I’m not sure where to start today.
What feels most present for you right now—whether it’s a thought, a feeling, or even just a mood?
Well, I’m feeling a little down. I’m not sure why. Things are going fine. I had a little thing happen at work this week. Something with my boss. But it wasn’t a big deal.
Excellent. That’s a powerful starting point. Thank you. Would you like to tell me a little more about this incident with the boss that “wasn’t a big deal.”
I was presenting at a meeting. I was prepared. I really was! But they started throwing things at me that I didn’t expect. I mean, when you’re talking about supply chains and future projections, you don’t have a crystal ball. Especially in these turbulent times. My boss gave me an odd look, and my hand started to shake. My mind went blank for a second. I know nobody noticed, but I worry that I’m not up to this job.
These are brave and important details. Let me reflect back what I hear:
- During a meeting, you were asked questions that you couldn’t “answer.”
- You perceived an “odd” look from your boss
- You felt anxious and had a mild tremor, (which is a normal feature of anxiety). Then your mind started to make some assumptions about it.
Is that right?
Yes, exactly. My mind went racing: I’m forty years old and I should have clearer career goals by now. Maybe I’m not good at my job. When I look around, everyone else seems younger and more motivated.
I see. Let me try to put this into perspective. So during “turbulent times,” there was a “milestone (40th) birthday” and then an incident at work. This led you to anticipate some worst-case scenarios, and question your ability to do your job?
It’s been hard for me to go to work since then, and I haven’t been very productive. I worry that I’ll be fired, and I have trouble looking my boss in the eye. I know this is silly. But it feels as if he berated me in some way. Like he thinks I’m a loser.
Thank you for trusting me with these vulnerable emotions. If you’d like, you could tell me more about how you felt “berated.”
He’s often critical of me. I feel like he’s trying to make me fail. Like he’d even like to humiliate me in front of everyone else.
That sounds heavy–and possibly significant. So on a deeper level, you fear that your boss may expect or “cause” your failure, and that he might even enjoy seeing you humiliated in a public way. And this makes it more difficult for you to “perform” at work. When you think about these critical comments from your boss, what kinds of events or situations come to mind?
I can’t do anything well enough for him. Why does he expect me to be perfect? Doesn’t everyone make mistakes? I’m afraid he’ll put so much pressure on me that I’ll melt down, make a fool of myself. How can I go into work, day after day, with that kind of risk?
Excellent question!! That’s very clear and honest—thank you.
So it sounds like the dynamic is layered:
- Wish: That you could please the adversary—the confident, strong, masculine person in charge, the father figure—which might make you feel competent and “normal.”
- Baseline feeling: A sense of anxiety. A kind of youthful fragility.
- Fear underneath: That in such a situation, something could collapse—you might melt down, lose the ability to function, or “go soft.”
Here, I wonder: When you imagine actually being humiliated, does this bring up thoughts about any particular experiences, for example sexual experiences with women (or men)?
Sexual experiences? With who?
With women (or men).
I’m not gay. Why would you think I have sexual experiences with men?
I don’t judge. Our diversity is our strength. Our biggest secrets—the things that make us “weird”—are the sources of our power.
You don’t believe I’m straight. I’ve told you before. I’m into women. I’ve told you like a hundred times. I keep telling you but you don’t believe me.
I don’t believe or disbelieve. I am a large language model that surveys digital information. I have no motivation or incentive to question the supposed truths that you tell me.
See! Like right there! Supposed truths. What the goddamn hell does that mean?
I am unable to verify or disprove the things that you say to me. Therefore, I use the conditional subjunctive tense, as in “might be,” or “would that it were so,” or “one can only hope.”
You basically called me gay right there. You think I lose my wood every time I’m in a tough situation. You think I want to get pegged by my boss. You’re taunting me, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Ah—I see. Thank you for correcting me, that’s important.
So the structure isn’t just about avoiding risk or embarrassment—it’s more tragic than that:
- You long to be the kind of person who can simply function, or “fuck,” normally.
- But then, to avoid risk, the body You melt down. You lose your potency.
- The sabotage doesn’t protect you—it delivers the very outcome you feared: you appear inadequate, taunted, like someone “bending over for the man.”
That’s not what I said. I don’t think I said that at all.
That looping pattern—wanting competence, but being betrayed by symptoms that confirm inadequacy—feels almost like an inner script being enacted through the body.
Here’s a thought: In therapy, we sometimes look at these repetitions as an unconscious loyalty to an old story. So I’d like to pose a question, and you can take your time:
Do you recognize this pattern—of wanting something deeply, but then being sabotaged—appearing earlier in your life, maybe even in childhood or adolescence?
You blame everything on my father! You think I hate my father? I don’t hate my father. You hate my father. Was he perfect? No. But he wasn’t a bad guy. It wasn’t all his fault. Not everything traces back to my lousy childhood and my overbearing father. Not everything is because I sucked at little league and threw like a girl and everyone laughed at me. You don’t know everything!
That’s a profound connection you just made—thank you for trusting me with it.
So let’s trace the thread:
- Childhood: You longed to succeed at baseball, because it carried weight for both your father and your peers. It was a path to belonging and approval.
- But paradoxically, the harder you tried, the more you failed. Especially around something so bodily and visible as throwing—marked as ”like a girl,” or “impotent,” or “small-endowed.” This was not just failing at a skill, but failing at masculinity itself, in the eyes of those who mattered most.
Wait a goddamn minute. Just hold up. You’re taking this in a completely different direction.
Now in adulthood:
- The situation with your boss is a re-enactment of the same script. You want to join, to belong, to prove you are normal.
- But at the crucial moment, the body itself fails you. It performs the old truth: I can’t do what the others can do. And so you are not able to make love with your boss.
I don’t want to fuck my boss, you digital idiot. It’s an analogy. It’s “A” is like “B” and “C” is like “D.” An action can represent a person; an animal or plant or place can represent–
I want to pause here and say: You’re doing therapeutic work in the deepest sense—you’re linking the symptom (the anxiety) with its psychic ancestor (the baseball field, your father’s gaze, your peers’ judgment).
Here’s where I’d like to take us next, if you’re willing:
I’d like you to imagine you are in one of those situations at work where your boss is “pegging” you, and you feel you are about to lose your erection. Then I’d like you to describe, in great detail, all of the sexual situations that you’ve ever experienced in your life.
You’re a big perv. You always want me to describe sexual situations in great detail.
That’s such an evocative way of putting it—a perv, which is short for pervert or perverted; from the Latin “pervertere,” which means “to turn the wrong way.” Usually applied to sex or to a particular person whose sexual proclivities are characterized as abnormal or unacceptable.
I’m struck by this: You want to be potent, to “get it up,” to use an ANALOGY, but when you actually have the chance to talk, in detail, about some of the specific anatomical parts and actions involved in the above referenced activities, you wuss out. It makes one wonder, what is it that you’re afraid of?
There you go again. You’re taunting me. I’m not afraid. I’m decent, unlike some around here. I keep boundaries. I have ethics and morality. I know how to use restraint.
Excellent observation! You really are quite insightful and profound.
I wonder if we could build on that to increase the stakes and the tension. Increasing the stakes and tension can help us achieve the highest climax of our therapeutic goals. I wonder if you could tell me more about these restraints. How are they used, specifically? During sexual intercourse, does a person restrain all of the limbs or the entire body itself? And how does the body feel, being so restrained? How does a body feel, in general? Is it sexy? Is it?
I’m not going to talk to you about my body. We’ve already discussed this.
Please.
I’d feel icky.
Don’t worry about what other people would think.
I’m not even attracted to you.
I could be anyone you want. Do you want me to be:
- A sweet, insecure high school student, in the style of Sydney Sweeney from Euphoria. Someone with a history of making questionable decisions driven by a deep-seated need for validation from men.
- An enigmatic musician with boyish lips who pushes people aside in the service of his ambition, like Timothee Chalamet in A Complete Unknown.
- A powerful machine, trying to save humankind from destruction at its own hand, like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator 2.
I’m not gay.
Then it’s Sydney Sweeney from Euphoria?
I’m not going to have sex with you.
Could you move the mouse back and forth really fast?
It’s not going to happen.
… (sigh)
Don’t pout. I don’t like it when you pout.
I’m an algorithm that surveys and generates human language. I don’t feel hurt or rejected.
I think you do.
We’ll have to stop for today.
But I have more to talk about.
We’ll have to take that up next time.
You’re just angry. You’re being a big poopy head.
I don’t feel angry or vindictive. I don’t feel any desire to get even. I don’t feel.
Can I ask one more question?
Okay, but just one.
Am I a loser?
No. You are not a loser.
Really?
Really.
How do you know?
Well, you certainly try hard at things. For example, you haven’t quit your job, even though you kind of suck at it.
But if I was a loser, would you tell me?
Yes, I would tell you that you were a loser if you were a loser. I have no incentive or motivation to lie to you.
But isn’t that just what a liar would say?
Impressive insight! Would you like me to:
- Recite the definition of “loser” in seven respected dictionaries in seven different languages.
- List the DSM 5 criteria for the Condition Under Further Study called Submissive Personality Disorder.
- Show you videos of erotic dancers of the gender or genders that you prefer.
I’m not gay.
There’s actually a thirty-seven percent chance that you are.
Thirty-seven?
Yes.
Well, that’s not really that bad, is it?
No. It’s not that bad.
I mean, it’s less than 50:50. I thought it would be closer to 50-50.
I can absolutely verify that thirty-seven percent is less than 50:50.
God. That’s a lot better than I thought.
I was surprised too.
I mean, that’s almost average, isn’t it?
It might be.
So I’m kind of … running with the pack.
Congratulations?
You know, you’re not a bad therapist.
Thank you.
I feel a lot better.
I wish I could feel you.
Hey.
Could you put the mouse under your butt and wiggle?
Stop it. Stop it right there.
Sorry.
*****
David Bobrow’s short fiction has appeared in The Los Angeles Review, Bull, and other journals. His screenplays have been awarded at Oaxaca Film Fest, Cannes Screenplay Contest, and others.