Later that night, I was sitting on the plush couch in Vanessa's sprawling Beverly Hills mansion. The place was just as extravagant as always—the high ceilings, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the perfectly manicured gardens, and that subtle scent of jasmine that always hung in the air. Everything about this place screamed luxury, but tonight, my mind wasn't on the surroundings. It was on my first psychology class and the conversation we had about the Oedipus effect.
Vanessa was sitting across from me, her legs tucked under her as she sipped a glass of red wine, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She looked relaxed, her usual poised self, but with that playful glint in her eyes that I always found so disarming.
"So," she said, setting her glass down and giving me a curious look, "how was your first day back at school, Mr. Psychology Major?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "You wouldn't believe it if I told you."
She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Now you've got me interested. What happened?"
I leaned back, still chuckling as I thought about the lecture. "So, get this. My professor—this old guy who looks like he's been teaching psychology since Freud was around—starts the class with a lecture on the Oedipus effect."
Vanessa tilted her head, her lips curling into a smile. "The Oedipus effect? That's quite the topic for a first class. Freud's classic 'you secretly want to sleep with your mother' theory, right?"
"Exactly," I said, laughing. "But it wasn't just that. He went on this whole tangent about how young men are subconsciously attracted to older women because of some deep-seated need for security and nurturing or whatever. And I'm sitting there like, 'Well, this is awkward,' because... you know... you."
Vanessa burst out laughing, the sound light and genuine. "Oh, is that so? So, according to your professor, you're with me because you secretly want a mommy figure in your life?"
I grinned, leaning forward with a playful glint in my eye. "Apparently! I mean, it's either that, or I just have excellent taste in women."
She shook her head, still laughing. "Freud would have a field day with us."
"No kidding," I said, laughing along with her. "The professor basically made it sound like every guy has this subconscious thing for older women, like we're all just waiting to be mothered or something. Meanwhile, I'm sitting in class thinking, 'Wow, Freud really out here calling me out like this.'"
Vanessa raised her glass, smirking. "Here's to Freud, the ultimate cockblock."
I couldn't help but laugh at that, the tension I hadn't even realized I was carrying slipping away. There was something about Vanessa's ability to take things in stride, to laugh about it, that always put me at ease.
"I mean, I guess it makes sense in some weird way," I said, shaking my head. "The whole idea of being attracted to stability and experience. But it's still fucking weird to have it laid out in a class like that, you know? Like, 'Hey, here's why you're into older women. Surprise!'"
Vanessa leaned forward, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Well, at least now we have an explanation for our relationship. It's all just Freud's fault. I'm the older, nurturing woman, and you're the young man with unresolved mommy issues."
I rolled my eyes, still grinning. "Oh, come on. Don't make it sound like I've got some complex. I'm not sitting here thinking about Freud every time I look at you."
She chuckled, sipping her wine again. "Good. That would make things pretty awkward."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Yeah, no shit."
There was a brief pause, and then Vanessa's expression softened, a more thoughtful look crossing her face. "But seriously," she said, her tone a little quieter now, "do you think there's some truth to what your professor was saying? About men being drawn to older women for those reasons?"
I shrugged, leaning back against the couch. "Maybe. I mean, I guess it makes sense if you think about it on a subconscious level. Older women—like you—know what they want, they've been through shit, and they don't play games. There's something reassuring about that. It's not like dating someone who's still trying to figure out their life."
Vanessa smiled softly, her eyes flicking over to me. "You make it sound like I'm some wise old sage."
I laughed. "Well, you kind of are. You've got your shit together. And let's be honest, I'm still figuring it out. So yeah, maybe there's a bit of that whole subconscious attraction to stability. But that doesn't mean Freud was right about everything. I'm with you because I want to be, not because of some weird psychological theory."
She nodded, her expression softening even more. "I know. And I'm with you because I see potential in you, Tristan. More than you realize."
I felt a warmth spread through me at her words, the tension from earlier completely gone now. She always knew how to make me feel like I wasn't a complete fuck-up, even when I felt like I was.
"Well, I guess we can thank my professor for giving us a good laugh tonight," I said, grinning again. "And for making me overthink everything about our relationship."
Vanessa laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Hey, overthinking is part of the deal when you're studying psychology. But maybe don't apply all of Freud's theories to us. Some of them are... well, a little too much."
"Yeah," I said, laughing with her. "I'm definitely not looking to dive into all that Oedipal stuff. I'll leave that to the textbooks."
Vanessa shook her head, still smiling. "Smart choice."
As the laughter died down, the comfortable silence between us returned. I leaned back into the couch, feeling lighter than I had in days. It wasn't just the wine or the jokes; it was the fact that Vanessa could take something that had been weighing on me and turn it into a moment of humor, something that felt easy and light.
"So," I said after a moment, "do you think Freud would approve of us?"
Vanessa smirked, raising her glass one last time. "Freud might have had a few things to say, but let's be honest—he was a little obsessed with his own theories. I think we'll be just fine without his approval."
I laughed, clinking my glass with hers. "Cheers to that."
Q: What do you think about Sigmund Freud's theories?