You suddenly realize that you are fantasizing about fiddling around with an underaged cartoon character's navel. An overpowering wave of shame and guilt washes over you as you back away from her, your limbs making stiff, marionette-like motions.
"Hey... What's the matter?" May calls to you, seeing your sudden and profound distress.
Your throat tightens up. A blur of demented images swirls through your head. The temptation lingers, but the knowledge that what you were about to do is sick and wrong looms over you like a dark cloud.
Eventually, you find the words and begin, too ashamed to look May in the eye.
"I'm sorry... I have a paraphilia, and I was about do something really creepy. I was seriously thinking about just... tickling it because I'm into that. I mean, we barely even know each other for one, and you were busy grooming yourself... "Your innie"? Who even says that?!"
May's eyes widen as the realization hits her. "Uh... Oh my God, were you gonna...?"
"L-listen," you continue, feeling immense guilt at hearing the building fear in her voice, "I need help, and I realize that now. I need to talk to a professional about how to get this thing under control."
May still looks disturbed and shaken, but she nods. "I'm glad you understand. I wouldn't have offered to let you touch it if I knew-"
"No," you say with a dismissing wave of your hand, "don't blame yourself. This is my issue to deal with, and I'm gonna have it taken care of." Wordlessly, you step out of the door and leave the would-be victim to finish brushing her hair in silence. You return to your home and open up the phonebook, flipping through the listings of licensed therapists. What will you do now?
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