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 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.