Black-haired, black-eyed, 'Goth' Camilla finished her classes late on Wednesday afternoon, and, wearing bright makeup, high heels, and the sexy black dress Patrick had bought for her, she went to the house of her Dr. Mason, her new therapist, for her first session with him. His house was in a quiet neighbourhood in North York; here is where, in his private practice, he preferred to see his patients, in a peaceful environment, where nobody and nothing would disturb them. On the front door was a sign. It said, "Just open the door and walk in."
"Wow, this guy's really laid back," she said, then slowly opened the door.
"Yes, Camilla, come on in," a male voice was heard to say. "Don't be shy; we're all relaxed here."
She walked in and closed the door behind her. She then cautiously walked through the centre of the house to the back, where Dr. Mason, the owner of that voice, was. He was sitting on a big, comfy chair in the middle of the large guest room, a room that seemed to Camilla to be more suitable for hosting large parties than for therapy sessions. In one corner was a bar; in the other was a grand piano. The chair she was to sit on, facing him, was smaller, but equally comfortable.
"Please sit down," he said. She did.
Foxy lady,
he thought.
Dr. Mason, she was pleased to see, was a good-looking man in his mid-forties, with a Van Dyke beard and brown hair streaked with occasional lines of silver. She could also sense, to her double delight, that he had strong heterosexual leanings. Nigrovum had done a good job in getting Dr. Rosenblood to send her to Mason.
As he was writing something down on his notepad, she did a quick scan of his mind to know his sexual tastes. In a few seconds, she figured out exactly how to act, and she removed that emotionally numbing psychic dome that had been protecting her from her recent pain.
"So, Camilla," he began, finishing his writing, "Dr. Rosenblood tells me you weren't very cooperative about telling him about yourself. I hope you'll open up for me."
Oh, I'll 'open up' for you, all right,
she thought.
"He says you were more interested in having sex with him than in telling him about yourself," Mason continued.
"Yeah, he's gay; what a waste," she said.
"Why's that a waste?" Mason asked.
"'Cause he's hot. I wanted to fuck his brains out."
"He's more than twice your age."
"That's how I like my men," she said with a lewd smirk.
"Why do you like older men?" He tried to hide the smirk on
his
face.
""Cause they're mature, sophisticated, intelligent, and kind."
"All kinds of people have those qualities," Dr. Mason said. "And older men have all kinds of different qualities, both good and bad. Why do you associate those virtues particularly with older men?"
"Oh, because my daddy's like that, I guess," she said with an ear-to-ear grin. "He's the greatest."
"You must really love him."
"More than anyone in the whole world."
"Judging by the ecstatic smile you have on your face, I'd say that that love of yours is a decidedly romantic one."
Her smile instantly turned upside-down. She looked away.
"I'm not judging you," the psychologist reassured her. "I'm not at all being critical here; I'm merely exploring."
"I--I'm in..." she began, fighting back sobs. "Oh, God."
"You're
in love
with your father, aren't you?" Mason asked.
Nodding, she was now audibly crying.
He took a tissue from the Kleenex box on his nearby desk and gave it to her. "Camilla," he said, "over the fifteen years that I've been a therapist, I've encountered dozens of people who have incestuous feelings for their mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters. Some kept their feelings a secret, others practiced consensual incest. There are a lot more people out there like you than you think."
"Really?" She looked up at him with hope in her eyes.
"Really. And I'm not going to condemn you as a pervert. In point of fact, I see nothing wrong with two consenting adults engaging in incest, as long as they don't have babies."
"Wow," she said, no longer crying. "Maybe society will accept it one day, the way they do homosexuality."
"Maybe," he said. "There are some people advocating the legalization of consensual incest. Does your dad feel the same way about you?"
"No--I mean, maybe, in his subconscious, if I can find it."
"In his
subconscious
?"
"Yeah, maybe he's repressing his desires for me," she said.
"Camilla, that sounds like wishful thinking."
"How so? It's possible he wants me, too."
"Not likely, I'm sorry to say. What about your mother?"
"She's dead," she quickly answered.
"Well, isn't that a relief?" he asked sarcastically.
"Yeah. She was a bitch."
"Tell me about her."
"She cheated on Daddy; she lied that he'd molested me, so when they got divorced, she'd get custody of me."
"Oh, dear," he said, quickly writing.
"When I was living with her and her asshole new husband, you know what they did?" Her voice was getting louder and angrier.
"What?"
"They had
key parties
!"
"Wow."
"All these swingers, screwing around in our house, and I, an eight-year-old girl, had to sit alone in my bedroom as my mommy and her female guests randomly chose their lovers for the night. And
she
judges
me
for being sexually screwed up."
"Excuse me: judges?" he asked. "I thought she was dead."
"She
is
. She judges me in my dreams. Her ghost, I mean."
"Her
ghost
?"
