PART TWO b – the Bad Thing

  "We never solved the case. We tried. If anyone knew anything? There was no sympathy for the victim, that became quite clear. But, back to the csses. The self defense css? Was popur, and they kept that. They, kind of canceled the other css. The how to avoid acting like the victims mostly did."

  "They canceled this css? The one that actually worked some."

  "Women that write those… go, girl power… articles? Have this weird idea, we can somehow teach men not to rape. I mean, its a great idea. I'm all for it. But… I'm a little vague on the program details. Yes, I'm being a smart ass. Murder? We've been trying to get people not to kill each other. Not a lot of success there, either. We teach people not to steal, too. Leave your purse on top of your car overnight, let me know how that goes. All these other things? We're taught… common sense ways to limit the possibility. Then magically when it comes to rape? Oh. You can't teach that. Its rude. I say, the MP's say? Fuck rude. Way I expin it? Its just the w of the jungle. I mean, it would be great to teach poisonous snakes not to bite people on the ankle, just for walking near them. Doesn't work so well, you know? Now. You teach people what poisonous snakes look like, to watch where they walk. That? Works some."

  "No. I hear you Wizzy. Its… just being smart. Um. You said there was a positively stopping rape css. What's that one like."

  "Its jokingly called that. The real name of the css? Actually a series of the csses."

  "What are some of them?"

  "The lethal courses. Not… self defense. Deadly force. How to kill people, Lightning. How to kill people… properly. So they die, and stay dead."

  "Oh."

  "Mainly handguns. Knowing how to use them… properly. Owning one? Is not useless, but… training and practice. Would it surprise you to know, every once in a while, sure. We would get a rapist on the loose. Around base. Know what the MP's do?"

  "Patrol?"

  "That. But better… we have a couple of female MP's. They're… not like your average female MP, just like there's one or two female cops, that aren't like the others. They’re wicked with that handgun, they know how to use it, they know when to use it? And most importantly they don't have a problem drilling the motherfuckers. They find one that looks, sorta like… you, or Hurry here? Dress her like a drunken slut, and she walks around at 4am, down every dark alley and abandoned area, she practices acting drunk. She's the bait. When… she gets approached. She's wired, but help can't be too close, or you spook the perpetrator. She says the guy came at her? He gets shot. He's dead, dead guy corroborates her story. Problem fucking solved."

  "That's…"

  "I know. That's real life. I'm sorry. Killing them? It works."

  "How… you heard the basic story. What… was my score against the… css that works."

  "Not good. You want me to lie? Not good. I bme your mother, you were 13 or 14. She should know better."

  They both paused.

  "Want a list?"

  "Yeah."

  "What were you wearing."

  "High heeled bck leather boots."

  "And the rest…"

  "Well, actually you saw it."

  "When?"

  She fucking pointed at me.

  "Lightning? I'm not following you. Why are you pointing at Hurry, dear."

  "Her outfit. She borrowed it."

  "Oh. Gotcha. You were wearing a miniskirt and a ripped up shirt, yeah."

  "Not just any miniskirt. That one. That T shirt. You buy them ripped up like that. Its a style."

  I shot him a look, and I focused in like a ser beam on her.

  "Light. What you mean to say, is that you were wearing a denim miniskirt and a ripped up T shirt, identical to the outfit I borrowed. Right?"

  "No. That one."

  "Are you sure?"

  "You went in my closet. It was in a box by itself, in the back. I know it is. Not like I'd forget it, believe you me."

  "I'm… I wore…"

  "Yeah."

  "Why didn't you… "

  "Say anything? I don't know why I kept it. I… take it out once in a while, it makes me sad. Or I cry. I really shouldn't keep it."

  She sighed and rolled her eyes.

  "You? Liked it. He liked it. You said, you had fun in it, you were both making silly smile faces. He's covered in scratches and bite marks. You had fun, at the restaurant! You never wear cute clothes like that! And trust me, I know what it means when a cute outfit like that? Is in the dryer, and didn't need washed. Pffft."

  "Oh my god… Light, I…"

  "It worked, didn't it? You said it yourself, sis. You felt extra sexy. And Wizzy? Bet he couldn't keep his hands off you, huh? Hun… I have more of those tiny mini's, those ripped up shirts. That's what they're for. I mean… same thing happens? Every time I wear an outfit just like that to a boy's house. I can set my watch to it…"

  I buried my face in my hands. He spoke. Go figure.

  "How do you set that watch."

  "Gr-r-r. Room mate's leaving at 4:00? Yeah. Expect me around 4:30… boy opens the door. Man, that's it. No talking, no kissing. You get grabbed, that's by the hair or the wrist… just dragged to that bed, the couch, whatever-s closest. There's no… yes, no, maybe. Bang! You're at the door. Hi, I'm here, room mate gone yet? You blink, you're either bent over the couch, and its getting moved across the floor until it hits the wall, then you really get it… bed? Doggy. Hard doggy… I don't think a boy has ever once stopped to rip the outfit off me, the mini is around your waist, the shirt gets balled up around your neck, and they just go, to, town. You wanna get lucky? That, is a get lucky outfit. Hurry?"

  My face stayed buried.

  "No comment…"

  "Wiz-zy… let me ask some questions now. My turn. Your third date. What did Hurry wear?"

  "Jeans, T shirt. Jogging shoes."

  "I know, woods. How long were you there. Talking, whatever."

  "Oh. Couple hours, less. Maybe."

  "Yeah… she was all concerned. What to talk about. How to do this, when to do that… I tried to tell her. Just let me give you one of my patented and proven, get lucky outfits? You don't have to go through none of that jazz. She wouldn't have had time to get out the driver's seat after parking, you'd have had her right through the driver's window. The wham, the bam, and skip the thank you ma'am… then she could fix her hair, and then? You can eat, and drink, talk… and there's no pressure. You doing this right, you doing that right. You wear a get lucky? Everything you say is right, after you get that out the way."

  "Honey? She's making a point here."

  "What point? That girls that…"

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  She got quiet, but she spoke.

  "Its okay. You can say it. Go on. Girls, that…"

  "Dress… provocatively…"

  "Not. What you were gonna say, but okay. What? You wanted to look sexy and feel sexy. You borrowed one of my wham bam's, right? Wizzy is covered in scratches and bites and scrapes and bruises. I know why wham bam's get run through the dryer, believe me here. And that's what you want. You two? Had a great night. Other than… the thing, we had a fun party, too. Hurry, felt sexy enough to do the hot tub. She loved it, you loved it too. There's nothing wrong with it. Is there?"

  I groaned. He giggled.

  "Lightning. The… irony, is not escaping you here. The fact that you are promoting the wearing of, as you say now, wham bam's… and, most women that were ever, statistically…"

  "Well, yeah. Duh."

  "You… don't have any sort of…"

  "Oh. I was wearing a wham bam when… the bad thing happened. Then, I wear wham bam's, because… well? There's no real difference."

  "Lightning? There's a big difference. Between… a violent rape, and dressing sexy for your boyfriend…"

  "Really?"

  "Yeah!"

  "What then. I hear this all the time. Sex is this, love is this… but rape? That's that… I wrote a paper in Human Retions on this, go figure, right? I got an A. Let me ask you the questions, make this a shorter talk. They go on for hours, I can make it short and sweet."

  I groaned louder. My work? Goddamn well cut out for me. How the hell do rape therapists handle this shit? I'm out of my league.

  "By all means. Professor Lightning? The floor, is yours."

  "Thank you, Wizzy. Number one. The only difference between rape, and a successful date? Is you accidentally nded a guy you didn't want. That's it. Everything else? Pretty much the same."

  "Examples, dear."

  "Rapist. Takes one look at you? Can't take his eyes off you. Has to have you. Is willing? To do anything, to get you. He does. Successful date with a boy. Can't take his eyes off you. Has to have you. He'll do anything. They both? End with the same thing. Only diff? One you liked the boy. The other? Some stranger you hated."

  "Uh… I'm not sure I'm going to win this argument."

  "You might? But I doubt it. I debated and defended my paper. I've never lost. That's a sound argument. No one has yet to shake it. I mean, I been through this. You can go on for hours, all that… jazz that Right puts through her. The patriarchy, the this, the that… in the end? Both identical. Except for one you liked him, the other you hated him."

  I got my composure back. I struck out.

  "Both of you? Please. You two? Are… making a complete mockery of… a very serious subject!"

  She quieted, and he raised his hands in surrender. I had the floor. I quieted down.

  "Okay. Enough. Lightning? Honey… let's veer off course a little. You're afraid to date. I understand why. But, you've reduced the act of dating, and having a retionship? Down to just…

  "Down to what it just… is."

  "Don't you want to have a real retionship one day?"

  She got quiet. The little kid voice.

  "Yeah. If it wasn't for… that? It wouldn't be so bad."

  "All right. We got somewhere. Why do you think it is, that you can't have a retionship?"

  "Well. I try. But… I'm scared to… I won't let them…"

  "Okay. Calm down. You're scared, you won't let… what things? List them."

  "I'm not that different from regur people. You get, you know, physically attracted to someone. Then, they might not turn out like you imagined. Okay. Try another one. Now. That one? Maybe I do like him. Feels good. Then… couple of things can happen."

  "Such as…"

  "Like… my boyfriend up there. I didn't cheat on him. I didn't fsh his friends my tits. I didn't go skinny dipping, while fishing. I didn't do anything wrong. All I get? Slut… whore… heard this… heard that… and that gets old. Now, that's one thing they might do."

  "Other things…"

  "Well, and this is my bad part. If they don't do that? Well. I come around a few times. My dates? Tend to go pretty well, because that's the idea, but… sooner or ter? They want to… go out. That? Eh."

  "What? I'll say it like you say it. You've been rocking the boy's world. He likes it. He's head over heels, trying to please you… he wants to leave the goddamn room, with you, with him. What is…"

  "I can't get in their car. I just can't. Not by myself, with one or more boys. Uh uh. Wizzy? You teach it in your css."

  She was mildly… excited. This was terrifying to her.

  "Calm down. Now, you have no trouble being alone with the boy. In fact? You demand he be alone."

  "But, once you get in that car? I'm trapped. He can take me anywhere. There could be… its not guaranteed."

  "Lightning. I've seen you go with boys. The one, I remember he used to come pick you up on the motorcycle. You went pces. It was going good."

  "Yeah. I like bikes. Its another reason I like Wizzy. He doesn't have a car. He has a bike."

  "I know, I know. Bikes are sexy. I know…"

  "Oh. The other girls? Yeah… not me. Bike? Can't pick up other boys. Its… safer somehow. Plus I'm not, all trapped. I can just hop off anywhere. You can't just jump out a car, but, a bike? I could get off at a red light or something. I'm… more free. Less trapped."

  "But, you go in cars with us…"

  "Other girls? More people than just me and a boy or boys? Sure. Now, certain people? The coach. A teacher gave me a ride once. Some people just seem… extra safe."

  "All right. I know we have to find a way to work on… cars. And understanding choosing safe people from unsafe people. But, a guy you're… let's say, very comfortable with in his room all night. Don't you think you could be comfortable with him taking you somewhere?"

  She hid her face and got squeaky but quiet.

  "Like… him? Yeah. The guy you like, the guy you been with? Yeah… guaranteed to be safe. Sure as hell isn't, is it?"

  "All right. Let's just say, you have to learn to live with a… phobia of cars. People have phobias and learn to live. But… what harm can come, from letting your boy you like, and are comfortable with in his room nights on end? Hey, walk downtown and get a sandwich. Its okay."

  Hid her face again. Tiny squeak.

  "I can't get paid for it. Or… I'm like my mom. You don't understand, Hurry. Being anything like that woman? No."

  "Okay, Light. I see that issue. What about… if you just had a thing, where you had to buy your own. You each buy your own food. That? Would still be a date. Now? You could be with the boy in his room, that part you got down pat. Bike only. Or, you walk to go somewhere. Pay for your own. You… could begin to…"

  She started to tear up.

  "Date? Oh god… no…"

  She started crying. Not bawling. No screaming. Just streaming tears. Wanted to hold her face. Hide. Her hands were shaking.

  "Okay, honey. Its all right."

  Through the tears, with no noise other than hitched breath… she whispered it out.

  "How it started… got used, to… then…"

  Wow. I was going to get nowhere. This, was all interlocked. I would run in the same circles, and cover all the same ground. I was going to spend a very long time, chasing my own tail. I'm not sure medicating the ever loving shit out of her was the answer either. Soon as they start crying too much? This many stoppages of therapy session time allotments, you recommend depression treatment. You basically up the dosage? Until they shut the fuck up, and are too dosed up to scream and cry. Then? You talk about what they can't talk about. But, they're too whacked to resist. Dirty little secret of the industry? That’s standard operating procedure in a mental hospital, a prison, or working with a minor. Sounds harsh, and I guess it is. Practical means to an end, when there isn’t unlimited time and money and patience. There are lots of ethics csses, for when you’re exercising judgment and control over a patient like that.

  I can’t lie. There’s a saying in the mental health field. When in doubt? Over medicate. If MP's have their own in house only jokes? That’s one of my field’s little gems.

  I would never operate like that, wouldn’t be my style. It leads to other smaller problems. More medications. More meds for interactions in the meds, then you go into the tailspin. Always adjusting meds, to maintain baseline. Which is never getting anywhere, they're just "managed" for life. Then they die young. Liver failure. Or OD or suicide. Take your pick. Jail's another option.

  You might wonder in what context this cute phrase gets used? Gd you asked, here goes. I’m in the study lounge in the psych department main building. Tables, chairs, water cooler, etc. Short of having to go to the library and all the way back? We have limited resources already there, to prevent it. Great pce to hang between csses, if you’re serious about schoolwork.

  So, I’m there alone. Next table over? Group of students on a css assignment. They’re pying at recommending medication and dosage for various situations. They’re arguing, about dosage level. The one student? Takes the moral high ground. He who medicates least? Medicates best. Now, that’s one of my field’s better phrases. One we’re not afraid to repeat in mixed company, or let it get out and into print.

  The other student? Rolls eyes and calls the first a boy scout. Fuck it, if 20mg works good, 40mg works better. You know, its just homework, get it over with. The first student is going on about this is going to be someone’s l-i-f-e one day, and you can’t do that. Second student? Laughs, and says oh yes you can. Remember Doctor Hoozits said it. When in doubt? Over medicate.

  I was a freshman. I was fbbergasted, at such a glib manner. I went and as adroitly as I could, privately, asked about that conversation I overheard. Doctor Hoozits indulged me. He first started out by agreeing with me, and congratuting me on having ethics and a caring approach. However, there were practical issues in py.

  One? State therapist, state paid for care. You have a l-i-n-e down the hall, for your weekly “care” meeting with the oodles of mental patients. You get maybe five minutes with each. If one patient assaults another? 40mg instead of 20, would have been a better option. Private care setting? Parents are trying to manage a child with serious problems. Hurts a younger sibling at times. Yeah. 40mg instead of 20? First line treatment. The five year old girl with no mental issues, could get killed by the 10 year old boy with bad psychotic features.

  He said I was completely right, of course. But you have to work with what you’re given. I had to admit, I saw his point. Doctor Hoozits expined, that this was the dirty side of the medical field. And, you w-i-l-l make mistakes in your career. Learn from them, and don’t make them again. The somber look on his face and eyes, told me that a ten year old boy with serious issues? Had once killed his sweet little five year old sister when the parents with deep pockets couldn’t bear to hospitalize their son for life. I’m guessing, but the pictures on his office wall showed he had once worked in a hospital setting, and others showed a private practice. That pays a shit ton more, and carries a huge degree of prestige. As compared to just being a professor. Like he was now.

  I suppose this is the mental health version of shooting the family dog that runs at the cop that responds to the bad domestic call. Sadly, I now understand Doctor Hoozits. I think that eye rolling girl in the study lounge should be run out of this field, but… some cops probably shouldn’t be cops, either.

  I started to say something soft, and she pulled her head off of my waist and started to go into a ball. She wasn't hysterically screaming, just distraught, ashamed, and tearing bad. I went to touch her, which normally works wonders with her, and she gently rolled over to hide her face on his arm. He looked at me.

  She was whispering into his arm, crying into it.

  "Can’t you make her stop? Please, just make her stop."

  He lifted his arm, and she pulled off of him and looked at him, to see if he was moving her away. She didn't want to come back to me. I was trying to make her think terrifying bad things were okay. He patted his ribs, and she instantly buried her face there. Still in a loose ball, she drew her knees up to help hide her face, and pushed her shins in along him. I watched her back move until she slowly began to slow down the episode. He id his arm around her, and she nestled in. Hiding and the silent crying.

  After a time of this? He looked over at me.

  "Gee. Rape therapist. Trained professional. Maybe, when a young girl is crying and begging you to stop, you should stop? But I'm not a trained professional, what the hell do I know."

  "Christ."

  "Yeah. He didn't do this. He can't make it stop, either."

  She took a long time slowing down the silent tears. Eventually, that stopped and there was just the hurt face. She'd turn to look at me, then turn and while no longer hiding her face on him? She preferred to have her face on him. She did calm down, however. She came out of her balled up position and stretched out. By the time we realized it, she was asleep. I pointed at her. He shrugged. I pointed at her room. He whispered.

  "So she can cry herself to sleep? She's zonked. Let her sleep, probably the best thing for her."

  "Christ."

  "One night. The hell. You got the light and the arm clock. We were up te, some of us had a rough night. Sleep in, we'll work out whenever. Fuck it. I bet she's better in the morning."

  "And if not."

  "You're the expert there."

  "Yes, I can see the awards my career is going to bring me. By the way?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You did several things tonight that were wonderful. I love you."

  "I love you too. Help me with covers, I don't wanna wake the kid."

  I got us covered up. Thank god these are huge beds, hopefully tomorrow will be another day. By that I mean not another one of today's little peaches. Started off optimum, didn't it? Sexual high adventure, all hormones and big emotional pns. Optimum, really. Then we slowly came down, though admittedly not by much. Light got dumped, party. You're thinking back up then back down bad. Back up, but after a dip you never quite peak again. A stelr breakthrough, at first with me and her and therapy ice shattered. Also with him and her and their… thing I’m pying with and developing. Then, a little crash out with her, and as I said. Tomorrow? Another day.

  I'm an early riser. If I stay up te in summer, my crack of dawn mentality from growing up on a farm takes over. My eyes just blink open. Stay up te? Less sleep, my peepers are expecting cock-a-doodle-do’s. I beat the arm clock by a wide margin and just shut it off. I can take those little naps until we should be up. I look over to see how things are going. She's snug as a bug and he must be okay with it. She naturally moved around in her sleep. She's got an arm across and up on him, a leg slung over and down. Her face is nestled onto his shoulder and into the side of his neck. She's in my spot and in my position. Oh well. She looks okay now.

  She's complex and you can't take her at first blush. She's a big girl and she's really athletic to go with her height and trim muscuture. She's physically tough, so newcomers naturally assume she's emotionally tough to go with it… and she is. You don't survive and come through what she has not having that. When life's big waves crash in? Some people get mowed under and churn with the driftwood, hoping for another breath of air, risking drowning. Most come up, some don't. Life's casualty list. Others? Have their tough strategies. Fight it, swim for it, go with it, try to ride the fucking thing out. It can't st forever, can it? That's her.

  See her as physically tough, assume emotional toughness and its there as well. Okay. We have a big, tough, person here. Pretty to go with it. Not a bad combination, and she could easily be doing so much better at this stage of her life, were it not for… everything. First impressions, like what he saw and started asking her out for coffee.

  Tall, strong, pretty. Athletic insignia some days, pretty clothes others. Hanging out with other girls that look like her. Hey, calendar girl material here. Any personality to go with that? He would have seen her out and about. Talking with people she knew between csses, she's fairly outgoing. She doesn't have the strong acid personality, like phone bitch. She doesn't have the mildly corrosive Miss Moody personality, either. The former? Burns your skin off and you yank back. The tter? Slowly eats away at your temper and patience steadily. The way a stream eats out a soft bank.

  Pleasant enough personality. You can see her with people she knows, more outgoing. You're new, she's a little quieter. If you're nice to her, she's pleasant back. Give her some shit, she'll occasionally snap back. She's not a pushover. She'll simply learn how to deal with you, if you're a troublemaker. Wow. Not bad. Any brains to go with this package?

  Here's where a lot of people run into trouble with her. Is she a genius? In a word, no. But she's definitely not dumb. I guess if you divide the world into smart and dumb people? She's actually on the medium end of the smart people, maybe a tad more. Above average intelligence. You just won't always see it, until you spend time around her. Where people screw up, is when they start to pick up on her emotional level. And being frank? You're dealing with basically a smart 14 year old in this department. Some kids or teenagers are more adult-like than others, she was one of those. But, like any smart kid that acts like a little adult? The 14 year old emotional level will come out at times.

  Once you see it, you can't un-see it. That outburst? What the… then its back to her normal. Then, it'll happen again. So, you start noticing. Because you're watching. Now, you see it. She's not an adult girl pying at being a teenager's personality. Which a lot of girls on campus do. She actually has one. Men will misread her chronically. If you think athletes are dumb? Her 14 year old emotional level will lead you to assume, well, here's another pretty dip-shit. Just what the world needed. But hey, fun for Friday night, right? Hey, not bad legs, babe. Toss her a few pick up lines, mess her hair up. That was fun.

  And as a guy, you can do that. She likes boys, if you're attractive enough and treat her well enough, and have the minimum game she requires… yep. She's fine with you taking your wham bam and not saying thank you ma'am, and you can part fine. She'll smile and wave when she sees you. You were fun. You ask around about her track record, what she's like? There you go. You'll easily fall into the trap of thinking what most people think. Here's another fairly pretty dumb blonde. Immature and slutty to boot. And, she’ll let you go right on thinking that. Doesn't disrupt soccer, doesn't disrupt boys.

  Then, she takes you by surprise. She said she was going to probably say something witty to phone bitch? She did, and made her look like the retard. She wasn't expecting that, and thought her "slut…" verbal attack could go on forever. She was one step ahead of her in conversation the entire time, and worked her over. She did it to him when we talked in the tub. She wants to impress him, she wants him to like her. So, she did what she did to phone bitch to him. Just in the nice way. He was taken aback, and had to re-calibrate. He's not the first one, and won't be the st.

  She hadn't known what I had pnned with him and her. She just loves me, likes him, and wanted him to notice her and take an interest in her. She's impressed with him. She's a low level version of him in that way. She runs along below radar, then surfaces to let you know she's actually a bright girl. Then goes back to cruising just below the surface. He always stared at her for being one of his calendar girls he had located in real life. She enjoyed that attention. When her luster slowly wore off, she was asking me why he "didn't like me anymore". I had to politely expin that he's not conceited about being The Wizard, but that being around a constant "Tardfoot, hurr durr" gets to him after a while. I told her to break out her thesaurus for five minutes, and watch his face light up. So? She did.

  No, she could have really been something more. Her mom, then "it" ciming her, then more of her mom? A real one two punch combination that stunned her and left her broken. We were talking about her in terms like this one time privately, and he shook his head. He said it reminded him of an otherwise fairly promising fighter. Never going to be a heavyweight world title holder, but hey who is. Still, being a ranked fighter anywhere in the ranks? Quite an achievement. He said the saddest thing was when one of them through no fault of their own, ran into "it". Bad injury that would forever nag them, or whatever perfect storm you never fully recovered from.

  Everyone goes through two steps forwards, then a step back. You go down a peg or two, then start climbing back up. Seeing what you can get to, before you hit your limit. But… when "it" cims you? That's it. There's no more climbing. You can barely hang on for dear life to keep from falling down to the bottom. Then, as you hit a certain age? Nothing left. You just hang on as best you can, trying to lower yourself carefully one peg at a time, as slow as you can hold out. He expined it like that, and it is sad.

  That's her, sleeping there on him. You wouldn't know from a night out. A person meeting her at that party st night? Would in no way expect it. But, she's been hammered good by an "it" attack. She's clinging on for dear life, trying desperately not to start the slow decay of hopefully one peg at a time. If she could just get a toehold somewhere, a little temporary boost? Just a little something, out of somewhere. Then, she could hang on with confidence, maybe even start the slow process of trying to notch up a peg now and then again.

  We all hear about daddy issues, and its a common phrase today. She has it, and bad. She's craving a father figure her whole life, and after "it" struck its many times worse. She's found one, and she's ying on him. She desperately wants him to like her, and be impressed by her. Mild disappointment comes across like major recriminations from him now. Last night? She cried and clung to him, and begged him to make me stop "hurting" her. Then fell asleep like a little kid that had a terrible nightmare.

  I'm torn now. I couldn't crack her nut open. Couldn't get her to admit what "it" was and to admit she needed help. Been trying for over a year now. Men are Kryptonite in the world of rape therapists. You can be the best, the brightest, the most skilled and intuitive and insightful therapist god ever put on this earth… and some halfwit woman will take your spot, and beat you out for the job. Men need not apply.

  She not only was okay with him being there, she requested that he stay. She, what? Wanted her daddy there the first time. She wants to impress him. She's terrified, but… if daddy says it will hurt like a shot at the doctor's office but make her get better eventually? Okay. She trusts her daddy. I have a low level dose from him of what she feels. It reassures me. It warms me. But what feels like one beer to me, feels like a 12 pack to her.

  I'm a therapist. I already knew what I was facing, but I had to crack the nut and hear it from her lips. To do that? Suddenly it happened when he's there. Then, how did she tell her story. She couldn't. It was time, and she wanted to and it still wasn't happening. Then he did what should have been the exact wrong thing, and she responded. She opened up. To tell her story? She reversed everything. She had to. Here's what would happen to you, Wizzy…

  And that was the only way she could tell that story. I could have probably beat around this bush for the next three years, with no more success than ever before. Now? All in minutes… success. She admitted it, and then actually gave me a fairly detailed description of "it". I'd honestly have settled for far more vague of a synopsis. A bunch of guys then, you know… they all held me, and took turns. All night. I had my basic outline, and could go in for more and more detail over time. With him. Responding to his rape jokes positively. She even ended with a faint touch of… proper viewpoint. A little smidgen was "what mom did to me", not the thing that would happen to him.

  I felt ashamed the way he had stung me with his joke. Glib gallows humor, that I didn't fully catch until the moment had just passed. Hey, rape therapist? When a young girl is screaming no? You back off. But hey, I'm a guy and I don't know anything about your field you're an expert in, so don't mind me.

  He's courageous doing that. He's got weeks to go in our own personal adult sex game. Strict mommy can put him over her knee and really give him something for sass like that. Vaquera? Can do far worse. Oh, little boy. We could have had such a fun visit this time, but no. I got a bad report. When are you going to learn little boy. She could easily pick up her bullwhip, smile thin at him, and take him down to the basement and work him over for that. But, he's right and I know it.

  I fucked up. I'm new at this. I tried to badger her into one more bit… and she broke down. She turned from me, hid from me and begged daddy to make her stop, to quit torturing her for now. I touched her and she jumped out of her skin, and crawled to hide. I now can't do this, without him. I'm going to have to coach him, and also get his take on things. His instincts were better than mine. I guess it makes sense. MP's. The good guys. If they're out at some local watering hole, and some big drunk asshole is wandering into backhanding women for nothing territory? These are the guys that smile and nod to each other. Let him go. He'll pay for it ter, and it technically will be for something else.

  He knew something about rape prevention csses. He's seen this before. He would have needed motivation to teach csses for free in his spare time. Sigma male. They all have one thing in common above all else they hold dear. A huge morality streak, and its not fake. Its not some put on to appear more noble. An equally strong sense of right and wrong, and an even greater sense of what justice is or should be. He didn't wear a badge though, so… oh shit. Sometimes badges keep you from doing what needed done. You need a guy just as good as the badges around, that isn't restricted and straitjacketed by the confines of it.

  He handled things for them, that they couldn't do. He as much as told me, without saying it outright. In his usual offhand, talking about the weather way he has. Very casual. Oh, you see… with a bad head injury? They typically don't remember many minutes before the trauma, and just wake up in the hospital. The bckout timeline doesn't go from injury to waking up with beeping and tubes and people wearing white. The bckout timeline starts usually ten or more minutes before.

  We were talking about Lightning's own head trauma she got in her big national game. I had figured that as a mascot for the MP's, he knew this from being around victims or them describing it to him. No. Use any strategy, use any technique, make your own rules.

  I knew what my next move was now though. She had told a better detailed account than I even needed for a first time go around. Next time, I simply want the same thing. The only difference being, that she tells the exact same story. But with the proper view. No more, what would happen to Wizzy. That, should be much easier. Same thing, different narrative style. No biggie, just rewrite that short paper, okay?

  I have a thin path now, something to work with. When she can repeat the same story through, without going numb or breaking down? We can move on. I'll zoom in and ask for details on this the one time, details on that part the next time. When every possible memory and detail has been reduced to something that is no longer shocking and numbing, the foundation is id. When I need something new, she can use the narrative technique with it all being flipped to Wizzy's point of view. It will become a regur and familiar tool. Then, I can wait a few days and get a recount of the details in the proper tense and narrative. I have a technique. This will give me time to prepare advanced steps.