.
Carnal femininity unleashed the beast within; now I'm suffering.
Caged.
Won't you save me from myself?
Please touch me, doctor. Save me.
I want to surrender for you; my blue blood, my dignity.
I want to wear a burgundy dress for your hands to explore.
Fingering under my skin. Your eyes never leaving mine.
Healing.
I want to make you happy. I want to please you, doctor.
I want to sacrifice myself to this fever; let these flames burn into oblivion.
Trap one moment of time.
For that is all it would ever be: one moment.
If ever
A mistake.
It won't ever happen.
Will it, doctor? Healer?
You're devoted to your patients. Truly caring.
Such discipline. Master of your medicine.
And yet, I know, by very definition of my diagnosis
I am insane.
Published 17th Jul 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 6
reading list entries 1
comments 8
reads 1149
Commenting Preference:
The author is looking for friendly feedback.
17th Jul 2016 3:23pm
18th Jul 2016 10:21am
Anonymous
17th Jul 2016 10:45pm
<< post removed >>
18th Jul 2016 10:22am
I'm glad you enjoyed it! I have no experience with writing. That might explain the uniqueness ;-D
18th Jul 2016 4:09am
18th Jul 2016 1:12pm
24th Jul 2016 8:47am
This is a unique narrative that is so identifiable to me or probably anyone whose been in a doctor's office, especially a psychologist.... Also I think the choice of text i.e.. letter and word spacing adds something to it, almost giving it an alliterative businesslike cast that seems like a letter to a doctor would have....
