Michael Jackson Dirty Imagines 😏

My Therapist 2

It has been a whole week since my first interaction with Michael. The words that he said were like a broken record in my mind. You are, 'perfect', 'beautiful', and 'attractive'. That means a lot coming from a man like himself. Michael isn't an ugly man at all! He is the most attractive man that I have ever laid eyes on. Even with all the guys that I have hooked up with, none of them ever looked as good as Mr. Jackson.

It was difficult to think he wasn't an international celebrity with his sharp traits and piercing brown eyes. All it took was one session with his soothing, articulate words wrapped themselves over me like an embrace of warmth, making it more and more complicated for me to concentrate on my problems. But even with his statements, I was unable to get rid of the persistent worries that had followed me around for years. Even though his gaze was professional, it gave me a sense of being noticed that I hadn't had in a long time. This mixture of professional distancing and affection was unclear.

That still hasn't changed the fact that I have been going to night clubs two-three times a week getting plastered and sleeping with random strangers. I have been doing it for so long now it's what I am accustomed to. I don't see that changing any time soon.

I made it to the office going over to the sign in desk letting them know that I am here. I paid $30 for my session and took a seat waiting for my name to be called. While I was waiting I scrolled through my phone watching YouTube shorts. That was until I got a text message from my ex-husband.

Bastard: *You really think seeking therapy is really going to fix all your fucking issues that you have? Bitch please, no one is educated or certified enough to help your pathetic stupid ass. No one even cares about your issues, not even your fucking therapist. Just give it up and come to realization that you're hopeless. Just keep fucking and drinking your life away.*

How the fuck does he know that I am seeking therapy? I don't associate with him what so ever. Ugh! I hate him. I wish I had never even married him.

"Ms. Lane?" A lady for the door said my name. I got up walking over towards her and she took me to the same area as before.

"Mr. Jackson will be with you in just a few minutes."

"Okay, thank you."

While I was waiting, I went back on my phone rereading his text message. It just pissed me off all over again. How does he know that I am seeking therapy? He lives 2 and a half hours away from me, what the fuck? Why the fuck should he care what the hell I am doing, it doesn't concern him any at all. I wanted to reply, but I was the bigger person and didn't do so. At least not yet. I'll probably end up sending him a drunk reply later and regret it the next morning or probably not.

"Ms. Lane?" I heard Michaels sweet voice say my name. I looked up at him and he was wearing a red and black button down tucked into his black pants. He looks fucking delicious.

I got up from my seat walking past him into the room, taking a seat on the couch. I heard him shut the door, before taking a seat in front of me.

"Ms. Lane, I forgot to ask you what you do for work."

"I am the office manager of a bank."

"Do you like your job?"

"Yeah, I do. I have been with the bank for 10 years and office manager for a little over a year."

"How are things, Ms. Lane?"

"The same as the last time we spoke, Mr. Jackson."