I could leave anytime I wanted to but I chose not to.
Outside was where all my troubles were. Where every guy just wanted to screw you and leave, where only pain and suffering lived.
But here I was safe.
Dr. Mince said that if I don't come to terms with my problem, the next guy I meet will be like Steve. Only worse-- with more pain and more punishment since I strayed from the path of righteousness.
I told him about my trip to the gym.
He gave me a double dose of the treatment.
It hurt.
After I recovered, I decided that for the time being I use that sexual energy and divert it into something more useful.
So I spent it in the art room painting.
I must have done five or six paintings without a break.
The pictures just flew out of me-- like I was this big antenna that was absorbing information and sending it back through my hand and into my brush.
Donna would come in with coffee or sandwiches and look at the work.
"They're beautiful," she'd say, handing me a ham and Swiss. "I'd give anything to have your talent. You're amazing."
After I'd finished seven more pieces, I decided to show them to Fran. Harold, of course, had to go with me.
"These are fantastic," Fran said. "You should ask Hugo to hang them up at Mocha Daze." Her eyes lingered on Harold, as if asking who's this freak?
"Hugo hates me remember?"
"I'll get him to do it," she said, picking up my portfolio. "I've got to run."
Fran kissed my cheek. "You take care and hurry home." She waved good-bye and Harold nudged me.
"She's cute," he mumbled.
And I smiled, "Yes, she is. And she's gay."
His face dropped.
After her session with Dr. Mince, Donna got a dose of the treatment.
I stood in her room waiting for her to wake up but as she slept, I did a sketch of her. Such a beautiful face, easy lines. Graceful hair, peaceful shadows.
She stirred and her eyes opened. I put the drawing on the nearby bureau.
She took my hand and squeezed it.
After she went back to sleep, I headed back to the art room and decided to pick up my largest brush.
