A good friend I loved died recently. He was such a beautiful, good person I’m saddened that he’s no longer in this world. Part of my coping mechanism in dealing with his death is throwing myself into my work. Talking about my clients’ fantasies takes my mind away from my reality.

While this is mostly therapeutic, there is an aspect to it that makes me pause and check that I won’t cry.

It happens at the beginning of the call. The client asks how I’ve been doing or what I’ve been up to. It’s not their fault; they’re just being polite. But it’s distressing nonetheless.

The real answers instantly pop into my mind. Grieving. Remembering. Wondering why death comes when it does. Pondering my future and the future of my loved ones still living.

But I can’t say the real answers. It’s not fair to the client. He’s calling to hear a fantasy, to get off, to seek companionship. So I swallow my truth and lie. “I’m fine. Oh, I’ve just been hanging out at home. I’m feeling pretty good.”

Their questions make me pause. My voice doesn’t sound authentic as I answer. But they believe me. Why wouldn’t they? The small talk starts shortly afterwards and I can lose myself for a time.

Once this starts I feel back in the groove. I jump into their world for a bit and the stress relief is tremendous. I feel more relaxed when the call is over. Funny how I can turn a piss swallowing panties clad fetishist into a therapy call for myself.

Posted by Vixen in PSO Confessions