“How to Get Out of Psychotherapy”

It was a rainy day and New York was soggy. I’m not the type to carry an umbrella so I was drenched and not in a good mood to attend my weekly therapy session on the Upper West Side, compliments of my health insurance. All I wanted was to go home from work and get warm underneath some comfortable blankets and write. If I blew off my session, I was subjected to pay a $25 late fee out of pocket. Fuck that shit. I headed towards West End Avenue on 96th street to the only building in the city that had a fine Puerto Rican woman as a “doorman.” I stopped trying to be nice and say hi to her because all she did was sneered at me, probably thinking “freak!”

I entered the office where my therapist, Ms.Rosenbud greeted me with the same fake smile she did every week while here eyes studied every expression on my face. I hated her. She thought herself hyperintellegent, cunning and superior. I went to her during a vulnerable moment when I thought I was having a nervous breakdown of some sort. I declared myself cured the next day and was ready to terminate therapy. Ms. Rosenbud advised against it and pressured me to give the “work” a shot. She mulnipulated me, telling me that with somebody with my tragic background could not be completely well. I countered back, somebody with my lack of education shouldn’t be able to write video games or books either. I flopped down on her sofa and put my feet up. Today was going to be my last session one way or another. I was determined.

I had sex last night.

Really? Care to share?

That’s what I’m here for.

We shot each other with a fake smile at the same exact time.

It was with this Chinese bitch.

Must you refer to women as bitches.

Listen to the story and you’ll know why I’m calling her a bitch.

Fair enough.

I met her at a gym where I train my client Angelo downtown and we were walking out at the same time. I asked her what she was up to and she said nothing. That she was bored.

Lucky for you.

Let me talk. So I asked her out for a drink. The only thing the stupid bitch didn’t have any i.d. so we bombed out in three different bars.

Was she underaged?

Yeah, but she was at least 18 though.

And you’re 35. Don’t you think you should be persuing women closer to your own age?

I should be persuing whoever is going to give me the pussy.

Vincent!

What? Let me finish. So I tell the bitch that I have some alcohol up in my house and that I also had some weed and coke.

You had coke? I thought you stopped doing that.

I did until last night. Anyway, her eyes lit up when I mentioned the word coke. She tells me that she loves coke. I flagged a cab and this pushy white man in a suit tried to steal my cab claiming that he saw it first. But I got to it first. And besides, how can he prove that he saw anything first?

What happened?

Well he got a little aggresive. I didn’t want to get into a fight and fuck up my chances of fucking the little Chinese coke head so I whispered in his ear that if he didn’t let go of my cab, I was going to bite the side of his face off.

Ms.Rosenbud looked horrified.

What was I supposed to do? Get played.

We have to talk about this violent streak of yours.

I’m not violent. Besides, I wanna talk about what the Chinese bitch did to me.

What did she do?

Well, we get to my place and I fix us some vodka drinks with cranberry juice.

How many did you have?

I don’t know. 6 or 7.

Vincent! How can you do that?

Don’t start preaching no A.A. shit to me now. I’m not with that.

You have a problem.

No, you have a problem with not listening.

Why do you make this so hard on me?

All I want to do is tell my fucking story. Jesus Christ!

Tell your story and then , we’re going to talk about your substance abuse issues.

I don’t have any substance abuse issues.

You can’t be serious.

Can I tell my story, please!

Fine.

Well I make out with the bitch.

What was her name?

Shit! I forget. I can’t believe I forgot her name. It was something like Moon-Sun.

Great. Continue.

I take a fast shower and when I come out of my bathroom, she’s squating buck naked in my living room and the first thing I noticed is that she has a really big butthole.

Ms.Rosenbud laughs.

What’s so funny? I’m telling you a serious story and you laugh.

You’re funny.

No, maybe you’re just not compassionate enough for your profession.

Don’t you dare challenge me on my proffession.

Don’t put yourself in a position where I can and maybe I won’t.

Fine.

Are you ready?

Talk.

So she wants to do some coke. I bust out the coke and I tell her to suck my penis hard. When it’s fully erect. I put a line of coke on it. It was a long line too. She sniffed the coke off of my cock.

Penis. the correct terminology is penis.

Whatever, she sniffed the coke off my penis and then she whispered in my ear that she wanted me to fuck her in the ass.

Interesting.

I bet your other clients are boring compared to me.

That’s none of your concern.

I mean I don’t really give a shit. I’m just saying.

Continue.

So I threw the bitch on top of my bed and I put it in her ass. After a while I smell soomething foul. Let me make a long story short. She messed me up. fucked up my sheets too. And I’m not like a metrosexual where I’m shopping for sheets at Bed, Bath and Beyond every weekend either.

That’s what you get for having anal sex with coke whores with no identification. You might want to consider getting a H.I.V. test.

Thanks for letting me know. Now I’m pissed because if a girl offers anal sex, she should know if she’s clean or not.

Once again, she was a coke whore. Didn’t you see this as a problem?

Fuck that. I just wanted to fuck.

Anything else unusual happened this week.

Yeah. This drunk homo asked me to let him suck my dick for 20 bucks.

Really? How did that make you feel?

Angry and disgusted.

What did you do?

I said okay and lured him to a parking lot. Then I beat the shit out of him and robbed him. he didn’t have much. But he did have some coke.

I stopped talking and smiled at Ms.Rosenbud.

You know Vincent, we’re going to have to terminate our work. If you want, I can refer you to a specialist.

But why? I acted hurt and desperate.

I’m not qualified to work with sociopaths.

So basically, you have been wasting my time all along, knowing that you couldn’t do shit for me? Great!

Vincent, get out!

I walked out with a smirk plastered on my face.

Posted on January 22, 2008 at 02:08 PM   |   Previous Entry   |   Next Entry   |   Entry List   |   Email Entry   |    Digg

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