Going Deep In Therapy

Shane and Angela roll up to the therapist’s door like a pair of sitcom stars who forgot the punch line. Penny ushers him in, shuts the door, and the polite masks drop so fast you can hear them hit the floor. She pushes him against the filing cabinet, straddles his lap, yanks his belt open. Shane grunts, thumbs her nipples through the thin blouse until they peek like startled buttons, and she rides him hard enough the wheels squeak on the office rug. Outside, Angela shifts her weight, checks her watch, cocks her head at a thump that doesn’t sound like “talking about feelings.” She leans closer. Inside, Shane has Penny bent over the desk, skirt hiked, one hand clamped on her mouth so the moan doesn’t leak under the door. Her phone vibrates; she ignores it. Angela hears a sharp slap of skin on skin and narrows her eyes. The moment stretches; Penny bites Shane’s shoulder, he answers with a breathless laugh. Angela’s hand hovers over the knob, then drops. Another muffled thud—Penny’s hips meeting his, desk leg scraping—then silence that feels staged. Angela sighs, checks her nails. Inside, the lovers untangle just as the next knock lands, and Penny smooths her blouse with the smirk of someone who knows exactly how thin office walls really are.