So, you think you have a terrible job? Try being a psychiatrist ... psychologist ... whatever the degree on the wall says I am. I never could figure out the difference between the two. All I know is, I got online, figured out where to send the check, and a few days later, received my degree in the mail. I didn't even have to study, which is a good thing since I failed high school.

Getting my degree was the easy part. Work, on the other hand, was a completely different animal. Talk about an eye opener! I had no idea I would be dealing with a bunch of crazy people. Problems, problems, problems! That's all they talk about. They think they have problems? They should sit in my chair and listen to the stuff I have to suffer through day after day. They hate their jobs, their wives or husbands left them, nobody cares about them and so on.

The worst are the ones with "Daddy Issues." They go on and on and on about it like it's the one and only thing keeping them from having a good life.

"News flash! Your life is crap, regardless!"

I can't tell you how many times I felt like saying that. Honestly, I don't know why I keep doing this ... actually, I do ... Daddy needs a new boat. Just to be clear here, I'm talking about myself and not my own father. Who cares if that prick gets a new boat or not. That's not an actual question, just a statement. Nobody cares!

Then there are the suicidal patients, always talking about ending it all. The temptation is to help them ... with the suicide, I mean. Of course, I don't. That would be unprofessional and with the cost of boats, counterproductive. So I slave on, pretending to care about people I don't care about, just to collect a paycheck.

One of the ways I get through it is to just pretend to be listening. I nod my head every now and then, which, incidentally, also helps hide the fact that I was falling asleep, which happens quite a bit ... actually all the time. Then I just give some standard advice and trick them into thinking everything will be okay before setting up the next appointment to help them to continue to not get better. 

Another way I get through it is to guess what their problem is before they tell me. I've gotten pretty good at it, once I know their profession. For instance, I guessed, correctly, that a patient who owned a dating service was having trouble getting dates himself. It wasn't a hard guess. He was uglier than sin and, no, I didn't tell him that. I just handed him a mirror. No words were necessary. And yes, the mirror did break.

When it comes to professions, the two absolute worst, when it comes to problems, are teachers and psychia ... psycholo ... con artists. It's pretty hard to guess their problems wrong, because both complain about everything. I actually had one teacher complain that she didn't have enough money to fix her car. Here I am, with no boat, and she's complaining about not being able to fix her car? I should have double billed her for that session. 

As for my fellow con artists? What can I say? They complain about having to, endlessly, listen to their patients complaining about how they hate their jobs, how their wives or husbands left them, how nobody cares about them or have "Daddy Issues," all the while pretending to care about people they don't care about, just to collect a paycheck. I hate having to listen to that. You would too, but since you're not in my chair, you'll just have to take my word for it.

Which brings me to yesterday and a new patient, Dr. Meadows. Great! Another one of "us." I certainly was not looking forward to this session and things started looking worse when she began talking about a patient of hers, a teacher. 

Great! The two worst professions, all bundled up in one session. Could it get any worse?  

I was just starting to get into my head nodding routine when I almost jumped out of my chair. Did I just hear that? I asked Dr. Meadows to repeat herself. 

"A seventeen-year-old girl," she responded. 

Okay, so she didn't say what I thought she said. But it does explain why I heard, "firm, ripe tits." I asked her to start over again, "just to make everything clear." 

She took a deep breath and started over. "As I said, Eve ..."

"That would be the teacher?" I asked.

Dr. Meadows nodded. "Eve told me she gave her students an assignment to write about what they did over the Summer break. It was mostly just an exercise to measure their writing skills. She really didn't care about what they did over the Summer. Most of the stories were boring anyway. But then she read one from a new student, a seventeen-year-old girl."

"Her name was Amanda. Her story wasn't about traveling or family get-togethers and such. No, her story was much, much different."

"How so?" I asked, almost wishing I hadn't.

"Hers was a story of sex ... sex in graphic detail. An uncontrollable urge that started when she met a young woman ... a teacher of hers from her previous school. Amanda was attracted to her instantly and constantly fantasized about her, but somehow kept it to herself, all the way through the school year. It wasn't until the Summer break and a chance meeting in a secluded area on a beach, that Amanda found herself with a chance to have her fantasies realized." 

I admit, for the first time, I actually was interested in what a patient had to say. It was at that point, my receptionist buzzed me and told me another patient, Mr. Green, was in the reception area and needed to talk to me.

"Not now!" I shouted.

"But Mr. Green says he wants to kill himself."

"So what's the problem?" I answered. "Give him a gun and send him on his way."

I know, I know. What was I thinking? Certainly not the smartest thing to say. It's just going to take a little longer to buy the boat, is all.

After the noise from all the sirens died down, I asked Dr. Meadows to continue.

"Amanda wanted to work on her tan, but didn't feel comfortable exposing her pale skin to strangers. She found a spot on the edge of the beach and laid down on her towel. With the warm Summer sun beating down her, Amanda began to drift off to sleep and didn't even notice the other young woman who picked out a spot just a few feet from her. For some reason, Amanda opened her eyes, and couldn't believe what she was seeing. It was Miss Hollings, the teacher she fell so hard for."

"She was wearing sunglasses and had on a long, loose-fitting dress, which she quickly removed, revealing the tiniest string bikini Amanda had ever seen. After spreading her towel on the sand, she laid down on her stomach with her head facing in the other direction. This meant Amanda could safely look at Miss Hollings without having to worry about being caught. Or so she thought. So focused was she on Miss Hollings nearly naked body, she didn't notice she was now being looked at, until ..."

"Excuse me."

"The words startled Amanda and brought her attention back to Miss Hollings' face, who was looking back at her."

"Could you put some lotion on my back, please?"

"Amanda tried to answer, but for some reason, the words wouldn't come. So she nodded her head and got up and walked over. Miss Hollings didn't appear to recognize Amanda, even after handing her the bottle of lotion, probably thinking she was just another young woman on the beach. Amanda thought about telling her who she was, but for some reason, decided to wait. She then got down on her knees beside Miss Hollings and squirted some lotion on her back."

"Try as she might, it was all she could do to keep her hands from shaking from that first moment of contact. Even after, her hands still shook a little. She was just starting to feel comfortable when Miss Hollings reached behind her back and pulled the strings of her top, letting them fall to either side, exposing her back completely."

"As if her heart wasn't pounding enough already, this one little action was almost too much for Amanda to take. She thought about walking ... running away. That's when Miss Hollings brought her arms down to her sides ... and pulled the strings of her bottom, leaving her hips exposed and only the tiniest bit of fabric covering her backside. Amanda froze, not moving and not rubbing the lotion on either, which she became aware of when Miss Hollings turned and handed her the bottle again."

"Amanda squirted the lotion on again, this time lower, towards the middle of Miss Hollings' back. After taking a deep breath, she began to rub the lotion on in an upward and downward motion. With each downward motion, she inched closer and closer to the top of the bikini bottom. She badly wanted to reach inside, but kept stopping herself. Then one of her fingers touched the fabric enough to move it down, ever so slightly, but enough to see the top of the crevice between those two glorious globes of Miss Hollings' backside ... and enough to make Amanda want to see more." 

"With each downward stroke, Amanda kept hitting the fabric, trying to move it lower, but not having success. She could have just pulled it down, but that would have made it look intentional. She tried thinking of what else she could do when a sudden gust of wind solved the problem for her, blowing the fabric to the side and leaving Miss Hollings' bare bottom exposed. Amanda just stared, not believing what she was looking at and really not believing what happened next, when Miss Hollings reached underneath herself and pulled the bottoms completely off, leaving her naked on a beach that was not a nude beach."

"Amanda looked around to make sure no one was close enough to see. She saw some people in the distance, much too far away to notice anything, meaning she could now focus on Miss Hollings, who had just squirted some lotion on her own rear end, before laying her head face down on her towel."

"As Amanda began to rub the lotion, she noticed some of it began to run down the crevice of Miss Hollings' backside, giving her the perfect excuse to run a finger or two in there, which is what she did, slowly following the trail. As she did so, Miss Hollings arched her back, bringing her hips upward, exposing her neatly trimmed womanhood as a single drop of lotion made its way towards it. Amanda watched as the drop kept going lower and lower and followed it with a single finger, barely touching, yet causing a strong reaction as Miss Hollings started trembling. It was at that moment Amanda reached underneath and pressed her hand lightly on Miss Hollings mound. She wanted to tease her, but Miss Hollings was having none of it."

"She pressed her hips down hard on Amanda's hand, while at the same time closing her legs tight and trapping Amanda's hand underneath. A few quick thrusts was all it took for Miss Hollings to get her release. Overcome with excitement, Amanda said something. Miss Hollings, hearing this woman speak for the first time, turned to her. There was a look of recognition ... then, panic. She just put on her dress, forgetting to put on her bikini first, and left."

"So that was their one and only encounter?" I asked.

"It seemed like it would be," answered Dr. Meadows. "Amanda went to the beach for several days after, hoping to meet Miss Hollings again. Day after day, she was disappointed. Then one day, she was lying on the beach, applying lotion, when she heard a familiar voice ask her if she needed any help with that."

"Miss Hollings?" I asked.

Dr. Meadows nodded her head.

"So there's a happy ending then. Where's the problem?"

"Eve told me she made a copy of Amanda's story and admitted she has been reading the story over and over. She was quite turned on by it and has been fantasizing that she's the teacher in Amanda's story. It's gotten to the point that she can't stop thinking about it and is afraid that, over time, she may act on it."

"I see." I said. "So ... I'm not sure what you're asking of me. Do you want me to give advice to you to give to her?"

"Not at all," she responded. "I'm here because ... because she gave me a copy of that story and I've been reading it over and over and have become quite turned on by it as well. It's gotten to the point I can't stop thinking about it." 

"So, you're fantasizing about being Amanda's teacher also?" I asked.

"No, actually ... actually I was fantasizing about being Amanda ... with Eve as my teacher."

"I see," I said again. "So ... I'm still not sure what you're asking of me. Do you want me to give Eve advice to give to you?"

After shaking her head, Dr. Meadows said, "No, I don't want you to do that. I just needed to get this off my chest. That's why I'm here. It looks like Eve and I will just have to somehow keep these fantasies locked away. I just wish that, somehow, I could make it a reality."

As strange as it may seem, I actually wanted to help Dr. Meadows. That's when an idea hit me. 

"I think I know of a way. But I'll need to see that story. Do you have the copy with you?" 

Dr. Meadows nodded her head and started looking through her purse before pulling out an envelope and handing it to me. After giving it a brief look, I said, "This will take me a few hours, so come back tomorrow and you and Eve won't have to fantasize about being someone else." 

Dr. Meadows gave me a confused and what could only be described as hopeful, look before leaving. As for me, it was time to go to work. And work it was, keeping me up until the very early hours of the next morning (today).

And so, the time came. Dr. Meadows was seated when I reached in my desk and retrieved an envelope.

"What you are about to see," I started, "is going to change your life. You and Eve will no longer have to fantasize. I give to you ... reality." Then I handed her the envelope. 

After opening and looking at the contents, she asked, "What's this?"

"It's Amanda's story. Only I crossed out Amanda and her teacher's name and replaced them with yours and Eve's. You don't have to fantasize anymore."

It was at that moment that I found out Dr. Meadows has a really good left hook. I'm not sure why she did that. I'm going to guess it was Daddy issues. Whatever the reason, I'm through with helping people. No, I'm not quitting my practice, I'm just going back to not caring.