Aaron remembered the reaction to the patients he discharged. Some were anxious; some were happy to leave, most were not too emotionally different from when they started. He could not remember anyone who was angry at their leaving. Lewis was going to be a problem.
Aaron lied, "Lewis, your reaction is normal. Most of my patients are uncomfortable when they realize their therapy will soon come to an end."
"I think you have a thing with that whore and you're jealous that I fucked her. This is your way of getting back at me."
Aaron to himself, "You're god**mn right. I'd like to see you bore some other analysts for years, as you have me."
To Lewis, whose grin disappeared, "That's not true, I will miss you."
Aaron arose signaling the session was over. He wondered how Lewis would react when he is finally told, 'This is your last session'. Would he walk out silently feeling he's been conned? Would he lash out bitterly at the doctor knowing little was accomplished, or would he feel happy now that his therapy was over?
Aaron shed the possibility of these last thoughts as almost nonexistent. Lewis came to analysis unhappy, and will leave unhappy. The only person in his circle of colleagues he felt would disagree with his thesis was Stephen Birch. The others, while vociferous about the positive value of psychoanalysis will, given a few drinks, concede the limitations of their medical specialty. Why was he giving so much thought to Lewis? Was it the Ginger thing? To hell with Lewis.
His next patient, in contrast to Lewis, was easier to take, although a greater challenge.
Sandy made her entrance, in her usual provocative style. Her micro skirt struggled to hide a pair of two story high legs that propelled her to the couch, trailed by a heavy scent of perfume that shouted SEX.
Aaron's general state of unhappiness did not travel to his groin. In less than 3 seconds Sandy was sitting in her 'look at my crotch' mode and Aaron was struggling to comfortably arrange his bulging pants.
"Uncomfortable Doc?"
"Why would I be?"
"It's the way you keep squirming."
"You always enjoy making people uncomfortable?" Not waiting for a smart-ass retort, he was sure would come, he continued, "Using sex to tease could be an expression of anger."
"Do we have to go over that again?"
"Yes, you continue to avoid examining your true feelings."
"It's your problem Doc. I'm not the one sitting here with a hard-on. I've made it clear, being sexually active is a reflection of being physically fit and uninhibited. If you think differently, it's your problem. Besides, I don't see you taking your eyes off my legs." And with that, Sandy shifted to a more seductive position.
Aaron, helplessly, was turned on. Never before had he had to face the overwhelming desire racing through his body as it did at this moment. He thought about Ginger. How the relationship with her was tender, and loving. Sleeping with her he imagined, was not unlike married couples he'd known who have at one time or another found the rhythm in their love lives to become as one.
This was different; for him it was sheer lust. If he were to act in any way that could be construed as morally wrong, their relationship would change drastically.
He knew he wasn't appealing to her, and yet he knew she'd let him take her. What was her game? Blackmail? Power over him? What?
While news about analysts seducing patients occasionally surfaced, it was mostly rumored and covered up. Aaron never heard of a teenager being involved. Of course, Sandy was a teenager in years only. Aaron struggled to erase the temptation that was before him.
It happened suddenly. Aaron started to panic. His own thoughts began to frighten him. Aaron broke into a cold sweat. His heart pounding felt like it was going through his chest. He found breathing difficult. Sandy, seeing the change in Doctor Greenwald asked, "You okay Doc?"
How could he have reached this emotional point? He knew about panic attacks. He witnessed enough of them and on one occasion suffered through his own.
Sandy cognizant that Doctor Greenwald might be having a heart attack immediately retrieved several tissues from her purse and soaked them with bottled water she always carried. Wiping his forehead, she kept repeating, "Are you okay, are you okay?"
Taking care of the situation at present was a priority that erased any guilt she might have felt. A moment ago she was playing a mind game with her analyst; controlling their relationship by sexually teasing him. Now she was wiping the brow of a middle aged balding man whose face was ghostly white.