I drop my head into my hands. “You can’t say that!”
“Kids,” she says. “Why don’t you go and watch cartoons?”
Max and Effie look at each other and skedaddle. I bet they can’t believe their luck. Cartoons, and it’s not even raining.
Dana puts the kettle on and makes tea. She slides a mug on the table. “Come on, tell Dr Dana all about it.”
Even though she’s pro-Anders, I need to talk to someone, and she’s all I’ve got. My parents might love me, but we don’t have the type of relationship where I can talk about my sex life. My work friends are absolutely out of the question; my school and college friends scattered to the corners of the world.
“I’ve been having intrusive thoughts.”
“What type of thoughts?” Dana’s face shows her alarm and immediately I realise how crass my words were. I backtrack. “Nothing serious. Nothing like that.”
Dana’s head tilts to one side as her eyes consider me. “X-rated thoughts?”
I nod, unable to find the words.
“What is the exact nature of these thoughts?”
I squirm. Last night, after Effie had gone to bed, I had a fantasy that when Anders caught me bare-arsed, he’d moved behind me. Then he’d lowered his sweatpants and taken out his enormous erect cock and rubbed it over. Then he plunged into me from behind as I braced myself, hands splayed against his patio doors. Even now, just thinking about it, my heart rate is picking up, my belly tightening. But I’m never going to admit those details to anyone.
“I’m having sex. Different types, different positions.” I hope that’s explicit enough without being too vague.
“Different people?”
I shake my head, my eyes fixed on my mug of tea.
“One man?”
I nod.
“Anders?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” she reflects. “Maybe your body is telling you it needs some stress release?”
I know I’m being cagey, but Dana doesn’t have to treat me like a blushing virgin. “Do you mean an orgasm?”
She nods.
“That’s not the problem. I’ve been ringing that particular doorbell every night. Sometimes more. It’s not made a jot of difference. And the thoughts are getting worse.”
“Worse?”
“More adventurous,” I mutter. “Things I’d never do. I’ve tried to stop them, but they keep coming.”
Dana sniggers at my words like a twelve-year-old.
“Not helpful,” I remind her. Then I groan. “I think I’ve a crush on my boss.”
She taps the table. “You want to have sex with him, so go have sex with him. I give you permission. You’re two consenting adults. Why is that such a problem?”
“Because now Effie’s fallen for him big time. He’s an older man who’s shown her a speck of attention and Mike is such a flake she’s smitten. How am I meant to fuck Anders without Effie finding out? And what will that do to her hopes?”
“Effie doesn’t have to find out. The two of you work together, do it in his office. Blow him under the desk.”
Until recently, I never understood why so many romances featured this, but Dana’s suggestion is suspiciously close to one of my fantasies. I’d never do it in real life. “The worry someone might walk in would stress me out so much, I’d probably bite his dick off,” I tell her.
