This morning, while sitting in the rapist's office, I regaled her with tales of my youth. Somehow we got onto the subject of losing my virginity.
"I wasn't having sex in high school," I insisted.
"But you were doing SOMETHING with your high school boyfriend?" she prodded. "Making out at least?"
"Oh sure," I thought back to innocent me, 20 years ago. "I mean, by the end of senior year I was definitely touching his weiner."
The rapist doubled over in such a way I thought I was going to have to perform CPR on her. I realized, after a moment, that the woman was laughing uncontrollably.
"Weiner? Is that what you call it?"
I nodded.
"I guess you have bigger problems than referring to male genitals as weiners." She surmised.
Worth every penny of the $150 an hour I pay her, I tell ya.
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