Tag Archives: Liberation

The Girlfriend Experience


Some clients actually want this.
Some clients actually want this.

This title will be deceiving to some as there are types of professions that’ll give you the girlfriend experience automatically for their own reasons, but I picked this title because it describes my experience perfectly.  See, when your own therapist is trying to give you the girlfriend experience and it doesn’t involve great conversation, an evening gown, a sugar daddy or walking away with an orgasm – you have to question what is going on because some people like myself actually want real therapy.

I’m not looking to sit in somebody’s office and talk about what’s happening throughout my week on a weekly basis.  I don’t want to gossip about my life so the therapist could live vicariously through me.  I don’t want a girlfriend to laugh with that’s presented as a therapist to have offset conversations about my future with.  I don’t want to sit under jarring lights and speak about my opinions or views about my relationship and how does it feel to live with my partner and his two kids.

I don’t want to wait outside the therapist office only to hear loud laughs coming from behind closed doors because I want to KNOW and I want to SEE and I want to HEAR real therapy happen.  You know – the kind of therapy that leaves you crying, reflecting and even feeling lost in your own world by the thought-provoking questions and thoughts that should occur.

The truth is I don’t need to share my present or future plans with this therapist.  I don’t need the option to have a family therapy session.  I don’t need to replace a girl who is a friend because I don’t have any current (real life) girls who are friends anyway.  I don’t need my therapy session to be fun or lighthearted.  I don’t want to be in a niche I believe my therapist has – some kind of Women’s Club.

So the question is:  What do I want from therapy?

I want to stay stuck.  I want to stumble.  I want my thoughts to dig in their own graves if it means I’ll find a better understanding of myself.  I want to cry (if it goes there).  I want the therapist to do their job.  I want a therapist to put in time and effort by taking real opportunities to intentionally ruin my day with childhood trauma and life-altering questions.  I want a therapist who wants to make a difference in every client’s life.  I want to walk away from the therapist appointment feeling like I had a great therapy session and not like I had a fucking girlfriend experience.  I’m not there to be coddled.  I’m there for serious matters.

What I want from therapy is very specific and it has to be because there isn’t any other way to go about it.  I have a family history of mental illness.  Some behavior is learned, while others are given to me directly by blood.  I notice sometimes I’m managing okay, and other times I have to accept that I’m not.  I was diagnosed as a twelve year old kid with Depression.  Now it seems I graduated to being Bipolar.  It is important for me to understand my illness, my blessing and my curse.  And it’s super important for me to understand my behaviors and tics and why I switch into two different types of people without any awareness as to when it’s happening.

The point to all this is:  I remember clearly telling the lady who performed my evaluation exactly what I want(ed) as well as the first time I met and spoke with my therapist.

My therapist has a good nature about her (at times) despite being very different from me and my own life.  Still, I want a good therapist.  And I will get a good therapist because I’m not settling for less and because I’m not going to stop searching for one.  And as I walk away from the therapist office once again thoughts start to balloon collectively but singularly at once:  Why is it every time I’m early to my appointment and lounging in the waiting room I see the same aged clients (late 20’s- early 50’s) strolling out of my therapist’s office?  Why are all these women – whether they’re young or old laughing every time they leave the therapist office?  And why are all the therapists’ clients’ women?

Now the time has come where I believe I’ve fully given this woman enough of my time.  I’m never getting those months back.  Of course this is a learning experience for future therapists and future standards I’m going to set right in the beginning of my first therapy session which takes place next week because this bitch doesn’t play.  I did my goal: I stuck with a therapist for about 6 months because I’m like most men in the world – I have commitment issues.  Nevertheless I learned a lot.  Therefore this is where I break up with the girlfriend experience who is my therapist.

Some Final Notes

Some people have a problem with breaking up with people.  Fortunately and luckily, I do not.  I enjoy it, and frankly – welcome it!  I think about how my life has been about one big confrontation.  And luckily for me I love confrontations because it says a lot about the kind of person you are (or not).  I go on and think about the bases I have to cover in case this therapist decides to fire away questions because she doesn’t like my basic answer which is:  There’s something missing in our therapy sessions.

Along with confrontation I think about liberation.  Breaking up with a partner, wife, husband, business partner and such can be a fantastic release, even if it hurts initially.  I think about the freedom to speaking your mind and expressing what it is you really feel and think about right after moving on and never looking back because if it was good for you, you’ll still be in the relationship or in my case – sitting in a seat across from my therapist who wants to get paid to do half ass work.  I’m not wasting my time to get half ass results.  If a person isn’t driven for success by giving out quality work then why should I (or any other client) be around?

If the other clients don’t understand this, that’s not my problem, and as is, not every client wants what I want.  Some actually want to be coddled.  However, I’m leaving this therapist because I have self-love.  I wish she understood what it is she’s currently providing by not providing.  As a therapist, she should put in time and effort into improving and evolving her client’s lives unless they specified to have a girlfriend experience.

To be continued..

I broke up with my therapist and I liked it.

-Pennington

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A Gym Rat’s Dream: Bench Make-out!


AlexGrey-Kissing-1983
When two people have been fancying and aching for identical obsessions with one another for an extended period of time, fantasizing without end, dreaming superior dreams and witlessly idolizing to only approach together becomes a mixture of strong release, beautiful liberation and a relishing of everything feeling right within moments shared.

I was flat on my back on a blue stretching mat; I had just plopped down from wincing at the unbelievable pain of foamrolling and holding the spot on my super tight hamstring from a training session I underwent angrily abusing my body a few nights ago.  Dark Knight came on over to give me more pointers and how to triple the pressure onto these spots.  I did as told for a few minutes and off he went to continue his Chest and Back Training.

Staring at the ceiling, at first creating faces of pain like I misplaced a long lost love when my ears perked up and I listened out for his grunts and how he grinded out every set of every rep with continuous vigorous craze.  It seemed as if my subconscious took over for a flash and I squeezed my legs together tightly as an orgasm contraction and closed my eyes tenderly and started to pant allowing my breathings to turn erratic.

He came around the corner with his gorgeous radiant smile and asked me how my hamstrings was doing while removing the foamroll from underneath me and placing a big bright yellow stability ball under my legs for cute support.  Among the questions, he asked if I had anything else on my mind.  I shot him the infamous zoom eye to the top left corner look with my hands plastered on my forehead running through my hair frenzied and responded with, “I’m turning myself on listening to your groans as you workout.”

On one knee he lunged to the floor (and I’m not sure what he was talking about anymore once he hovered) and tapped kissed me with his voluminous lips.  I kept my eyes open to gaze at him and he did the same.  A few more beautiful tap kisses and I placed my hands on both sides of his face to drag him in as we suckled in bliss and endorphins.

I crunched upwards towards him and eventually had to hold my neck up but as an attentive lover does, he took his own arm once he noticed and filled his arm in place.  Gleefully my hands slid around his big muscular veiny forearms and against the sweat of his layered shirts that stuck onto his football player traps.  His hands lingered on the back of my neck and then he started to lower down to fondle my breast where he felt for a nipple and pinched it with slight effort as my back arched like a cat in freakish heat.

I’m unsure how I got up from the stretching mat, unsure of how we even strolled into the main shadowy weight room.  All I knew is he sat on the bench with the barbell loaded with two 45lb plates on each side and he pulled me to sit with him, our legs on either side of the bench where he innocently kissed my hair, face and neck right to my lips.  We locked in our mouths and I started to listen and feel what was going on:  Pure chemistry.

The noise of suckling lips, hands sliding the world of bodies.  The moans of desire cascaded on each other’s faces, the eye contact of fury and eyes closed in sensational delight.  The teasing of his kisses where he would open his mouth but not dart his tongue directly into mine all led me to flow with him like a moral story.

What I enjoyed the most was how we both had on sweat and damp clothing from our workouts: I had set out for my many rounds of heavy bag kicks, knees and core work while he gave his body away to monstrous giant sets.  But our funks didn’t matter.  I believe it’s what gave us another beautiful edge.

And I allowed him freely to massage my breasts together from above fabric while he rubbed my fiery nipples.  Then every now and again he would pull me in by the waist as my hands rubbed on his towering chest pinching his nipples from both over and under his shirt.  Then our hands made its way below the waist where he placed my hand on his member and his hands went under my sweat pants above my panty where he played with my clitoris and soothe me by cupping half my face along with words and making “mmming” sounds when he enjoyed my reactions.

Continuing the heat of the moment I unleashed my breasts from the bottom side of the bra as he said he wanted me to cum for him.  But I was scared and paranoid after hours at the gym where I work when his head dropped quickly to lick my nipple in wonderful fashion.  I held onto his bald head for a moment and squirmed for the next.

And in the beauty of this kissing session on the bench, in the dark weight room with one office light on in the corner for slight moonlighting I couldn’t finish what I started and than somehow I got up and went to spot him on the same bench.  I continued to watch him work his ass off while whispering to myself how I need to be on his elite training level.

We broke night, walked many blocks around the chilly city, stared at architectural designs and eventually enjoyed each other’s company and laughter from the heart at a diner eating breakfast.

But that bench, those kisses and him, felt eternal just like the power of the present.

-Pennington