Author: Lizard69
Title: Therapy
Part: Part 1
Summary: Sometimes the only thing worse than ignorance is knowledge.
Keywords: Mf nc intro

This is a work of fiction.  If you have trouble with the boundary
between fact and fantasy, don't read it.  If the story codes following the
title freak you out, don't read it.  If I mis-coded drop me a note through
the author email link at ASSTR.  Do not under any circumstances forward
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delete it immediately.  Do not re-post in whole or in part without this
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permission.  Copyright 2017 by Lizard69.



   Therapy Mf nc intro Lizard69



   "Hello doctor Halvorson, I really don't know where to start." "Well
Christine, why don't we review the basic info from your patient record and
go on from there.  Do you prefer Chris or Christine?" "Chris is OK" "Most
of my patients just call me Dr.  although some of the younger ones prefer
Dr.  Hal.  I have you down as about two weeks past your twelfth birthday,
blond, blue eyed, four foot eleven, and eighty-five pounds.  I'd say that
makes you a little small for your age but not seriously so.  You've listed
dancing and gymnastics as your favorite ways to burn off excess energy. 
Also according to your test scores you're almost too smart for your own
good.  You were referred to me after complaining about recurring
nightmares. While the record doesn't go into detail, my own experience is
that for a child your age to find their way to my office, these nightmares
must be either exceptionally gruesome or carry strong sexual overtones,
perhaps both."

   "I...I guess so.  I've never been to a shrink before.  I don't know what
I'm supposed to do."

   "Mostly you talk and I listen.  If I notice an area you're not eager to
talk about I might ask a leading question or two, but I won't push it.  As
you can see I have a wall full of degrees and licenses but my main function
is being an arbitrator.  I don't want to baffle you with a bunch of
technical terms but in simple language what I do is try to help you
negotiate a settlement with your subconscious.  Your conscious mind is
where you do most of your thinking.  It's fairly easy to communicate with
and reason with your conscious mind.  Your subconscious mind is more
primitive.  It deals mostly with emotions and sensations.  It doesn't
communicate very well but is very powerful.  It's also impatient, like a
little baby, it doesn't always know what it wants but it knows that it
wants it real bad and right now.  If you don't know what it wants or can't
give it what it wants, your subconscious mind can make you so miserable
that life is hardly worth living."

   "Sometimes the trick is finding out what your subconscious wants. 
Sometimes it can't have what it wants, and the trick is getting it so
interested in something else that it loses interest in what it can't have.
Since your conscious mind is the part we can most easily communicate with,
it usually will have to make the biggest compromise.  Your long term
happiness may depend on making some pretty tough short term commitments."

   "I think I understand.  Basically life sucks, but if I make good choices
about the way it sucks right now, it hopefully will suck a whole lot less
later on.  Like doing my homework now so I don't spend my life working as a
maid for some jerk who was ambitious enough to get a degree."

   "Exactly, or like taking out the garbage now so you don't have to drag a
bag of maggots down to the curb next week."

   "The most important thing to keep in mind at first is that I'm not here
to be your friend.  If we're going to make real progress you have to be
able to tell me things you wouldn't tell your friends.  I don't judge
people.  You can't shock me.  The sooner you learn that you can trust me
completely, the faster we can get you where you want to be.  The best
indicator you have is your own comfort level.  If you AREN'T nervous,
sweaty, or fidgeting while you're here, you're probably avoiding the
subject you most need to talk about.  So lets get started.  How are things
at home?"

   "No problems.  There's just me and my folks.  We have some rough spots
here and there but most of the time we get along so good it's almost
spooky. I complain about mom and dad being too snoopy.  At the same time
the one thing I love them for more than anything else is that they stop
what they're doing and listen, really listen, if I want to tell them
something.  They want to know about everything that's going on but most of
the time they let me run my own life.  I can come to them with any problem
but they usually make me come up with my own solution, and they don't step
in unless they're preventing a total disaster.  When they do tell me to do
something there is no slack at all.  They expect it to get done right now,
no whining, no pouting.  I guess real life being so nice is part of what
makes the dreams so scary."

   "Tell me about the dreams."

   "They're awful!  Really!  They're like the worst horror movie you can
imagine only with sex in it.  Some sex anyway, they sort of break up when
they get that far, like I either don't know enough to imagine all the
pervert details or can't handle knowing that much."

   "Such as?"

   "OK.  In one of my dreams it's early evening.  My homework is done and
we've finished supper.  I'm stretched out on the living room carpet
watching TV.  The show is close to finished and I don't know what I'll
watch next.  Mom is sitting in a chair reading a magazine and dad is doing
some things in his office.  Dad passes through on his way to his shop and
tells me he could use an extra set of hands if I get bored.  He likes to do
wood working and sometimes I'll hold things for him while he clamps them or
takes a measurement.  Mom never goes in his shop.  She calls it his man
cave and stays out.  It's his private space, like he never goes in her
sewing room.  Anyway, that's where the dream gets scary.  Somehow I know
that this time is different.  If I go to his shop he's going to make me do
things...sex things.  That's why it's such a strange dream.  In real life
he would never ask me to do anything like that, and if he did ask I could
never say yes.  The idea of my own father doing sex stuff to me is, like,
totally creepy sick."

   "In the dream I freeze.  It's like I want to go six ways at once and
can't make up my mind.  Part of me wants to run away or go hide in my
closet.  Part of me wants to believe nothing bad is going to happen and all
he wants is the usual sort of help.  I also know that I don't have to go
there.  He isn't going to be angry or find some way to get back at me if I
don't go.  Mom is looking at me and I have this flash of hope that fades
away fast.  She loves me and will do whatever it takes to protect me from
*anyone*, but I have to tell her.  She isn't going to search for a reason
to destroy her marriage.  I go back to staring at the TV and she goes back
to reading her magazine.  After a while she takes the magazine into their
bedroom, almost like she doesn't want to know what I decide to do.  Finally
the program ends and I decide to go to my room, maybe read for a while, and
get ready for bed."

   "The next thing I know, I'm carrying my robe and pajamas to the
bathroom. Something is wrong.  I'm moving like a zombie and it's later,
maybe a lot later than when I turned off the TV.  It isn't too bad until I
see my reflection in the full length mirror on the inside of the bathroom
door.  That's when I know.  I went to dads shop.  My shorts and top are
rumpled and hanging on me like somebody did a sloppy job of dressing a
dummy.  Slumped shoulders, messed up hair, but the worst part is the eyes.
I don't want to know what the girl in the mirror saw with those eyes.  I'm
looking at the reflection of a girl who's been raped by her own father, and
didn't say or do anything to keep it from happening.  That's the point
where I wake up."

   "That's also the point where we run out of time.  We'll continue this on
our next session but for now I want to tell you I've never had a patient
open up this completely on the first visit.  If you can keep it going I
believe we can resolve this very quickly." He spent a few minutes writing
up his notes before digging out his next patients file and getting on with
his day.  By the time of her next appointment he'd almost forgotten the
questions he had about her initial session.  Things lightened up for a
while.  As if she were embarrassed about opening up so much and had to work
up the nerve to do it again.  It was a couple of months before she returned
to talking about her nightmares.

   "Hi Dr.  Hal."

   "Hello Chris, how are you feeling?"

   "Honest?  The last couple of days have been really strange.  I'm still
having the nightmares.  I'm not complaining about that.  I didn't expect
some kind of miracle cure.  The weird thing is that while the stuff that's
in them is getting worse they don't seem to bother me as much."

   "Worse?"

   "Yeah.  Before the dreams would get to where I knew for sure I was going
to dads shop and I'd start to panic.  At that point it would shift to
another situation.  It would start out perfectly normal but soon I'd be
facing another trip to the shop and it would shift again."

   "Like a few days before our first session I dreamed that we had a day
off school for a teachers conference.  Dad works at home and mom has a
regular office job.  My dream started with me rinsing the breakfast dishes
and putting them in the washer.  Looking out the kitchen window I could see
mom backing out of the driveway and starting down the street.  Before she
was even out of sight dad stepped up behind me and put a hand on my
shoulder.  He didn't say anything but I knew what he wanted and started
walking towards his shop.  All I could think about was that mom wouldn't
even get to the office before I was raped.  From there it jumped forward to
just before lunch.  A friend of mine had been over but had to leave to go
shopping with her mom.  I was closing the door behind her when I felt his
hand on my shoulder again.  I'm shaking and I start to cry but turn towards
his shop again without either of us saying a word.  It jumps forward again
and I'm putting a casserole in the oven that mom wanted me to start an hour
before she got home.  When I straighten up he's behind me again.  This time
I completely freak out.  It's like I know the only way he can finish before
mom gets home is if he does it really hard and the first two times weren't
exactly romantic.  I run away bawling but I don't run to my room.  I run to
his shop."

   "When I woke up I was in the middle of a panic attack.  The whole next
day I was a total wreck.  It wasn't just not getting any real sleep the
night before.  I can't imagine feeling any worse if it had actually
happened.  We had to call our family doctor to get some sleeping pills and
he wouldn't prescribe anything until he referred me to you.  Since I
started coming here the dreams are changing.  No...I take that back.  The
dreams are sort of going farther.  Like...I don't panic so easy anymore and
it has to get worse to shock me out of what's happening.  I still wake up
feeling like I've been used by some really sick pervert but I'm not in a
total panic anymore.  I hate it, but it's like I've been here before.  It
isn't so shocking, still ugly but...I don't know...familiar?"

   "In my latest dream mom had to leave on a business trip Friday afternoon
before I got out of school.  She wouldn't return until late Saturday.  It
shouldn't have been a surprise that dad met me at the door when I got home
from school.  I dropped my book bag and stood there helpless while he
tilted my chin up until he looked into my eyes and smiled.  That's when the
nightmare started even if it didn't get heavy for a while.  For just a
second his smile was so totally creepy it's like he wasn't even my dad,
instead some evil monster was wearing his body like a costume.  Then he was
telling me dinner was ready, soup and a sandwich for now but we'd order out
pizza later.  He didn't even give me time to change out of my school
uniform.  I started for my room when we finished but he was standing in the
doorway and it didn't take me long to realize I wasn't going to be doing
homework any time soon.  That's where the dream got different.  It's like I
was inside my head, looking out through my eyes, but somebody else was
driving."

   "I guess I should explain about dads shop.  Compared to the other homes
in our neighborhood, our house and the one next door are on half sized
lots. At least it was that way until the house next door burned down when I
was six.  Nobody was injured but it was a total loss and so close to us our
siding and roof got damaged.  Dad worked out a deal to buy the lot and
build a garage on it.  Instead of filling in the old basement he roofed it
with a concrete slab, dug a trench to our foundation, and had fill trucked
in to raise the yard before building the garage on top.  So dad's shop is
in the garage basement.  There's a stairwell in the garage with a fire door
at the bottom and a sound deadening lid, and a passage to the house
basement also with two doors to stop fire and noise.  It has it's own heat
and vent so he can paint without stinking up the house, and since it
doesn't even have any windows he can run the loudest machinery without
disturbing the neighbors."

   "That's where I went in my dream, down into the basement, through the
sound door, then the passage and fire door, with dad following and closing
up behind us.  My street shoes were in the front hall and the concrete
floor felt cold and gritty through the soles of my knee socks.  Dad lightly
rested his hands on my shoulders and steered me towards one end of a heavy
work table.  I didn't help him or resist, just stood there silent while he
reached around and unbuttoned my blouse.  He pulled the white blouse off my
shoulders but left it tucked into the gray skirt of my school uniform while
he lifted my arms out of the sleeves.  Next he slipped my bra straps off my
shoulders and lifted my arms out of those as well.  There was a large knot
in the middle of the scarf that went with my uniform when he re-tied it as
a gag.  I shivered as his hands caressed the sides of my neck, my bare
shoulders, and the outside of my arms, until he was lifting my wrists and
guiding me forwards.  He left me standing there slightly bent over with my
forearms resting on the table and a wrist near either edge while he
rummaged in a box under the bench."

   " Soon, a couple of wood blocks with smoothly rounded cut outs over my
wrists were clamped solidly to the table.  It wasn't uncomfortable but I
could see I wasn't going anywhere until somebody turned me loose.  I
finally started to panic when I felt fingers unhooking my bra.  Suddenly
it's hours later and I'm sitting at the desk in my room finishing my
homework.  I'm dressed again in my school uniform except for the scarf. 
Instead I'm wearing a leather dog collar.  I see my reflection in the
mirror over my dresser and can't help smiling.  It looks so innocent/punk.
Closing the last book I go to the kitchen looking for a snack.  On the
table is a leash made of light weight chromed chain and a note telling me
to bring it to the shop when I have the time.  Cold wet butterflies replace
my hunger as I pick it up and go out to the garage.  The sound barrier is
counter weighted.  It lifts easily and closes gently behind me.  The fire
door is more trouble because it's so heavy.  Dad backs me up against one of
the beams that hold up the concrete ceiling and the car parked above it. 
He clips the leash to the collar then crosses my wrists in front of me and
wraps a couple turns around them before tying it off to a hook I can't
reach.  I'm not having any trouble breathing but can see that it might be a
problem if I struggle.  He undoes my skirt and lets it fall around my
ankles.  I turn my head so I don't have to watch his face as he unbuttons
my blouse.  His hands move down my sides.  The thumbs hook the waistband of
my panties, and the next thing I know I'm lying in bed and the early
morning light is coming through my window."

   "It used to be the idea of anything happening completely freaked me out.
Now, it's like there's stuff I could do if he asked me, but he isn't
asking, he's just doing it.  Then he goes past that to something I can't
even think about and I pick up sometime later.  I dream every second or
third night.  I wake up so wrung out it takes everything I've got to drag
myself through the day.  By the time I get back to bed I'm too tired to
dream.  I'm almost to tired to breathe.  I'm as mixed up when I'm awake as
I am in my nightmares.  Like I said, as far as parents go mine are really
great.  I love him for that.  Everything will be going along completely
normal, then he'll say or do something that's like a moment from one of my
nightmares and I'll have a panic attack.  Afterwards I feel just awful. 
It's like, I have a perverted imagination so he gets treated like a
pervert. It would almost be easier if he really was the kind of creep who
could rape his own daughter.  I don't think I could hate him no matter
what, and at least I wouldn't feel guilty about being jumpy around him."

   "Well Chris, we're out of time for today.  I'm going to make an
appointment for you with Dr.  Feld down on second floor.  Janice is
normally booked up but I think I can get her to squeeze you in if you show
up fifteen minutes early for your next appointment.  She's an ob/gyn but
you don't need a full exam.  Your records don't show any physical
abnormalities but I'd like to have her do a quick check if that's OK with
you." "All right, I'll be here a little early next Thursday." After she
left he called Dr.  Feld.  He had to hold for a couple of minutes to catch
her between patients, but no more than that.  "Hi Janice, it's Walt.  Try
not to get angry but I took the liberty of messing up your schedule.  I've
got a twelve year old patient I need you to take look at a week from now.
There's no need for a full work up, just check for signs that she's been
sexually active.  In fact, it might be better if you don't even open a file
on her.  Shoot me a note while she's putting her pants back on and bill my
office for a standard exam.  Yes, uh-huh, I'm aware of how tight your
schedule is.  All I'm asking for is five minutes and I wouldn't even ask
for that if I didn't have a really bad feeling about this one."

   He hardly recognized the girl who showed up when Chris was due.  Her
hair was mussed.  Her clothes looked like they'd either been slept in or
pulled out of a pile in the bottom of her closet.  The dark circles under
her bloodshot eyes and the listless way she moved gave the impression she'd
spent the whole week running from a pack of rabid dogs.  It didn't take
long to find the problem.  "Dr.  Hal?  The dreams...they're real, aren't
they?"

   "Why do you say that?"

   "Remember those moments I told you about in our last session?  They're
coming more often and not things I remember dreaming about.  They're just
bits and pieces all jumbled together.  The idea that I could even imagine
some of this stuff scares me.  What scares me even worse is that it might
not be imagination and I can't make it stop!  Have I been dreaming about
stuff that really happened to me?"

   "No Chris, your nightmares are dreams, for whatever that's worth.  The
problem is that dreams take their building blocks from real life.  I'm sure
you've had dreams that included places you've been and people you've met
while you were awake."

   "Yeah, sure."

   "And sometimes in your dreams these familiar people and places are
different, aren't they?  Doors or windows are in different places.  The
people say and do things they can't or wouldn't do in real life, right?"

   "Sometimes, yeah."

   "I have a note from Dr.  Feld that when she examined you she found your
vagina to be more open than is usual for a girl your age.  It is her
professional opinion that this could not have happened spontaneously or by
accident.  The lack of scaring indicates that you have been systematically
stretched or dilated over a fairly long period of time.  At this point you
could physically accommodate an object the size of an average erect penis
without injury.  She has no way to determine how long it took to get this
way.  Her best guess is months, perhaps years.  Also, she pointed out that
this *IS* an unnatural condition.  After the stretching stops the opening
begins to close up.  Not like a virgin, but certainly a dimension more
appropriate to your age and development."

   "My father has been raping me?  Maybe for years?"

   "We don't know that.  We know that your dreams are about your father. 
We have some physical evidence of sexual activity.  We have no proof there
is any connection between the two."

   "But my dreams..."

   "Are dreams.  It's very common for a persons mind to edit a memory they
can't cope with until it becomes tolerable, still terrible, but something
they can deal with.  We may find as you work through this that your father
has never done anything to you and his shop is the only place where you
haven't been assaulted.  At this point all we know for sure is that you
aren't crazy."

   "Dr.  Hal, please don't take this the wrong way but, ARE YOU FUCKIN'
NUTS?!?!?!"

   "No, I'm not and neither are you.  You seem to be suffering from a sort
of amnesia.  That's not a pathology, not an illness.  It's a coping
mechanism.  Somewhere in the past you've had an experience, more likely a
series of experiences, that were so far beyond anything you could deal with
that for you, it never happened.  The problem you're having now is that as
you mature your coping skills improve.  Problems that were too big to deal
with then are now too big to stay hidden.  You're still not ready to deal
with whatever is going on right now but the older stuff is coming back now
that you're old enough to handle it.
   
End of part 1