Posted by PK on March 12, 2002 at 12:22:34:
"Okay, I admit it," Josie said, "It's about my tits. Is that what you want me to say?"
"It's not about what I want you to say," her therapist said soothingly. "It's about what you
want to say. What do you want to say about them?"
It's an interesting fact that most people can't distinguish between a real psychotherapist and a
computer program, by the Turing test criterion. In any other situation any idiot can tell a
machine from a human being. Despite this, Josie went on. She might as well have been
talking to a rock, but it was there in her and it had to come out. She did wonder if she should
have stayed at home and talked to a housefly or a rock but a scene from an old cowboy
movie dissuaded her. It was about some drifter in the desert, old and wise, imparting his hard
earned wisdom to the tenderfoot. It goes like this: You're not necessarily crazy when you start
talking to the lizards. The time to worry is when they start talking back. Josie had started to
talk to her tits. They had started to tell her things she didn't want to hear but she couldn't go
anywhere without them.
"They're holding me hostage," Josie said. How could she put this without coming over as a
nut job?
The therapist probably nodded wisely and understandingly. Josie wasn't looking, she had her
eyes shut. "Hostage, you say," he murmured encouragingly.
"I wanted to be a gymnast," she said. "I was good at it as a kid. Then puberty hit and - boom!
- they appeared. Gymnasts don't have tits, I did. They just took over."
"Took over?"
By now, Josie hardly needed the prompts. "For a while there I thought I might make it as a
ballerina. That lasted about a year. I mean, you can get away with a bit of breast..."
"But?"
Like you can't see them, Josie thought. Everybody sees them. I come into a room, my tits are
there before me. "I had good legs," she reminisced. "Dancer's legs. Still do. Fat lot of use
that is now, right? Ever see a dancer with hooters like these?"
"Well..."
"So I went to college. I thought about nursing and then I thought, no fucking way. Too fucking
obvious. Nursing, right? Hah! I did a law degree. Wasn't good enough at math for a real
science education. I was just good at remembering useless crap and bullshitting."
"Sounds like you had it made," the therapist said. "A career in law, television, politics..."
"You're forgetting these," Josie said. She hefted the offending items. "Too big. Oh, yeah, law.
I got a starter position at a law firm. Shuffling papers, looking things up, running errands,
making coffee. Nobody took me seriously. I did good work but did anybody notice?"
"Well..."
"Oh they noticed all right." Josie's voice took on the rusty edge of bitterness. "Guess what
they noticed?"
"Uh..."
"It's not that I minded that, you know? Not at first, anyway. It's not like I'm a prude or
anything. I got lots of dates. I got laid. But it was, like, what else is there? Is this my life?"
"And...?"
"And what?" Josie stared as if she'd noticed him for the first time. Yup, talking to a therapist
was just like talking to yourself. So that's how it works.
"And what did you decide?"
"If I knew that, would I be here?"
"If you hadn't decided that something was wrong, would you be here?"
The quack was one slick bastard, Josie noted. Score one for him. She sighed. Might as well
go on with it a little longer, get her money's worth. "It was like they all had a relationship with
my tits and not with me," she said. "I might as well have been along for the ride." And I might
as well be on Oprah, whining away with the rest of the losers.
"So you felt that your.....um....breasts were, what? In charge of your life?"
It sounded stupid, put baldly like that. "Yes." No. Not at all. Something like that. "It was the
mirror," she blurted. Had she said too much?
"Many women are insecure about their bodies," the therapist said. "When you see yourself in
a mirror, you compare the image you see there with the image you wish to project, your
chosen persona..."
"That's when I realised they were trying to tell me something," Josie spurted on, ignoring him.
Damn, just when the twitch doctor was almost making sense. In another reality. Nice map,
wrong territory. Maybe she should have stuck with the maths a bit longer. Or at least had a
stab at cartography.
The therapist pulled out of the wrong turning with remarkable aplomb. "Tell you what?"
This was going to get sticky, Josie thought.
This is going to get sticky, the therapist thought. He could hardly move, his pants were too
tight. Legs? This babe has legs like Colonel Sanders has chicken. Bare pink toes in fuck-me
shoes. The lines of her body suggested ripeness that her clothes couldn't conceal, and they
weren't trying very hard. Thank Freud he was sitting down with his legs crossed. It was
uncomfortable but as long as he didn't move he should be okay.
"My tits want to get me eaten," Josie blurted. "They just keep telling me that's what I'm made
for. I look at them in the mirror and they say, bite me, I'm ripe. They want to be food."
The therapist considered explaining that the proper function of her breasts was to feed her
babies. Pfui. Just too 'naked ape'. But what else to say? "It's perfectly natural..." he ventured
warily.
"I don't want fucking kids," Josie undercut him. "Knee deep in rugrats for the next twenty
years until I'm worn out? Fuck that for a game of soldiers." She kicked off her shoes,
seemingly unaware of the action, and sprawled back on the couch.
"You are a very attractive woman," the therapist struggled to say. He was mesmerised by her
shapely bare feet. "Many possibilities are open to you..." Lame, lame, lame. Name one?
"So what do I do?"
Come to poppa...um. "What would you like to do?"
"I had this dream," Josie said.
Oh wonderful, the therapist thought. A dream. May Freud rot in Hell. And take Jung with him.
There'd better not be an elephant in it.
"I'm in a restaurant and I'm serving customers. I'm naked, of course, and my tits are on a
plate. I look down and they're gone, my chest is bare as a boy's. I watch them slice my tits up
and eat them. Then I wake up."
"How do you feel when you wake up?"
"Wet between the legs. That what you want to hear?" She smirked briefly. "Confused," She
added half to herself.
"And your t.. breasts are still there..."
"Well, yeah?" Josie's tone was heavy with overstated irony. Her upper body made a sinous
movement and the jugs in question flaunted their presence as her eyes flickered downward
for a beat. Like you can't SEE them? The Doctor pretended to ignore this. He'd spent long
years at therapist school learning how to avoid seeing the bloody obvious, but it was getting
to be an effort.
"How does that make you feel?"
"Relieved. Disappointed. I don't know."
"You have conflicting emotions...?" Oh spare me.
"I guess...."
"About?"
"Well, gee," Josie said with leaden irony. "My tits, maybe?"
The therapist ignored the tone, just nodded. Don't get provoked. "Of course. But what is the
conflict really about?"
"Don't get you," Josie muttered. She looked twitchy. "Is it hot in here?" She pulled at her
clothing.
The therapist knew he was venturing onto shaky ground here, but he couldn't resist it. The
girl was clearly in denial but he would blow it if he confronted her too bluntly. "Perhaps we
should take a closer look at the problem," he tried.
Josie gave him a look. "You wanna see 'em?"
"Well, I didn't quite mean..." Yes! Yes! YES! No! Oh God, I'll be struck off, defrocked
whatever it is they do to lecherous quacks. Worse yet, sued.
"Shit, why not?" And right there and then, Josie swung her long, bare legs off the couch and
pulled off her blouse. She unfasted her lacy, purple bra, a front-loader, and unleashed her
assets. After some time, she prompted him. "Hello? This is me, still here. Like 'em?"
The therapist hoped he hadn't actually been drooling. He groped for something to say but for
several panicky seconds nothing came to mind but "What a rack!" The girl was stacked.
Those were no common mammaries, they were golden, ripe, juicy melons topped with
perfect little cherries. They...uh...
"Are they, um," How did they stay up like that? It's not that they were huge exactly, not
grotesquely oversized anyway, just somewhat prominent. They DID speak for themselves.
Fortunately, so did Josie. "Oh yeah," she said. "They're all mine. No additives or artificial
flavours. One hundred percent pure girlflesh. Accept no substitutes."
My God, another Freudian slip, the therapist thought. For something to do to distract himself,
he wrote it down. It looked professional and the notepad covered his lap. Not for the first time
he regretted not sitting behind a desk. Okay, he owed her at least one more try. He glanced
at the clock. Great, lots of time left. Wonderful.
"With t...er.. a figure like yours, you might consider modelling for a certain type of magazine,"
he said.
"I thought about it," Josie admitted, shrugging enchantingly. Should he tell her to put her bra
back on? No, it would disrupt the flow. That would be unprofessional. "But it's not a career, is
it? I mean, in a couple of years they'll start to, you know, sag..." She shrugged again.
"You might consider cosmetic surgery," the therapist said bravely. "Breast reduction..."
Sacrilege! Don't listen to me!
Josie frowned. "I don't know, it seems so..." She cupped her breasts and looked down at
them. She shook her head. "This is going to sound crazy but I couldn't do that to them."
Good for you, girl! "It's perfectly normal," the therapist reassured her. "Many people feel that
way. I'm afraid it doesn't help us with your problem, though."
"I know," Josie said resignedly. "I guess I didn't expect ..." She smiled bravely. "Hey, forget it.
It's been nice talking to you. You're not as big a stiff as I thought."
You wouldn't say that if I tried to stand up, the therapist thought. Now was the time, now or
never. Dare he even suggest? "There is one thing we might try," he offered. "It's entirely up
to you of course. Rather a radical approach, but..."
The girl took the bait eagerly. "What? I'll try anything."
Anything? Okay. "Confront the problem head on. You said," the therapist pretended to look at
his notes. In fact the words were burned on his brain. " 'My tits want to get me eaten',"
"Yeah, I guess." Josie blushed. "So?"
"Perhaps we should listen to what they're saying. There's a course at the local college that
might help."
"Really?" The girl brightened for a moment, but then: "I can't afford the fees. I can't afford
you. I'm nearly broke."
"It's free."
The sun came out again. "Really? What's it about?"
"Um...it's called Spit Muffin studies," Oh God, I'm doomed. I'm going to Hell.
"Spit Muffin? What's that? And will it help me deal with my problem? "
"In a manner of speaking, yes. Um, look, rather than explain it I'll just give you a brochure. I
have one in my desk." Which I can just reach without standing up if I lean over a bit. "Here
you are. You can take it with you if you like, don't say anything now, just..just." Just stop me
babbling please God. And yes, I surrender, put your bra back on.
No use. Josie had opened the leaflet and was reading. Or at least looking at the pictures. "Oh
my God," she said at last. Or murmured. One hand had strayed to her lap, the therapist
noted. Her charming blush had returned. "You don't mean...."
"It's entirely up to you of course. You don't actually have to...consummate your studies, so to
speak, but there is a certain risk attendant if you want to graduate. You may decide not to.
Some of the self-care courses alone might help you in a career as a beautician."
"Not without a diploma," Josie muttered absently. Her free hand fidgeted between her legs.
"Risk attendant?" She skipped to the end. Yes, she could read. Many law students could, he
remembered.
"Graduation requires the graduating class to demonstrate their fitness, and one of them
actually has to..ah...go all the way through with it."
"Looks to me like something goes all the way through her," Josie observed. She shifted her
position on the edge of the couch. From his vantage, the therapist could almost see her
crotch beneath her short skirt. He looked down at this notepad. "No additives or artificial
flavours. One hundred percent pure girlflesh," it told him.
"Is this what you think I should do?"
Whew, back on safe ground. Standard answer, back to the programme. "It's not about what I
want, what I think, it's about..." Oh to hell with it. "It's your choice, Josie. All I can do is help
you find your own answers and show you the possible options." Basically true and it should
cover him if it ever came to court.
Josie nodded. Her two little friends gave a pair of token bobs. "I suppose it is." She still
seemed undecided.
"Why don't you just think about it?" the therapist offerered. "Even if you take the course,
you'll have plenty of time to make your mind up, think about what it entails..."
It wasn't enough. "Yeah, but do you think I should? Come on, be honest. Is that what you'd
LIKE me to do?"
"I don't quite know what you mean. It's nothing to do with me.."
She leaned forward and brought her artillery to bear. "Bullshit. I said be honest. I mean,
would you like to eat me? Is that what you want to do?"
It was too much. "Hell, yes. Who wouldn't. I mean...ah.."
Josie nodded again, satisfied. "Yeah, right. I just don't know if I need a college course in how
to be, what, edible? Do you think I do?"
"Well....no, but..."
"Don't you think I look tasty enough already?" She pouted. Her knees parted slightly with the
movement.
"Yes, of course but..."
"What do you think, buddies, should we go for it?" The therapist almost replied but Josie was
addressing her breasts. Nut job, he diagnosed. Fruitcake. She looked up. "They agree with
you, Doc. Should have guessed."
The therapist sighed. "You'll take the course?"
Josie smiled. It was really quite an enchanting smile. "Why wait?"
***********************************************
"....so she just said 'why wait?'" the therapist said. "I didn't get it at first." He shook his head.
"More wine?"
"Wouldn't mind," his friend the dentist replied. "Shit, you guys really get all the luck. We
never get the chicks. Everybody hates us."
"Then she asked if I was free this weekend. I still didn't get it. I couldn't believe it. It was only
when she asked if I knew anyone else who might be interested that I snapped out of it."
"I'll bet." The envy was obvious. "Lucky bastard."
Both of them turned back to the barbecue. It was hard to take your eyes away even for a
short while. It was a lovely summer evening for an outdoor party, just a select group of very
special friends, good things to drink, fine music and a beautiful young woman roasting over
an open fire. Josie looked as magnificent on a spit as she had in life. Better, perhaps. She
had stopped writhing sometime ago (nobody could have taken their eyes away from that
sight for a second) and now she was turning serenely over the pit, the firelight and the late
sun making her skin glisten with oil, sweat and her natural juices. She looked peaceful. She
smelled delicious. Maybe she really had been born to roast.
"She was a nice girl too," the therapist said. "I almost tried to talk her out of it. But she'd
probably just have gone to someone else." He shrugged.
"Yeah, right." The dentist didn't press the point. He wanted to be invited to the next one, if
there ever was a next one.
"No, I liked her, really. You hungry yet?"
"Starving."
"A toast, then." The therapist raised his glass to Josie's rotating carcasse. "To Josie. One
hundred percent pure girlflesh. Here's looking at you, kid."
END