It’s been a while since I saw you, Emma, Carol says.
Yes, I’ve been busy, I say, pulling my legs up underneath me on her sofa.
When we last spoke, you’d recently asked Simon to leave the house you shared. And we talked about how survivors of sexual trauma often find themselves contemplating big changes as part of their process of recovery. How have those changes been working out for you?
She means Have you changed your mind about Simon yet, of course. For all she swears her job isn’t to make judgments or direct our sessions toward any particular conclusion, I’m coming to realize that Carol often does exactly that.
Well, I say, I’m in a new relationship.
A pause. And is that going well?
It’s with the man who designed the house—One Folgate Street. He’s a breath of fresh air after Simon, to be honest.
Carol raises her eyebrows. And why is that, do you think?
Simon’s a boy. Edward’s a man.
And you haven’t had any of the sexual problems you experienced with Simon?
I smile. Definitely not.
After a pause I add, There is something I’d like to talk to you about, though. Something specific.
Of course, she says.
I must hesitate, because she adds, There’s nothing you can tell me that I won’t have heard many times before, Emma.
I find myself thinking about being overpowered, I say.
I see, she says carefully. And it excites you?
I suppose it does, yes.
But also troubles you?
I just find it—strange. After what happened. Shouldn’t it be the opposite?
Well, the first thing to say is that there’s no should or shouldn’t, she begins. And it’s actually not that uncommon. Among the general population, around a third of women say they regularly engage in fantasy scenarios involving power transference.
Plus there’s a physical aspect too, she adds. What’s sometimes called excitation transfer. Once you’ve experienced adrenaline in a sexual situation, your brain may unconsciously seek more of it. The point is, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn’t mean you’d enjoy it in real life. Far from it.
I don’t feel ashamed, I say. And I do enjoy it in real life.
Carol blinks. You’ve been acting out these ideas?
I nod.
With Edward?
I nod again.
Would you like to tell me about it?
Despite her claim about being nonjudgmental, Carol looks so uncomfortable that I find myself embellishing a little, just to shock her.
It’s a funny thing, I conclude, but making him angry makes me feel more powerful, somehow.
You certainly seem more assertive today, Emma. More confident in your choices. The question I’m asking myself is whether these are healthy choices for you just at the moment.
I pretend to think about that. They probably are, I decide.
Clearly this isn’t the answer Carol was hoping her carefully phrased question would receive.
The choice of partner when you’re experimenting is very important, she says.
Actually I wouldn’t call them experiments, I say. More like discoveries.
But if it’s all so wonderful, Emma, she says quietly, why are you here?
Good question, I think.
We’ve talked before about how survivors of rape can sometimes, wrongly, blame themselves, she adds. How they can feel they’re the ones who deserve to be punished, or that they’re somehow worth less than other people. I can’t help wondering if that’s partly what’s going on here.
She says it so sincerely that for a moment I almost crumble.
What if I was never raped, though? I say. What if it was all a kind of fantasy?
She frowns. I’m not following you, Emma.
Nothing. But suppose I found something out about somebody—about a crime they’d committed. If I told you, would you have to tell the police?
If the crime hadn’t yet been reported, or if it was reported but your evidence might make a difference to the investigation, then the situation is complex, she says. As you know, therapists have a professional code of ethics that includes confidentiality. But we also have to uphold the law. In a conflict between the two, the law takes priority.
I’m silent, thinking through the implications.
What’s troubling you, Emma? she prompts gently.
Really, it’s nothing, I say, flashing her a smile.