

It started three days ago. A local mental-case, by the name of Carla Parker, appeared at my door during the sexing hour. Amidst this brief, but frustratingly informative visit, Carla expressed plans to kill one of my former patients: Tristan Cecil. Not that murdering Tristan, a solid brass narcissist, portended therapeutic disaster. I had often entertained his demise - purely, to achieve stress-relief. Unfortunately, Carlas visit defused my fantasies regarding Maddys new nightgown. And, let me t...






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