And we keep going.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do about F. I want to love him and keep this infatuation going. But I'm afraid it's an exercise in frustration. And I don't want it to be.

I want to have an affair with him. Fuck him in his office. Go over to him, grab his hair and pull his face to mine. I want us to start kissing with the serious energy that we've (I've) been holding back. I want him to unbuckle my belt and yank my jeans down around my hips. I want his hand under there and driving, driving, driving.* 

Screeeeech. Back to reality. I'm sitting 7 or so feet away from him in a damn office chair. ugh.

If he were a normal guy I met at the grocery store or the bar, I could do this. But no, I have to freaking meet him in the office. I know, I know, I wouldn't be so interested in him if I met him at the bar.

In fact, if I heard all the shit he's told me in the office at a bar, I would run screaming away to the bathroom (after I downed the drink he bought me.)

So yeah, he tells me all sorts of shit in the office. I have looked up what constitutes normal behavior (ie ethics) for shrinks, and he is definitely not following the program. He is the poster boy for self-disclosure.

Yay! That means he might go one more step.

When he tells me his private things, it makes me love him. I think that he's telling me because he trusts me and likes me and relates to me and etc. But I have a gnawing fear that that is not true. I fear he tells all his clients these things, and I'm nothing but one more sounding board.

He seems to think I'm funny. That's good I guess.

Why do I have to like him so much?  Why does he not like me so much?  Or does he? I can't tell.  And it's killing me.

*See "Drive" by Melissa Ferrick