Dr. Defiance Defends Sex Therapy; Dr. Freudine And Irish Reel From The Truth Jul 26 '03 (Updated Apr 01 '05)    Write an essay on this topic. Tweet The Bottom Line Jokes can sometimes backfire. Author's Note--The adventures of my psychiatrist continue to unfold and dramatically so this time. In the last post, a review of The Perfect Fit, we see her client Irish pulling her out of her office; that and previous parts of her story can be linked to from my profile page... ****************************************************** I'm still laughing at the spontaneity of my rogueish client as we prepare to leave my office, but then my phone rings. Groaning I exchange a wry smile with Irish, then dig it out of my bag, feeling as guilty as a child playing hooky from school (not that I ever did, of course!). "Dr. Freudine's office," I mumble with my back turned from the curious man. "Dr. Freudine, this is the doctor who trained those girls for giving sex therapy. They both called me up almost in tears because you didn't seem very impressed with them and I'd like to know why. Assuming you have the time." "Oh! Almost in tears you say? But $1200 was outrageous and I told Blondie I'd be in touch, Doctor...Who?" The unamused lady sniffs. "Dr. Defiance. Without her phone number? I'd heard such wonderful things about you and now I have to wonder at your professionalism." I swallow a lump in my throat, glancing behind me to give Irish a dismayed look. I don't know what to say for a few moments, wondering if she'd heard about me from this guy or that pest Jan, and so she starts in on her spiel. "My girls are all professionals without one complaint against them in my ten years of working with them. I like to work with other doctors out of professional courtesy so they may call on me whenever their clients need sex therapy. If you haven't tried sex therapy, you really should, Doctor. I know just a flash of a good-looking man getting naked makes me positively giddy and that's why I started training sex surrogates..." "Dr. Defiance," I blurt out, feeling the blood storm my cheeks. "I'm in a session with a client right now, but I haven't heard one thing that impresses me about you or this so-called "sex therapy." It sounds like an easy sell-out of your wondrously giddy professionalism. If my clients actually ask for such help, I'll send them your way. Have a nice day, Doctor!" My hands are shaking as I turn off the connection and stuff it back into my bag. I freeze at the sound of a low whistle and turn around. "I guess you got an earful, huh?" I say with a defiant gleam in my eye. If he dares to criticize me, if he even confesses that he sent her my way, I think I'll go back in my office and cry. "Doc, you're one savvy work of art. You tell it like it is like no other woman I have the honor of knowing," Irish murmurs. I blush at the open praise and have to look away from his so-beguiling, darkened eyes. What is he really thinking, though? Maybe that I don't like sex, hahaha! Irish touches my arm and I jump. "You remind me of one of my cats. Come on, darlin', let's go for a drive," he drawls. "You have cats? Why haven't you mentioned them? I'd love to hear about them." I lock up my office and dump the set of keys in my bag. We head down the hallway and both of us to our surprise stop at the door to use the four flights of stairs. Irish laughs and opens it for me. "After you, Doc!" "Thank you! So you wouldn't be interested in sex therapy, would you? You seem to enjoy a lot of sex all the time if your couch talks are to be believed." He hesitates, keeping up with me down the stairs. "A savvy woman like you doesn't believe everything she hears, does she? Funny thing that you should ask, but I mentioned to Jan the other week..." "You did what?!" I squeak, only to be cut off by my phone. Doesn't he even have one? I pause on the step, yank open my bag, grab the infernal phone and spit out a greeting. "Dr. Freudine," oozes the deviant doctor in return, "my therapy is based on Masters and Johnson's sensate focus program that trains people to deal with their sexual disorders, such as male erectile disorder and female orgasmic disorder. With these acclaimed techniques, people are able to increase their pleasure tremendously..." "I see. What are the long-term results?" "Long-term? How do you mean specifically? Sex is a delicate gift from the gods. No one can guarantee great sex for the rest of your life." I shake my head and with it the ponytail. Knowing it was a joke, I decide to humor her. "Hey, I think I have a client for your sex surrogates, Dr. Defiance. Yeah, what's your number? Okay, I'll be in touch." I disconnect and smile goofily at Irish. He stares back, wide-eyed. "The kid would probably bite at the chance, but if you have the idea that I would, well, I'm deeply hurt. I thought you would get it by now how I feel about you, but now I see I'm just a shallow jerk to you." He brushes away a tear and turns to hang his head against the wall. I can't believe what I'm hearing. It was just a joke. "How you feel about me?" I repeat. "I was having fun with her. I didn't mean to hurt you, Irish..." "How could you not by sending me to someone like that? It was a nasty joke." Suddenly he's before me wracked with pain. "I need to get out of here, but not with you! Good...good..." He flails an arm as if swatting a fly, then backs up with a little boy miserable look. "But...but how was I to know your feelings when you talked about all those women? Why shouldn't I think of you as a shallow jerk, huh? Not that I do...exactly. I mean, you talk about sex all the time, you took over a session I had with the kid, I mean David. And now I find out you made up the sex, wasting my time, and then mentioned to a crazy outsider that you want sex therapy. Just how am I to infer from that that you like, not to mention respect, me?" His face has become pale. Mine probably has, too, if I can judge by my lack of feeling anything. We just gaze helplessly at each other, him on the bottom of the stairs and me still stranded in the middle of the flight of stairs. "O...kay," he finally utters. "We can talk about it in the car. It's stuffy as hell in here." "Yeah." I take a step, then stop. "I forgot about my session with David! I can't go. It's too late to cancel, Irish." He sighs, combing fingers through his dark hair. "Do you like Charlie Chaplin?" "The silent film star? I've never watched him. Why?" "I'll pick you up in about an hour and introduce you to him and my cats, okay?" I smile. "Okay." For a moment I thought he would leap up the stairs and kiss me, but that was just my wild imagination. His grin warms my heart, sending life back through me, and we finally go our separate ways.

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