I didn't have to open my eyes, they were already open. I knew where I was.
I was in Dr. Schroeder's office.
"I don't have problems with men," I said.
"You've said to me on several occasions that you wanted to cut off men's penises."
I played dumb. "I said that?"
He doodled on his yellow legal pad, making it look like he was actually taking notes. "Several times."
"But I like guys! Several of my best friends are men." That sounded lame.
"Gay men, right?"
"Yeah. They don't hit on me like the average guy. Unless I'm in a gay bar and some dude thinks I'm a cute boy."
"Does this happen often?"
"Often enough."
He scribbled some more. "Then why do you go back?"
"I feel kind of flattered."
"Do you like being a woman?"
"Of course, I do. I'm a lesbian."
He stopped writing and looked up at me. "I'm not sure what that means."
I didn't, either.
"Just because you sleep with women," he said, authoritatively, "doesn't mean that you actually like them."
"I'm not sure what THAT means."
"There are plenty of men who sleep with women they don't like."
"And your point?"
He tipped the eraser into his mouth and bit down on it, thinking. I could see the tip of his tongue pushing through his teeth. "The woman that your roommate was involved with? What's his name? You called his Lucretia Borgia?"
"Jane?"
"Yes. Jane. You tell me that you don't like her. You ridicule her, comparing his with a famous woman who poisoned people and then, you sleep with her. How are you different from your 'average' man?"
"She seduced me."
"At gun point?"
"What is this? A Dump On Fran session?" I lifted myself up from the vinyl couch, turned awkwardly and glared at him.
The clock buzzer went off.
"Session is over. Next week we'll talk about the last part of your dream." There was a twinkle in his eye. "The part with me in it."
"I don't think so." I said and left his therapist's couch for good.
