Dirty Laundry: A Tucker Springs Novel #3

fall outside mainstream culture’s definitions of acceptability, accepting those parts of oneself can and often does open up whole aspects of one’s personality previously muted. Having a yen to be dominated is part of who you are, and just as accepting you’re gay made you feel free, so will accepting that you long for your partner to give you this particular experience, to let you surrender control. That longing might extend beyond the bedroom, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s true, you need to moderate yourself and be sure you aren’t using Denver to escape your life, and it’s good that you’re conscious of that danger, but the very fact that you stood up to him when he upset you says to me you aren’t in any real danger of subjugating yourself to him to a harmful degree. Neither does he seem to be the type of man who would bully you, though I cannot say the same for your first lover. I would say your greater challenge, rather than fearing Denver or your reactions to him, is working on soothing that inner voice that longs to lash out at you, the true bully.”
    The idea that he bullied himself wasn’t new, but the idea of soothing that voice, rather than trying to plug his ears against it, was a revelation. He had no idea how to talk to that part of himself, however. Sig promised they’d address it in the next session. He also gave Adam homework—and it was weird.
    “You do a good job of accepting that your anxiety is part of you, but I’d like to see you try a different visualization. I know you said you don’t have one, but from what I can gather right now, you see your disorders as a weight around your neck. I’d like you to try something different. I’d like you to see your disorders as a team of horses.”
    Adam frowned at him. “Horses?”
    Sig nodded. “Yes. You can see them as a pair, OCD and anxiety, driving your chariot, or they can be a team of as many incarnations of what you feel you fight against driving your coach to the ball. However you like. But try horses. Now—can you guess why?”
    Adam had to think about it a little, but not that much. “Because they drive me.”
    “Yes. Because they can drive you, but with some care, you can also drive them. You’re going to have to get around by anxiety-horses, there’s no changing that. What you can change is how you perceive them. Do you hold onto their manes and scream while they run wild? Do you drive them at a speed that comforts you? Do you take care of your horses and groom them? Do you use a rough bit, or do you give them something soft for their tender mouths?”
    “Wow. I had no idea the anxiety-as-horse metaphor was so expansive.”
    Sig smiled and patted Adam on the leg. “Give it a try and let me know at our next appointment how it works.”
    Their next session was in a day and a half, and Adam couldn’t wait.
    He did have to wait, however, and in the meantime he had a huge lab project due, which was good because it gave him a distraction. All his focus went into his school work so he didn’t have to think too much about how long it had been since he’d heard from Denver. Yes, there had been that one text the same day he’d had Louisa over: I’m sorry. I’m working through some things. I hope you can be patient for me.
    Okay, Adam had texted back, because he didn’t know what else to say.
    Except Adam did want to be patient. It was hard, though, very hard, to wait. He wanted to talk to Denver, to get things cleared up. He didn’t understand why, if Denver wasn’t angry with him, if he really was sorry, why Adam had to wait. What was Denver making him waiting for ?
    Louisa told him to hold on, that she had faith that Denver would come around and soon. She sounded so sure of herself Adam thought maybe she’d talked to Denver. He wanted to ask, but he was too nervous, so he just trusted Louisa and trusted Denver and looked forward to more kink-friendly therapy. He tended his horses, taking them to an imaginary stable and tricking them out in ghetto-fabulous club gear. And, when they were in the mood for it, leather.
    Adam took solace, also, from his memento of the night at Denver’s place before their fallout: a picture of his bruised and reddened ass. He kept this one and a few other of his favorites on a rotation through his phone’s home page. He pulled them out when he felt too anxious, reminding himself of how good he’d felt then, telling himself he would get there again.
    He didn’t like