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“I hate group therapy. I hate group therapy as much as I will probably hate immersion therapy. I hate therapy,” he mutters.

“No, hun. You hate yourself,” the older woman wearing her pink and blue house coat out of the house under a clear, plastic rain coat whispers in his ear.

He changes his bus seat and waits for his stop at the free clinic.

“Is she right? Do I hate–?”

An enormous woman enters the bus, he exits and decides to walk the twenty blocks.
“ So, what sick, horrible thinking brings you here?” asks a perky, brunette with a tic that makes her eyes sparkle in an odd way.

“I don’t see how…ok, honesty, openness, and willingness…I am afraid of large people, especially women, eating me.”

“Is that a mother thing?”

“I’d appreciate you not talking about my….Never mind. What about you?”

“It’s a father thing that I’d rather not get into with a complete stranger…”

“I see, well—I think I will get some coffee.”

He leaves the free clinic before his therapy begins and does not come back.
“Cute, blonde BMW ISO of neurotic, bookish type for sapiosexual fantasies. Respond with your favorite knock, knock joke, so I know you are real. “

“Wow, a chick who thinks she is a BMW…vroom, vroom… with a sense of humor… I think this could be—“

They chat on and on and on via email, text, and phone.

They laugh, they think, they have intimate, phone sex using their massive vocabularies in novel ways.

They meet.

She is a cute, blonde BBW. He turns to run. She grabs him by the collar and pulls him in.

She eats him with a side of brazed cauliflower heads and Texas toast.

Full of him, she burps giddily.