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“I have a problem. An addiction of sorts that I can’t seem to kick on my own. I’m worried it will begin to interfere with my day-to-day life and I think we could make progress together.”

The way he lingers on the word we makes the hair stand at the nape of my neck. The way he said it implies we have an established relationship or it could indicate he has boundary issues. I make a note in my notebook.

“Already writing things down? That can’t be good. What’d I say wrong, Doc?”

Snapping my eyes to his, I say, “Oh no. You’ll see I take lots of notes. It helps me after our appointments to recall and review so I can devise the best treatment plan for you.”

He lifts his chin, almost before a small grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Ok.”

“What is your day-to-day life like?” I ask.

“I am a freelance journalist, and I own and run a bed and breakfast right on the ocean. So I’ve got my hands tied pretty well right now with renovations and bookings and writing gigs.”

“That sounds wonderful. What part do you find yourself struggling with?”

He grins but says nothing. My stomach clenches. It’s the reluctant-to-speak patients that end up being the most devious. Well, unless they’re psychopaths, they love to divulge their secrets and gain recognition for their actions. A bubble of unease rises up my esophagus.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve always felt different.”

In my line of work, there is nothing worse than a broad, vague answer. It’s incredibly hard to get people to pinpoint what they really want to express.

“Any emotions you can’t explain?” I say.

He only shakes his head at me.

I proceed with some standard questions. “Do you feel violent or angry for no reason?”

Again, a simple head shake.

Grinning, I toss in something different to test him. “How many windows did your childhood home have?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” he says while crossing one leg over the other.

“You’re not answering them. I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

Cocking his head to the left, he says, “I grew up in a secluded sexual environment. We never discussed bodies or related bodily activities at home. My mother never gave me or my brother a bath. That was my father’s job since ‘we had the same parts’.”

“That must have been hard through adolescence.”

He nods. “It was.”

“How do you think that affected you as a child?”

He drops his head in thought. “I suppose it made me very curious.”

“Curious how? About what?”

“About bodies. Women’s bodies mostly, since I knew what mine looked like.

I didn’t know how they differed or why. I used to stare at girls in the grocery store or school, trying to see through their clothes.

I don’t know. I just wanted to understand.

At home, bodies were taboo without explanation.

I had questions but no one to answer them. ”

I make a note to go back through the file his therapist faxed over because he seems fairly typical in terms of patients and not particularly what I specialize in.

“You say you knew what your body looked like, it’s common in repressed households for even looking at yourself to be frowned upon. Was that something you experienced?”

“I was not allowed to touch myself. The house had no mirrors outside the bathroom. My father didn’t seem to care if I looked in the mirror getting in and out of the bathtub.

Of course, when I was old enough to shower on my own, I’d leave the water running so I could…

” his voice drifts off with the red tinge in his cheek.

“Check yourself out?”

He gives a curt snort of laughter. “Yes. But vanity is nothing to be proud of.”

“Who told you that?”

“My mother.”

I nod as I jot down more notes.

“Curiosity is normal and when we’re denied basic knowledge about bodily functions and differences, vanity can be a very common outcome. There’s no shame in that.”

“I felt shame.”

“Interesting. Enough to stop staring in the mirror?”

He chortles. “No. Not enough for that. I liked watching my muscles flex with movements, I didn’t stare and think ‘God, I’m so hot’, I didn’t understand hot because it wasn’t relative.

I was fascinated by the way my skin stretched over me, by my penis, just hanging there, the way hair grew in some places but not all.

I liked to see what walking looked like without clothes and with clothes. ”

“Do you find yourself drawn to deviant sexual fantasies as an adult?”

He bites his lip. But not in a shy manner.

No, it’s deliberate, as if he’s stifling a grin or keeping a secret.

There’s always a secret. The saying goes, you let your secrets out so they don’t have power over you, but when a secret is out, a part of you is out too, and it belongs to others then.

You don’t control the darkness anymore, and that’s terrifying.

The real horror is knowing we all have secrets.

No one is immune to them.

He considers me a moment longer before his posture relaxes. His eyes seem to drill holes right through me. So intense. So fixated.

So full of desire.

“My whole life I’ve liked to watch people. I’ve always felt different, but it wasn’t until after college that I could pinpoint my difference.” His words are spoken quietly, quickly, as though some deviant admittance of guilt.

“There are many people who find gratification in watching people. It’s not as uncommon as you might think,” I say.

Cooper nods his head.

“Yes, I’ve heard that voyeurism is a fairly natural kink to have.”

“Then what exactly troubles you? Does this interfere with your daily life? Is it preventing you from carrying on healthy relationships with partners?”

He drags a hand through his hair. “I keep a strict schedule, so no, it doesn’t interfere with my daily life. As for relationships, I’ve yet to find someone willing to participate in the lifestyle with me. But, I’d like to. A partner could make it more interesting.”

I smile reassuringly. “There’s nothing wrong with having these kinds of fantasies. We all do. So long as you don’t act on them without consent or in an illegal manner, they’re perfectly natural.”

It’s my job not to judge and I do my very best to keep my personal morals out of the equation while working with patients. His eyes lock on mine in a challenging way.

“What if I do?” he says.