Chapter Eleven
Killer Cure
I’m in the office of the formidable (and insanely alluring) Dr. Eva Turner, a quite pricey (and militantly feminist) s*x therapist. Lying reclined on a narrow psychiatrist’s couch, I gaze reverentially up at her. Facing me from an enormous, throne-like armchair, literally sitting in judgment above me, she’s truly totemic in her captivating size and suzerainty.
In her early forties (nearly twice my age), her aristocratic features have a mature, will-sapping severity to them. It’s a look that suits beautifully her elegant up-twist of platinum-blonde hair and especially the half-moon glasses (dangling a very sexy silver chain) that are perched only partway up her patrician nose. Impeccably cool and poised, she is the epitome of sophistication despite being astoni
