He always felt better after these late-night sessions. He felt---lighter, somehow; less agitated; less frustrated; less...angry. It was very the****ut...c. It felt a little like going to Confession! Of course, he couldn't go an actual priest and tell him the sort of things he felt at those moments, but it felt like the next best thing! In a sense, he, himself, WAS his own Confessor. There was no one else he could confide in! There really was something cathartic, and the****utic, about these late. Did I wake anybody?”“No, but I did have to assure Brett that you were in no pain whatsoever.”“Oh, god. I’m so embarrassed.”“Don’t be. He was impressed and asked me if it really felt that good for you.”“No fucking way!” Heather looked embarrassed suddenly, then said, “Sorry ‘bout that.”“You need not apologize and, yes, he did ask that. I explained that everyone was different and that no one knew whether decibel levels were any indication of orgasm quality across individuals. I also told him that. More

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