“Oh doctor, I have a terrible problem.” She shifted in the chair, tense and nervous.
He picked up the pad and clicked open the pen. “What seems to be troubling you?”
“Well, I really don’t know where to begin.” Her eyes met his only briefly before skittering away.
He nodded. “That’s perfectly alright. Take your time.”
She shifted again and sighed. “Do you mind if I lay down?”
He nodded, gesturing towards the nearby sofa. “Be my guest.”
He observed the young woman as she wrestled with adjusting her sweater and skirt all at once. Clearly she was embarrassed and decidedly uncomfortable. He arched as a brow as she shifted this way and that on the buttoned leather surface.
She grunted, then gave a little smile of apology. “Sorry, it hurts when I do that.”
A corner of his mouth quirked. “Then maybe you shouldn’t do that.”
She glanced blankly at him before fixing her gaze on the ceiling. Adjusting her glasses and blinking rapidly, she finally blurted it out: “I’ve got a fetish for older men in cardigans!”
He schooled his face to remain neutral. “A fetish?”
Her words jumped over each other. “Yes, that’s why the uni clinic referred me to you! Half my professors are old men and everywhere I look, there they are in cardigans. I can’t concentrate in class. All I can think of stroking those soft looking sweaters and feeling the muscles of their arms while they lecture me in their firm authoritative voices, and then ripping them right off. I know this is weird, Doctor. I’m simply a wreck!”
He stared for a moment, then began scribbling notes. The uni clinic had referred him some interesting cases but this was a first. “So you think this is some sort of sexual compulsion?”
She clutched at her necklace. “Oh, I know it is. I’ve been this way since I was seven, watching Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood on PBS. He changed into his sweater every episode. And when I’d look into those eyes and he sang “Would you be mine? Would you be mine?” I thought yes, yes, YES!”
His pen paused mid-air. Seriously? Was he being punk’d? It would be like the staff to play a practical joke.
He sat forward, allowing the half-smile to break through. “Tell me more.”
This slap dash ficlet courtesy of this post here.