Once I was having trouble reconciling my inner obedient bimboslut to the outer smart feminist I felt I was supposed to be, so I wanted to talk about it with a therapist. And I picked out a male therapist from the somewhat limited list my insurance provided, and got an appointment, and filled out my intake forms. Graphically. Describing in great detail the need I have to be enslaved and reduced to a sex object and how I would jump at the chance to trade intelligence for hotness if I had the chance.
And I wish I could tell you that I kept the appointment and the therapist turned out to be corrupt and unethical, that he spent our sessions convincing me that actually it was wrong to be a smart feminist, and it was my better self trying to convince me that I could only be fulfilled as a brainless, obedient, cock-craving bimbo, and that was the life I deserved and I should get out there and make it happen.
But in the actual event, I was so embarrassed that I had written all those things that I didn't even go to the first appointment and never called back. Truly a missed opportunity.
