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This is without a doubt the worst day of my life and there's probably much more worse days to follow posterior to this one, but right now, without exaggeration, it's the absolute worst. I don't even know what I'm doing here; laying down on a couch looking at the ceiling fan going clockwise with a lady behind me who's jotting down notes on her pad while frequently asking me the most annoying questions - it's such a waste of time.
I knew this was a bad idea from the moment my aunt proposed it. I didn't need help. She needed help. How dare she accuse me of a disorder while in fact, being addicted to sex is perfectly normal for a young adult. My mom would agree with that. At least she would if she was still alive.
'Miss Hunter?' the psychologist says. Her name is Barbara Gally and I've only known her for a few minutes but from what I've seen she's definitely that kind of person who's always talking at birthday parties while ignoring all signals and body languages from other people that say (perhaps not loudly enough) 'I'm not interested in what you're saying, but am nodding every few seconds only to be polite'. And she's wearing this nasty parfume that's very intoxicating and has made me sneeze like three times already.
I rub my temples and sigh. 'Yes?'
'Do you remember when this problem of yours started?' Barbara repeated.
I've heard her asking it the first time, I just didn't want to answer.
'It's not a problem,' I say. 'And it's not unholy either, like my aunt said, which is funny because we don't even believe in God.'
'You don't think it's a problem giving yourself to men you don't even know let alone have a connection with?'
I boredly blow a strand of blonde hair out of my face. 'That's what I just said.'
'I see.' Barbara goes back to writing something down on her notepad and I wonder whether she's actually writing stuff down or just drawing doodles. 'So if you don't think you have a problem, why exactly are you here?'
I shrug. 'My aunt wants me to be here. I guess she's had it with me taking home guys who sometimes feel the need to steal something out of her jewelry box, which, by the way, only happened like three times.'
'How often do you take home strangers?'
'Four times a week maybe. Wish it could be more though.'
'And then you have intercourse with them?'
'No I knit with them.'
Even though I can't see her I just know Barbara is shaking her head at me.
'Okay, so you have sex with them. Aren't you afraid of STDs?' she continues.
My God! Just stop with the stupid questions! 'No! I always make them wear a condom,' I sit up angrily and turn my head to Barbara, 'and why is everyone always so defensive on a girl having and actually liking sex? If a guy were to take home a girl every night it'd be perfectly normal but when a girl does it, it's weird? Screw that.'
