Lying On The Couch

by Irvin D. Yalom

“So, what do you feel now?” he asked. “Well, this is exactly what I mean by arbitrary, Ernest. A slightly different toss of the dice and you and I might be lovers now, rather than therapist and patient. And I honestly believe you could do more for me as a lover now than as a therapist. I wouldn’t ask much of you, Ernest, just meet once or twice a week—to hold me and get rid of this sexual frustration that’s killing me.” “I hear you, Carolyn, but I am your therapist and not your lover.” “But that is purely arbitrary. Nothing is necessary. Everything could be otherwise. Ernest, let’s roll back the clock—go back to the bookstore and toss the dice again. Become my lover; I am dying with frustration.” As she spoke, Carol slipped off her chair, glided over to Ernest, sat on the floor next to his chair, and rested her hand on his knee. Ernest once again placed his hand on Carolyn’s head. God, I like to touch this woman. And her burning desire to make love to me—Christ knows I can empathize. How many times have I been overcome by lust? I feel sorry for her. And I understood what she means about the arbitrariness of our meeting. It’s too bad for me, too. I’d rather be her lover than her therapist. I’d love to crawl off this chair and take off her clothes. I’d love to caress her body. And who knows? Suppose I had met her in the bookstore? Suppose we had become lovers? Maybe she’s right—maybe I would have offered her more that way than as a therapist! But we’ll never know—that’s an e...