The Guidance Counselor - Chapter 10 (Patreon)

NOTE: Chapter numbers changed. I separated Chapter 1 into two chapters, therefore this next chapter is really 10, not 9.

“Hello, Jason,” Ms. Johnson said. There wasn’t a hint of anger or suspicion in her voice. Again, her voice was soft and sweet and disarmed me. For a moment, as I sat down, I nearly forgot what had just happened minutes ago before she entered her office.

“Hey…Ms. Johnson.” My voice meanwhile sounded dejected, mournful even. I avoided eye-contact.

She browsed something on her computer, clicking away with her mouse. This went on for some time. Time moves by erratically when you’re nervous. I tried hard not to think about how I watched her rip ass. Having a boner at that specific meeting would have been the worst thing possible. But it was impossible not to stare at her – her bright cheeks, her shiny hair, her tight pantsuit. Everything about her glowed. She was both a source of comfort and apprehension, apprehension because of what I wanted to say and do to her.

She glanced at me a couple times before sighing and saying, “Mrs. Bernot told me what happened.”

I cringed, gripping the armrests.

“Don’t worry,” she then said lightly. “I’ve seen worse.”

She continued clicking. I wondered what she was doing and then it occurred to me that she was actually looking at my browsing history. Mrs. Bernot most likely showed her what I was looking at when she found me.

“I don’t expect you to know this,” she began, “but all the computers have what’s called a keylogger. That means that everything you type, every sentence, every word, is logged into a program. It doesn’t matter if you delete your browser history, which I see you have done each time you log off. Mrs. Bernot running into you is the only reason we know what you were looking up. Otherwise, we’d have been none the wiser despite the information being there. It’s funny how that works.”

“Are my parents going to know about this?”

The silence that stretched after that question made me clench my armrests harder. She continued clicking through images. The more she clicked the more I winced. Each click was like a knife through my gut.

“I talk to parents when I know there is great risk to a student’s mental health and well-being. While this could be a behavioral issue, students looking up pornography is not something I haven’t seen before. It’s becoming a brand-new world after all with these computer labs and social media. It’s difficult for us to keep up.” She stared right at me. “So no. Your parents don’t need to know…unless I have reason to believe there’s something about this that is seriously disturbing you.”

She went back to clicking her mouse.

I couldn’t believe she was so calm about this.

After another prolonged silence, she finally stopped browsing the computer, sighed, and took out her notebook.

“Okay, Jason. How long has this been going on?”

“Has…what been going on?” I said very dumbly. I knew what she was asking; I just wanted to hear her say it.

“These fetishes. The…burping and farting and…” She glanced at the monitor. “I see there is a theme with big bellies. Is that right?”

I blushed fiercely, so I looked away. “Yes.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Do you…actually, let me phrase it this way. Why do you find it attractive?”

That was a pretty good question. At the time, I didn’t really know myself. For the first time ever, I tried to describe it. The entire time I avoided looking at her face. I glanced at anything else in the room, literally, except her face. I spoke slowly, as if I were speaking for the first time.

“Well. I like. The sound. And um. Sometimes, I guess. I imagine how…relieved it must feel.”

“Do you find it attractive when you burp, fart, or…eat a lot?”

I instantly recoiled. “Ew, no. Not from me. No. I find it gross. I mean. For me to do it. It’s really weird. It’s like I don’t like to acknowledge that I myself do it. I like to watch…others do it.”

“Boys and girls?”

“Oh no. Girls. Just girls.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. Why didn’t she seem like she believed me? But then her next question had nothing to do with that. Instead, she asked, “Why don’t you lay down?”

My eyes practically bulged from their sockets. “W-what?”

She pointed to the divan against the wall that I typically forgot was there. It never occurred to me that students might have actually needed to use it.

“You’re nervous and wound up. The sofa is right there whenever you need to. You can even stand up and I won’t say anything. Like I said, this is a safe space. If your body is telling you to move, then move.”

When she said that, I wanted her to touch me. God, her smooth silky and cute voice made me shudder in a good way. She tore me apart with conflicting feelings of desire and fear. I cringed in that creaky, uncomfortable armchair for a few more seconds, until I got up and paced the room aimlessly. She was right; it was more relaxing. It got the jitters out. Energy coursed through my body and down my legs, dissipating.

“Well,” I began, “there was this cartoon a long time ago…”

#

I did what I never thought was possible ever since the fetish crept into my head. I told a real live person about it, even my masturbatory habits with the proning. Funny enough, talking to RoseyReina online beforehand probably helped me be able to say it out loud in front of Ms. Johnson.

It took nearly the entire session to explain everything, from the first instances of my “mother fetish” to the very moment Mrs. Bernot caught me scrolling through porn on the school computer. The only thing I didn’t tell her was, of course, that I drew her in my spare time. God forbid she found out about that. But the keylogger recorded everything right? It had to be there…somewhere…but she didn’t say anything about it so I played it off like it never happened.

Ms. Johnson wrote away in her notebook. She struck me then as a real scientist, a true objective observer, asking questions about the silliest things like the length and volume of a fart with a completely straight face.

Towards the end of it all, I suffered through a moment of dread. I just revealed my inner secrets to my biggest crush. That ended all hopes and dreams of her. But I didn’t seriously think I would get with her, did I? It was just a fantasy. I didn’t honestly believe in myself that one day Ms. Johnson and I would be together, right? Then why did it hurt? Why did it hurt as if it were a real possible relationship? I became her subject now – cold and calculating data. There was no promise of anything remotely sensual then or the future.

“Ms…Johnson?”

“Yes?”

“I’m worried. Is all of this…normal?”

She smiled warmly. “I thought we went over this already. There’s no real such thing as ‘normal’. Something is only abnormal when it gets in the way of your life.”

“I know, I know. I just. I know this sounds stupid but when I was younger, I felt really guilty for masturbating. Like REALLY guilty.”

That was the first time I said that word in front of her. Breaking the mold with our recent sessions made me jaded to it. Ms. Johnson didn’t seem to fear anything, and that made me feel better. Still weird getting used to. But better.

“Catholic school will do that to you, yes.”

“Like to the point where I would give up masturbation for Lent at times and if I snuck one in then I was THE WORST person ever. I don’t know. Is it normal for me to have masturbated when I was four? Is it normal for me to have done it…so often?”

Ms. Johnson sighed heavily, hinting that her patience was being tested. “Like I said. There is no normal way of going about this. People take it in their own stride. The real question is if this is a destructive habit. If you’re really concerned, you have to ask yourself if this is getting in the way of relationships, of work, of even things you would normally enjoy like drawing or reading. Is it?”

I waited a long time to answer that. The first thing that came to mind was Heather. I really thought I was going to cross that barrier, to go where no fetishist had gone before. All I could say was, “I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s what I hope we can find out together.”

Together? What about my college admissions?

At the time I was already a senior in my final semester. The walls felt like they were closing in on me as I wasn’t entirely sure what college I was going to or if I even cared anymore. The entire year had been preoccupied with these wild new developments.

“Your birthday…is coming up soon, correct?” she said.

“Yes. March 20th.”

She pored over her desk calendar, flipping through the months and marking a couple things down, thinking, biting her lip, thinking some more. She had something in mind and the silence was worrying me.

“Hm, that could work…” she murmured.

After a while, I asked, “What could?”

She continued to think in silence, gently tapping her pen on her desk. The anticipation killed me. Was I in bigger trouble than she was letting on? Did I have to do some kind of community service?

Ms. Johnson put down her desk calendar. “Jason, I don’t believe you’re fully satisfied with your life. It’s clear to me that what happened the other day isn’t the first time it’s happened; it’s only the first time you were caught. It’s clear to me that you are suppressed. No, sorry. Repressed actually.”

“W-what’s the difference?”

“Suppression is actively trying to stop an activity. Repression is trying to control it, trying to contain it. I think your repression is preventing you from realizing your potential in life. “

“My potential?”

“You’re a skilled artist. You’ve shown me your work. The only thing keeping you at bay is embracing it.”

“Embracing it?”

“You aren’t comfortable being you. That’s normal in many teenagers. But with you there’s this added layer with your…” She stopped to think of the right words, maybe to avoid offending me or maybe to avoid using the word “sexual”. “…niche interests.”

I twiddled my fingers together. I could have knitted an entire sweater in seconds.

“There is one minor concern I have about your fetishes.”

I jerked my head up. I know it sounds weird but I was desperate to hear her say something negative. Say that this is weird. Say that this is abnormal. For some reason, saying it was all okay made me feel more concerned about it, with more anxiety and questions in my head.

“These fantasies border on the impossible. You have here things like inflated stomachs and women eating entire buffets and visible…fart clouds billowing everywhere. Obviously, these things don’t happen in real life, and can’t happen in real life. That may pose a problem when you find yourself searching for that ultimate ecstasy, that need for more. It can get in the way of an intimate relationship with another person, as you might find yourself wanting something that can’t physically happen. That’s my one concern, at least. I’m not saying it’s happening right now. But. It could.”

I nodded slowly. That made a lot of sense. She lifted a burden off my chest, making me face my inevitable demise if I keep myself closed up.

“Did the dance not work out because of this?” she asked.

Oh fuck.

I was weeping.

I wiped the corners of my eyes and played it off like there was something irritating them. But when I sniffed to hold back a wave of emotion, she knew that I was legit trying not to cry. Tears just happen sometimes, man. You try to hold the damn but it just breaks.

The bell rang. My savior! I shot to my feet and slung my backpack over my shoulder in one sweeping movement. I mumbled a “see you later” but she said aloud, “One more thing, Jason.”

I turned around. She rotated her computer monitor to face me.

“Is this supposed to be me?” she asked.

I stared at my sketch of her on my DeviantArt account, the one where she was sitting in the cafeteria farting. The depiction was crude but anyone who met her could instantly think about her as a reference. The gray pantsuit. The pink undershirt. The bob cut. The hair color.

“Jason?”

“Yes.”

Ms. Johnson turned the screen back towards her. “Okay. That’s all.” She smiled, dismissing me as if this were a normal session. “You may go now.”