"Another potential contender?" The tall, leggy blonde eyed her partner with open incredulity.
The shorter women nodded and opened up an email account in front of her, "I know what you're thinking, but this time, I think we've got a real whopper on our hands."
Janelle signed and crossed her arms. The two women were standing inside a small room that had basic sound equipment, and her own voice sounded hollow to her as she replied, "Okay, but this better not be like the last few girls, Miranda: they were all talk and no flash. We need girls who are really into it, you know?"
"Oh, I know," the shorter woman, who was named Miranda, tousled her green colored hair and chuckled, "Just watch. I bought a few of her videos with my own money just so you could see her in action."
Janelle's eyes widened for a moment. If her partner has gone through that much trouble, then she supposed that she ought to at least humor her, "Okay, play me a clip."
Miranda clicked on one of the files and a video began to play. She switched it to full screen and sat back so her partner could see.
The Inner Shrink
A title came up onto the screen immediately, white words over a black background.
The scene opened with a girl laying on a couch. There were several bookshelves lined up behind her, and it appeared that she was in an office of some sort.
"So... where do I start?" The girl mumbled hesitantly as she raised a limp hand and stared at the ceiling. She was a pretty girl with full, rounded features, and though she wasn't heavy set, exactly, she was definitely not what most people would consider petite. She was wearing a short skirt and a red long sleeve, and her ample curves were well flattered in the outfit.
The camera cut to someone sitting on an armchair in the very same office: a woman wearing a business blazer and a long skirt. She was wearing glasses and her hair had been pinned up, and it took Janelle a moment to realize that it was actually the same girl that had been lying on the couch, "Start with what's troubling you and we'll go from there," the 'psychologist' jotted something down on a leather bound pad.
"Is she... playing both parts?" Janelle asked with a grin as she leaned forward.
"Shh, yes, just watch it!' Miranda waved her hand down as she stared at the screen.
The camera cut back to the 'patient' on the couch, "Okay, here goes, I guess." The girl sighed. "I have this problem that seems to be getting worse. No matter what I do, I just can't seem to stop jacking off," the girl paused and blushed slightly, "It's not like I want to! I try to ignore my cock, but it just fills and fills no matter how much I drain it! It's getting to the point where all I can think about is splooging; it's affecting my social life and my career! If it gets any worse, then I might lose my job and end up homeless!"
The therapist came into view and nodded slowly, "Mhm, I see." She jotted a few things down in her notebook and continued, "So, as of right now, how often would you say that you masturbate on a daily basis?"
"I'm up to ten times a day, at least," the patient replied nervously. "Isn't there some sort of medication I can take that will suppress my drive? You've got to help me, doc!"
"Hm," the therapist adjusted her glasses and blinked, "Would you say that you're afraid of your cock, Miss Ru?"
The girl on the couch frowned, "I... I don't know. I mean... I guess sometimes I am... to be honest."
"Rest assured that this session is completely confidential and anything you do or say will be kept entirely within these walls." The camera focused on the therapist's notebook for a few seconds.
"Okay..." the girl cleared her throat. "I suppose I am afraid. I'm afraid of losing control, of maybe hurting someone someday because of this... thing, that's attached to me," she gestured to her crotch in disgust.
"I see, I see..." the therapist wrote some things down. "Would you say that you feel detached from your male member most of the time, as if it weren't actually apart of you?"
"All the time," the patient admitted. "Sometimes I forget that it's there, especially when I'm asleep... until I wake up with a massive morning wood and am forced to give into it just so I can get dressed," she grumbled.
"Uh-hm..." the therapist bit the end of her pen after she'd taken few more notes. "I think I see the issue, here."
The patient's eyes brightened, "Really? So there's hope for me?!"
"There's always hope," the therapist smiled knowingly. "Tell me, have you ever heard of emotional detachment disorder?"
"No... I can't say that I have."
"Well, simply put, it's a condition in which a person finds it difficult or impossible to empathize with others, sometimes even themselves. This condition can also be closely linked to depersonalization disorder, in which a person can find themselves having a difficult time even self realizing or identifying with their own existence. It seems that you may be suffering from something similar to these things, only it is exclusive to the male parts of your body."
The patient blinked, "I hadn't even considered such a thing. Can you explain it to me a little more?"
"Of course," the therapist leaned forward and folded one of her legs over the other, "Your penis is directly linked to your subconscious, and right now it is controlling a vast majority of your fear and therefore your life as a whole. Because of your refusal to accept yourself the way you are, you are inadvertently causing your body to rebel against itself. This has led to all sorts of excessive, unwanted chemical production in your brain, and now you're libido is spiraling out of control."
"Wow... really?" The girl pursed her lips, "I had no idea. So, what you're saying is: because I hate my cock I'm mentally rejecting it, but that only makes it assert itself more in an effort to integrate itself into my...psyche?"
"More or less," the therapist smiled and nodded.
