The Silent Listen

Love MD

My wife and her job seem to bother me more and more these days. I mean truly what she does is involves becoming more than physically intimate with her clients. Her official title is Sexual Curate. The official job description of hers is to cure people through the healing power of sex. 

But more and more it just seems to me that just entails copulation with people other than myself. They say at the Church that she has been conditioned. So supposedly none of the sexual acts she engages in promote arousal in her. She has a mind that, when it comes to her job at least, (or so I am told) allows her to view the sexual act as purely therapeutic in nature.

Of course in our personal life, me and she engage in sex regularly. And I am not going to lie, it feels pretty darn good to have such an accomplished sexual professional, come home to me at the end of the day. She sure knows how to keep me coming back for more too. I am reassured by her that she has been trained to compartmentalize the aspects of her job. Keeping all of what happens at work, at work, nothing that she does to heal her patients inhibits her duties in our bedroom as a wife.

By the way she discusses her day, I can see the difference. More and more the way she tells me what position she performed or what desire she fulfilled for her patients, the more it seems that she is describing doing our taxes rather than talking about intimacy. The very nature of her job seems to be more of a scientist than anything.

Even so, I find myself drawn to her work. True, we have more than enough of a satisfying sexual repertoire at home. So much so that she can leave me physically drained that I can sleep for almost a full day when we really go at each other like we mean it.

Therefore, I made the decision to actually seek out her services, not as a husband, but as a client. Believe me, it was not easy. In fact it was highly discourages. All of the sisterhood firmly were opposed to the idea of seeking therapy from my own wife. They recommended a number of other accomplished Curates, many of which the resemblance to my wife was almost uncanny. 

It might come as a bit of a shock that a church would embrace such brazen sexual promiscuity. Yet in their belief system, the way their Curates performed their duties, there was nothing promiscuous about it. Married or unmarried, the Curates were not defiling the marital union. In performing their duties, it was seen almost akin to the act of confession to a priest.

It was not easy, I would come up with all sorts of excuses or mental illnesses or fake sickness to get her to "cure" me. I had an unusual attachment to my childhood home. Or I was dreaming that I was being bullied by a deceased relative. Or I was afraid that I was sexually aroused by a peach.

Either she is playing along because she wants it just as much as I do or she truly is able to heal with having sex with me. The first session was nothing like I imagined. From what I knew of her as her husband, she was very liberal when it came to performing just about anything I desired. She could dress up as a cheerleader, role play as my boss, has an almost superhuman level of flexibility. Doing a full split above me and acting like I was her balance board and she performed a full array of gymnastics moves. It left my body feeling like it was tied up in knots.

As a therapist, she is much more methodical. Listening to my tales of distress very carefully. The prescribing, no actually demanding of me, to get into a certain position, while she begins the therapy. Walking up and kneeling so close to me that I can feel the warmth of her body. But she absolutely forbade me making contact with her body. Apparently it will take much longer for her to access my bodies needs.

With intention behind every motion of her hands and fingers. She explores my body stopping just short of touching me. Warning me whenever I cannot keep my hands off of her that it will count almost as a penalty, and negate the therapy. Forcing me to hold off my excruciating desire to be with her. 

Using her breath she breathes on parts of my body. Again forbidding me from reciprocating in any way. In fact I am somehow to clear my head and focus on the moment. Putting the thought of sex out of my mind. And just accepting what my body is feeling as she is breathing. On my neck. Through my shirt and on my chest. On each of my fingers. As the sessions progress over the course of a few weeks, she finally allows both of us to start to remove clothing.

Thankfully, the therapy has progressed to the point where we have sex at nearly every session. Today although it's really rainy outside, we still manage to go a few rounds with each other. At the risk of being flooded since it starts pouring and people are taking shelter on the outside. 

But we keep on having sex. Since it's my treatment time. Also she can prescribe certain positions for me to try on her. Again I say prescribe but it sounds more like a demand she is giving me. All to get the most benefit from the therapy. By all accounts I should be cured by now. But I find every opportunity to present a different form of psychosis or affliction. That necessitates the continuation of our therapy.

Part of the therapy is reviewing a book that has pages much like a tablet screen, but as you turn them, a hologram appears above. Like a type of pop out book with virtual digital pages that you flip and the story unfolds as a 3d hologram with sounds and everything. These pages of this book contain recordings of our sessions together. 

An alert pops up on the display, of the severity of the storm being increased. Apparently our neighbors are trying to barricade themselves in their homes, as we watch the feed from our home surveillance system. We worry a bit but then go back to having sex which seems to calm the storm a little bit, but mostly for the fun of i.