Chapter 12

Cindy was a professional. She was turning tricks, producing an average weekly income of $1,000. At thirty-two, she had accomplished what few men, her contemporaries, had been able to earn. Or would hope in their lifetime to make. Her bank accounts were healthy and as far as her neighbors knew, she was a divorcee partly supported by her Ex in California and partly by a part time job in the city. No one knew exactly how she worked, though each had their own ideas of what company and what she did there.

Monday, Tuesday and Thursday were her days; She left at 7:30 AM and returned at 8:00 PM. Unusual hours to her neighbors-but not that strange for New Yorkers who lived, played and worked in the most cockeyed city in the world.

Wednesday was her special day. She'd leave and tell her neighbors when they'd ask, she was going window shopping. "A weekly escape from the lonely life," she'd say. Smiling, carrying those books under her arms. No one ever asked, though Mrs. Williamfield, her next door neighbor, almost broke down and asked, but changed her mind at the last minute.

Cindy took her work seriously. Realizing like anything else, to be good at it, you must practice, and study. Though no one had ever given or received a degree in love making, or for that matter, had a final exam or an olympic tryout. Cindy had the equivalent degree of Black Belt or Life Master. She had spent years devouring books on human anatomy, physiology, physiologal psychology and psychology, not to mention every book she could get her hands on describing various sex techniques from every comer of the world. One summer she spent four weeks in the Near East studying the brothels that have been pleasing men's bodies for years. While there, she discovered the greatest sex secret of all times. So simple, it was and still is ignored by men and women alike.

The greatest sex instrument was not the breasts, cunt or even the massive, swollen male penis. No, the most sensitive, most seductive was his brain. Since all pleasures are perceived in the brain, the brain was the true clitoris of sex. While everyone else concentrated on stroking the breasts, rubbing the clit, flicking the head of the penis with their tongues, Cindy started on the brain. First, seducing it, because where it went, the body was sure to follow. Every man and woman has the tools to make love to someone else, few know how to do it right, none raped the mind. That's why men and women alike, sought her out and had her make love to them. And kept calling her back again and again. Wednesday was also her day for Dr. Barrington. She had spent six months building a file on him and finally choosing him from a list of other notable shrinks. He was right, a gem, forty-one and very successful and very sought after by the ladies of his patient list.

He had been mixed up in a few socialite scandals, one ending in a divorce. Though nothing was ever officially stated in the press or in the courts.

It was so secret that he was unhappily married to the daughter of the late Multi-millionaire banker, Sol Abramsfield. It was also common knowledge that he married Jeanette, then twenty-two, for her money. He was the playboy shrink, and she was one of his first patients.

Trim, not an ounce of fat anywhere, only taut, lean swimmers muscles, Phil Barrington was a man's man. Especially to the ladies. It was common knowledge that many of his patients who came as often as twice and three times a week, had nothing wrong with them that a six inch dick in their mouth or cunt wouldn't cure. But with their husbands all struggling to be the richest men in the cemetery, Dr. Barrington was just the mental and physical stimulation they needed. He knew what prescription to write.

Phil Barrington was the perfect choice for her plan. If it was to work, time was critical. Patience, the patience of a saint was necessary. She had to earn his confidence before the trap was sprung.