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“I just…can’t…stop…eating…them,” says the luscious woman in front of me, inhaling her third Twinkie in one big bite.
I really shouldn’t be focusing on anything other than helping her. That’s why she’s here, after all. But I’m not. And that’s because the way her plump, supple mouth gobbles down on that golden sponge has me envisioning that it’s my dick she’s devouring like it’s her last meal, not the damn Twinkie.
Shifting subtly in my leather seat, I tell my cock now is not the time to rear its sinful head as I’m here to help Sharon with her addiction.
According to the ever-resourceful Wikipedia, addiction is “the continued repetition of a behavior despite adverse consequences, or a neurological impairment leading to such behaviors.”
So what triggers an addiction? What makes people like Sharon here completely and utterly addicted to something they can no longer function without? I mean, it sounds ridiculous that we can’t stop certain behaviors because wearethe ones in control of our actions—no one else but ourselves.
So maybe it’s a habit. But a habit is done by choice; therefore, we could stop if we wanted to. So, in that case, maybe it’s a repressed memory biting at our heels, and we’re just using that as an excuse to get high, drunk, STD-ridden, or—in Sharon’s case—unable to function without Twinkies.
We all have addictions, whether big or small, in one form or another, and we human beings are complex characters that either deal with it or sweep it under the rug and just don’t talk about it. But the people who do want to talk about it, whatever their addiction, come and see me.
My name is Dr. Dixon Mathews, and for five hundred dollars an hour, one can unload their deepest, darkest secrets and leave my office feeling healed and reborn. Most people just want the confirmation that nothing is wrong with them and their abnormal tendencies aren’t that abnormal after all. And my patients get that from me. They get the verification from one of New York’s top psychiatrists that their need to eat cat hair or masturbate in public is normal.
In just a few sessions, I pledge that my treatment will cure them of their neurotic behavior, and they can blend back into society where citizens are none the wiser that they are walking amongst some batshit-crazy loony tunes.
The reason I can guarantee this is because the majority of people who walk through my doors just want to whine and complain, and once they get whatever the hell off their chests,most see the light and stop with the crazy. The small minority who do have earnest issues, I prescribe the ever-reliable benzodiazepines to treat their insanity, and the world thanks me for creating another pill-popping, asocial zombie.
So call me a bastard, but at thirty-two years of age, I think I’m allowed to be a little jaded and apathetic toward society. You would be too if you had to listen to the same old sob story day in and day out from the spoiled, rich folk who never had to work a hard day in their life. Yet they come to me with pathetic stories of injustice and wrongdoings, totally oblivious to how lucky they really are.
As Sharon is droning on about the woes of her life, I think back to my original question. What triggers addiction? Many trained professionals have stated that the causes of addiction vary considerably, but they are generally caused by a combination of physical, mental, circumstantial, and emotional factors. But me, I know addiction comes down to one simple, primitive concept.
Desire.
Whether we desire success, beauty, food, alcohol, drugs, nicotine, porn, or sex, the result is the same—we all want to experience the euphoria that comes with these factors, and that’swhatwe become addicted to. The actual trigger differs from person to person, but in the end, we all just want to be…happy. And in most circumstances, desire leads to pleasure.
People with addictive personalities blow their addiction out to creepy levels, but the majority of us just dabble in our addictions to achieve that happiness, that euphoria because we’re human, and we crave the proverbial “happily ever after.”
I told you I’m good.
“Dr. Mathews,” Sharon says in a small voice. “Shouldn’t you be writing this down?”
Nodding, I refocus my distant eyes on her. “How about you tell me a little more about your father?” I suggest softly, giving her a gentle smile.
And five, four, three, two…one.
Right on cue, I witness Sharon’s full bottom lip tremble, and her eyes well with tears.
“There’s nothing to say,” she states, crossing her arms over her bountiful chest as she bites her lip to stop the tears.
“How would you describe your relationship with him?” I press, casually crossing my legs while attempting to hide my imminent erection as I try not to stare at her tits.
“It’s fine.” She sniffs, curling in on herself, her bright red hair shrouding her tears.
We all have a trigger, and I’ve come to learn that the trigger for a lot of women is their nonexistent fathers.
So like I said, call me a bastard because a shitload of daddy issues also means one thing: trying to find the perfect father figure to fill that vacant, loveless void. These women unconsciously seek out their future mate, using their asshole daddies as the blueprint for what they’re looking for in a companion. Or in some circumstances…a fuck.
Suddenly, my dick becomes very, very interested in Sharon Witherstone. Yes, we all have a trigger, and just like everyone else, I want to find my happily ever after. And at the moment, my HEA is bending Sharon over my desk and fucking her senseless.
I may be certified in solving other people’s problems, but I’m a lost cause. I’m an asshole, and each day I’m losing sight of who I am and who I once was.
I’m not a total prick, however, and I make women just like Sharon Witherstone feel good because sex without emotional ties is so much easier than…feeling.
Placing my notepad onto the armrest, I slowly stand and peer down at Sharon, giving her a smile that I know will disintegrateher underwear in seconds. She raises her eyes, and I can see the confusion flicker behind them. But as her gaze descends down my hardened body, that confusion turns to…desire.
Her entire demeanor changes and out comes daddy’s little girl as she shifts in her seat, pushing out her chest daringly. It’s really too easy, but I prefer easy as opposed to working hard, putting your heart and soul on the line, only to find out your fiancée is sleeping with your best friend.
