"Do you have anything to share with the group today, Cinnamon? You did very well last week."
I see you smile encouragingly at me. I have been famous for being difficult. This is our eighth meeting and I spoke for the first time last week. Then, I told everyone that my name was Cinner, short for Cinnamon, and that I was very angry. I didn't give the details that everyone was undoubtedly hoping for, but nevertheless, everyone applauded. That made me even angrier. Patronising people always do.
I think about declining the invitation to share again this week, but three things work against me: my suddenly remembered disdain for this group, my love of talking about myself and the need to shock you from your complacent little life. I smile graciously, take a sip of water, and begin, anticipating your shock when I complete the spinning of my story.
"First of all, I should tell you, from the outset, that my priest and I did NOT have sex; so if that is what you're hoping for here then you'd be wasting your time listening to me any further," I watch you straighten up slightly and glance at me nervously. Our eyes meet briefly before you glance at the other members of our circle, gauging their response to my dramatic opening statement. I continue before you can say anything.
"I've told you that I am aware of my rage. You have seen only one aspect of my personality during these past weeks but believe me there is another; a much darker manifestation of who I am. It was when this could no longer be ignored that my caseworker checked me into therapy. For about 18 months I think, between August 2010 and February of this year, I was seeing both a psychiatrist and a psychologist in order to deal with my rage. I decided to do this when I found myself picking fights with my parents and my friends, my neighbours, the shop assistants, a policeman who tried to ask for my car's papers..."
I pause at the memory of that particular incident, wondering at myself. How could I have become so self-destructive?
"And, I was picking on just about everybody really! In any event, I was told that I had to get into counselling or end up in jail. So I chose someone with whom I had never worked before. I don't think that I really had a choice. I think that no one wanted to work with me and so it was difficult to get an appointment to see anyone. My case was in the papers four years ago and so I am very well known in the industry you see. They've all failed to help me at one point or another, so I decided to try someone new, and met with Dr. I. for the first time one Tuesday afternoon. My first impressions of him were that he was both very good-looking and very friendly."
I hear an inane giggling from the two girls nearest me on the left. I see them nudge each other and cuddle closer together, giving fodder to the lesbian fantasies of the men in the group.
"Gawd, Dr. Pearson! If I didn't know better I'd think she was talking about you!" the doll-like little bleached blond called Faith gushes, telling everyone in the process that she thinks you, our session leader, to be both good-looking and very friendly.
Black men don't blush, but I see you come close. I watch you squirm in your chair and think about shutting me up, but not everyone here is as dumb as Faith, and if you try to stop me now it will raise unhealthy suspicion.
"This is strange because, unknown to me, he had a reputation for being a very cold fish," I continue, rapidly.
I watch the eyebrows of a huge bear of a man seated next to you, rise questioningly. He glances briefly at me, but looks away embarrassed in your direction. I wonder how much longer it will take the others to draw conclusions of any kind.
"In fact, during the time that I was seeing him, several people asked me how I could stand him and all the time I wanted to jump this man's bones!"
I hear you cough violently and I want to laugh out loud. I control myself though and turn huge, innocent eyes on you. I see the entire circle of participants turn toward you as well, and stare. The big bearded man next to you thumps your back hard; sympathetically, helping you to breathe again.
You begin to croak something that doesn't quite come out. Somehow though, we all know that you are going to try to bring my contribution to today's session to an end. Smut titillates though and after my opening which is still ringing in everyone's ears, no one, but you, wants me to stop now. Quite a few people protest and insist that I continue. It has been eight weeks of near silence and already in seven minutes I have more than multiplied my contribution to the group ten-fold.
"Anyway, I did what I usually do in such counselling situations,' I continue. "I began a verbal and mental chess match, with my counsellor being cast in the role as my opponent. That this man took me on in this, and played this game with me for 18 months, has made him one of my favourite people in this life."
I watch you relax slightly. My contribution does not sound so bad, and but for Faith's comment few people would even think to add two and two.
"As you must all know by now, I have mixed feelings about the desirability of sex in my life. It may disappoint you to know that I don't particularly enjoy the physical act itself."
Several people look disbelieving at my statement. I can't blame them really. I'm wearing a blue-and-white floral baby-doll dress from which my boobs are threatening to pop out at any minute and strappy white sandals that show off my pretty, manicured feet.
"It took 18 months for us to blame the rape and the fact that I gelded the man and got away with it after I was declared competent enough to stand trial; but at the time, I thought that I had got over that, and, to be fair to him, he didn't know about it at all since it was not in my file! So what happened was that I began seeing him and we chatted about a lot of things: my family, my sex life and my plans for the future being the main topics. I noticed that he seemed to be most interested in my family and in my sex life. I noticed that he seemed to be VERY interested in my sex life and that he did what I tend to do... displace it to the most unavailable group of people possible. What I mean by that is that I like to watch and think about gay men at play and he seemed to have a lesbian fantasy. For me that was where my first spark of genuine interest developed. The fact that this man fantasized about lesbian women made him pretty cool as far as I was concerned. The fact that he gave me permission to be one from our very first meeting was interesting. I also remember liking him the first day that he admitted that he was a cad! I like that in men! Honesty! Say exactly what they're about. It's rare though. I play a little sax and piano with a little jazz band on Sundays, and he admitted to doing piano lessons in order to impress a woman. I thought that that was really sweet. It took me some time to see it for what it really was, a subtle power shift in our dynamic that neither of us understood at the time, but it opened the way for the flirting that we started doing. I'd tease him about that incident and he'd use double entendre and innuendo with me. Our talks began to revolve solely around my sex life and my sexual fantasies and he began to make suggestions about how I could make these fantasies come true."
No one makes a sound as I pause for breath and to sip some water from my bottle. I see almost everyone leaning forward, some considerably more than slightly, so I know that I have everyone hooked. I glance at you and notice an awful plea in your eyes and an almost imperceptible shaking of your head. I like to watch you beg. You're so beautiful when you do. You give me so much power. I ignore you and begin my tale again.
