James. Call him that, or “Jamie”, not “Jimmy”. He hates “Jimmy”. Jimmy’s a little boy.James slouched in the vinyl chair opposite his therapist. Silent. His gaze darted around the office like a bird wary of predators.The psychologist watched him. Not speaking, examining, his face the standard mask of neutrality. I wonder how they learn that, James thought, learn to look back at you with that blank expression that hides what they’re thinking? James wanted to say something that needed to be said but he dreaded it. He didn’t want to be judged.”What are you thinking right now, James?” the therapist said.James stopped looking for predators and focused his gaze on the therapist. “Why do I do it, doctor? Why do I continue to do it when I want to stop?””You don’t know?””No. I don’t. I’m hoping you’ll tell me,” James said. His voice trembled. He didn’t want gaziosmanpaşa escort an answer. He didn’t want to hear what was concealed in the dark recesses of his subconscious.”I can’t tell you, but together we might understand. Could it be that you don’t want to stop?””But I do.””Why do you think you do it if it bothers you?” the therapist said. James wondered if the man behind the beard and the wire-rim glasses was uncomfortable saying it. The second session and he still had not said it.”You must have some idea,” the therapist said and waited for James to speak.James paged through his thoughts. Why do I? Why does a married man masturbate when he has a beautiful wife? And why does he have to do it the way he does? The perverse way he settles his cravings? He found only questions gölbaşı escort in them.”I don’t know. I ask myself that question all the time. Is it an obsession?” James asked.”You mean a compulsion? Compulsion refers to behavior demanded by an obsession.”He never answers a fucking question. Corrected me, but was it an answer? No.”All right, compulsion then. Is it?”James watched the therapist cross his legs and change position in the rolling desk chair with the back that extended above his head like a throne. Thinking how to answer, James thought.”Possibly, but it’s not so unusual for a married man to masturbate.” James saw him flinch as he said it, as if the word stung him.”Uh-huh,” James said, nodding. “But why the anal thing, do you think?””Well, it’s stage of psychosexual development,” keçiören escort he said. Perhaps your struggling to resolve some conflict engendered at that level of development.””Potty training?” James said.”Was that a difficult time for you?” the therapist said.James considered. “I don’t think so. I don’t recall anything about it.”The therapist glanced at his wristwatch. “Let me ask you something.””Okay.””What do you think about when you, uh, masturbate? Is there a particular thought in mind, an image?”James cleared his throat. “I’m not sure,” he said.”Well can you give me an idea?”Tell him, Jamie. Get it out. “It’s like, how can I say it– “”Just say it in words you say to yourself.”Right.” He swallowed, looked down at the therapist’s shoes. He wished he had chosen a female therapist, it might be easier to admit it to a woman. “I imagine . . . I’m having sex.” He almost said “getting fucked”.”I see,” He looked away from James a moment, then back at him as he said, “Who do you imagine having sex with?””Nobody, really. It’s like just a man having sex with me. Not anybody I know.””A man. I see.” The therapist looked at his shoe. “Do you imagine it as a homosexual encounter?””No, actually I don’t.