The following is: A) an exact transcript of an actual conversation; B) a fairly faithful approximation of an actual conversation, with edits by yours truly for clarification and factual accuracy; or C) a complete fabrication by a male for you to discredit and discount. Please select only one answer. Use a No. 2 pencil. Completely fill the circle without drawing outside the line.
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Witness one Cindy Patronis, age 28, of Morrison, Colorado, working as a receptionist in the law offices of Carry Chase Mercer and Wiskowicz in Boston, Massachusetts. Cindy is a graduate of Clark College, where she received her degree in pre-law. She eats lunch with Mandy Carollini, age 30, of Worcester, Massachusetts. Mandy sells new and used compact discs at Tookie's Music Shack. The two met at a party for Cindy's law firm. Mandy attended as the date of Chaz Mercer, senior partner for the firm. After Chaz dumped Mandy for a law clerk in the office (Susan O'Grady, age 21, of Quinsigamund Community College), Mandy decided she still enjoyed Cindy's company and invited her to the Cape for a weekend. That was one year ago.
Cindy orders a burger with fries. Mandy orders a club salad with the fruit bowl.
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"You gotta watch your figure," Mandy says.
"Yeah, right. You, maybe."
"Oh boy, here it comes."
"What?"
"Any conversation that starts with 'yeah right' is headed for disaster."
"Conversations with me are a disaster?"
Mandy traces a finger around the lip of her water glass. "Cindy," she says, "let's have a little chat."
Cindy, a sensitive soul, is wary. "About what?"
"About whatever the hell is going on with you."
"What's that supposed – "
"Stop right there. We're friends, right?"
Cindy nods, avoiding Mandy's eyes.
"We're close friends, right?"
"Yeah."
"So let's get close. You know me now. You know I hate bullshit. Whatever this... dark cloud thing... hanging over your head is, it's shit between us. I wanna know why you're always so down on yourself, and I wanna know why you've been closing me off for the last month."
"I haven't been closing you off. We've eaten together once a week for the last four weeks."
"We used to talk EVERY night. You'd tell me about some guy you liked, and I'd tell you about some guy I'd fucked, and we bonded."
Cindy seems to withdraw once more.
"Okay, what?" Mandy barks.
"Sorry. It's hard. This is hard."
Mandy sighs. "It's about boys, right?"
Cindy shrugs.
Mandy rolls her eyes. "It's always about boys."
"You don't get it," Cindy says, snapping harder than she means to. "It's easy for you."
Mandy laughs. "Oh. It's easy for me."
"You know exactly what I mean."
"Sure I do. But explain it to me anyway."
"You always go out with gorgeous men, and they sleep with you..."
"Is that what this is about? Sex."
Cindy shrugs again. "I guess."
As the waiter walks past, Mandy grabs him by the apron string. "Hey stud, got a minute?"
The waiter reacts exactly as predicted. "Yes I do," he says with a charming grin.
"My friend here ordered fries and a burger. That was a mistake. Bring her a salad with grilled chicken. And no more refills on her Diet Coke. Bring out some water with lemon. Chop chop."
The waiter knows what's good for him. "You bet," he says and walks away. Cindy is mortified. She holds her hand over her eyes, slumping in her chair. Whatever words she might have in mind die in the black hole she has made of herself.
"Look at me," Mandy says. Cindy has no choice, compelled as she is by Mandy's tone. "Today," says Mandy, "you belong to me. No secrets, no pulled punches. We're gonna have a little chat, and at the end, you're gonna feel like a Firebird with an overhaul. That means I pop your hood, wash out all your tubes, rip out your guts and replace them with newer and better guts. You hearing me?"
A tear appears in Cindy's eye. "Why are you being so mean?"
Mandy leans back, trying to lessen her intensity. "I'm mean? No, Cindy, whatever man did this to you was mean. I'm here to help the healing begin."
Now the tears fall in earnest. Cindy dabs her eyes with the cloth napkin. Mandy knows this is part of the process, and she waits patiently. "He was so cold afterward," Cindy begins. "He made fun of me."
"Made fun how?"
"He told me I was hypersensitive."
"You are."
"I know that! But he said it to hurt me."
"Start at the start."
"He's a friend of a friend. We met at a bar, my friend and this group of his. They invited me to join them at the next bar. And he was really good-looking, and I... I guess... I seduced him."
Mandy's eyes go wide. "Shut. Up."
"I flirted with him all night. He thought I'd had more to drink than I really did. Because, you know, I pretended to."
"Sly."
"Anyway, he invited me back to his apartment, and after he closed the door, we just went at it." Cindy looks at Mandy. "You want the details?"
"Later," Mandy says, raising an eyebrow. "But you're leaving out an important part."
Cindy is confused. "I am?"
"Yes, sweetie. Why the hell did YOU want to seduce HIM?"
"What?"
"You know what. That's not like you."
"I know."
"So something had to have triggered the change. Something you thought. Or something you heard. Was it me? Did I say something during one of our talks?"
The tears start to dry. Cindy waves a hand in the air, searching for the words. "It's embarrassing."
Mandy fiddles with her cuticles. "I told you, I'm not your friend today. I'm your therapist. Everything we discuss is strictly confidential. No judgments, no accusations. Now spill."
Cindy leans on one hand, elbow on the table. "There's this site," she begins. "A website. Literotica."