Lately I've got a few writing projects, that are big, and ambitious, and consequentially difficult to start. The hardest thing when beginning a long journey, is to take that first step.
When I'm feeling overwhelmed, I often turn to a #KinkyScribble. Everyone seems to have their own take on the rules for them, but for me it looks like this:
- Put out a call on Twitter for followers to submit simple story prompts
- Pick whichever prompt feels the most inspiring
- Write a 300-1000 word story, limited to one sitting for writing, one sitting for editing
Countertransference
681 words
Tags: F/f, dubcon, noncon, mental health, gas lighting
“If you’re ready, then let’s begin. When was the first time you saw it?”
Catherine sighed, gripping a cup of hot chamomile in
trembling hands. “Was it two weeks
ago? Three? Probably more like two and a half now. I’m rambling, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. You’re
safe here. Just relax, take a deep
breath, and slow down. Tell me, what did
you see?”
“Eyes, glinting in the dark.
By my bedside table.” She lay
back into the big cushy chair, forcing herself to remember.
“I’d heard something. Like a
mouse, scurrying along. But not the
right rhythm for a mouse, if you understand.
I thought I was just being paranoid, like always happens. But then I looked, and I could see the glow
of streetlight in their eyes, could see the outline of their face.”
“Then you turned on the lights.” From her seat just behind Catherine’s
shoulder, her therapist shifted. “What
did you see then?”
“A leg. Definitely a
human leg. Disappearing behind the lamp. Thought I must be going crazy. I searched and searched and couldn’t find
anything. Must’ve been seeing things, I said,
but two nights later, the next time I tried to… when I was… um. Well. When
I did the same activity, she came back.”
“I see. The same…
activity.”
Catherine shut her eyes, holding the mug to her chest for
support. “Do I have to say it?”
She sensed her therapist lean in closer behind her. When the woman spoke, her voice was
gentle. “I think it would be healthy for
you, yes.”
In the corner, the grandfather clock ticked away. She felt each beat in the pit of her stomach,
felt her body vibrate with the force of it.
She swallowed. “I was… touching
myself.”
“I see.” The sound of
a pen making a short mark on a clipboard.
“Thank you for admitting that.
And tell me, what did you see that night?”
“I got a better look.
I saw tiny fingers wrapped around my light cord. They had wild black hair. Tiny lips, painted red, curled up in a
smile. They were watching me. WATCHING!
Enjoying the show. I’m sure of
it, I’m sure!”
The therapist clucked her tongue. “That confirms my diagnosis. Classical hysteria, manifesting through poorly
mediated libido drive. Likely stemming
from sexual shame in early childhood brought on by overbearing parents. Tell me about your mother.”
“No doctor! It was
real, I swear! I knew you wouldn’t
believe me, that no one would believe me.
That’s why the third time, I set a trap.”
“Oh dear. Denial,
retreat into fantasy. I’m afraid we have
our work cut out for us.”
“I almost caught her the third time. I made sure to go really slow with
myself. Make lots of, um, you know,
noises. Put on a… a show for her. And I knew they were there, I could hear them
breathing. I waited, waited until they
got close. Then, BAM! I flipped on the lights, grabbed the little
goldfish net I bought, and… oh boy, they looked so surprised!”
“I’m certain.”
Catherine sank back into her chair. “But I spent too much time looking at them. She was so pretty, and delicate. Hair, neat and combed this time. Bright green eyes. Older than I expected. They looked wise, and friendly, and….” She laughed nervously. “Now that I think, she looked like… you.”
“I see you’re having a breakthrough,” her therapist
replied. Catherine could actually hear
the woman’s lips curling into a smile. “But
your time is up.”
Catherine tried to rise from her seat. Her clothes were so heavy, the mug in her
hands growing too big to hold. She heard
her therapist stand, and with slow, languid movements, the giantess came to
stand before her. Three times her
size. Then four. Green eyes twinkling, with glee, and malice.
“I’m afraid I’m too close to this case to continue treatment. Yet another case of countertransference.” The woman opened her purse. Catherine found herself still shrinking as she
was lifted. “Thankfully, with our
professional relationship terminated, we can explore other options.”
