Page 9 of The Therapist
Cocking his head to the left, he says, “I grew up in a secluded sexual environment. We never discussed bodies or related bodily activities at home. My mother never gave me or my brother a bath. That was my father’s job since ‘we had the same parts’.”
“That must have been hard through adolescence.”
He nods. “It was.”
“How do you think that affected you as a child?”
He drops his head in thought. “I suppose it made me very curious.”
“Curious how? About what?”
“About bodies. Women’s bodies mostly, since I knew what mine looked like. I didn’t know how they differed or why. I used to stare at girls in the grocery store or school, trying to see through their clothes. I don’t know. I just wanted to understand. At home, bodies were taboo without explanation. I had questions but no one to answer them.”
I make a note to go back through the file his therapist faxed over because he seems fairly typical in terms of patients and not particularly what I specialize in.
“You say you knew what your body looked like, it’s common in repressed households for even looking at yourself to be frowned upon. Was that something you experienced?”
“I was not allowed to touch myself. The house had no mirrors outside the bathroom. My father didn’t seem to care if I looked in the mirror getting in and out of the bathtub. Of course, when I was old enough to shower on my own, I’d leave the water running so I could…” his voice drifts off with the red tinge in his cheek.
“Check yourself out?”
He gives a curt snort of laughter. “Yes. But vanity is nothing to be proud of.”
“Who told you that?”
“My mother.”
I nod as I jot down more notes.
“Curiosity is normal and when we’re denied basic knowledge about bodily functions and differences, vanity can be a very common outcome. There’s no shame in that.”
“I felt shame.”
“Interesting. Enough to stop staring in the mirror?”
He chortles. “No. Not enough for that. I liked watching my muscles flex with movements, I didn’t stare and think ‘God, I’m so hot’, I didn’t understand hot because it wasn’t relative. I was fascinated by the way my skin stretched over me, by my penis, just hanging there, the way hair grew in some places but not all. I liked to see what walking looked like without clothes and with clothes.”
“Do you find yourself drawn to deviant sexual fantasies as an adult?”
He bites his lip. But not in a shy manner. No, it’s deliberate, as if he’s stifling a grin or keeping a secret. There’s always a secret. The saying goes, you let your secrets out so they don’t have power over you, but when a secret is out, a part of you is out too, and it belongs to others then. You don’t control the darkness anymore, and that’s terrifying.
The real horror is knowing we all have secrets.
No one is immune to them.
He considers me a moment longer before his posture relaxes. His eyes seem to drill holes right through me. So intense. So fixated.
So full of desire.
“My whole life I’ve liked to watch people. I’ve always felt different, but it wasn’t until after college that I could pinpoint my difference.” His words are spoken quietly, quickly, as though some deviant admittance of guilt.
“There are many people who find gratification in watching people. It’s not as uncommon as you might think,” I say.
Cooper nods his head.
“Yes, I’ve heard that voyeurism is a fairly natural kink to have.”
“Then what exactly troubles you? Does this interfere with your daily life? Is it preventing you from carrying on healthy relationships with partners?”
