RANSVESTIA

"Groovey," said Cass, settling back on the couch. “Did you have an affair with this girl?" she whispered, eyeing the closed door. “Did you carry-on with her?"

"Of course not!" the doctor snapped.

"Oooh...!" Cass squealed-up on her elbow again. "You have a thing about sex too . . . poor thing . . . living all alone . . . no one to talk to about it no wonder you're all hung-up!"

"I'm not hung-up!"

"You are so! And you'll have to admit to it if I'm going to be of any help to you Doctor Patewaner," said Cass sitting up and swinging her legs off the couch. She wiggled her feet into her shoes and stood up: "Here, why don't you lie down and tell me all about it!”

Dr. Patewaner meekly handed his stenographic pad to Cass, got up and stepped to the couch. He settled down and folded his hands on his stomach.

"Tsk!" Cass exclaimed - taking the doctor's place in the black leather armchair. "I'll bet you're so wrapped up with the problems of others that you have no time to think about your poor self nothing worse than a neglected Id. You probably think everyone's far worse off than you and you think only think that you have nothing to be concerned about. All these nuts coming in here asking you to make them better . . . sapping your strength . . . gimme . . .gimme . . . and not ever thinking to ask you how you feel . . . poor dear. Golly, it's a lucky trip for you that I came in and that's the royal truth you now have a chance to partake of my infinite compassion. I'm going to do all I can for you - how does that grab you?"

"Groovey -" said Dr. Patewaner sleepily — “a real gas!"

Cass ripped off the page of doodles the doctor had made on the pad, squashed it into a ball and fired it across the office into a tarnished brass garbage pail. "Ready now, what seems to be the problem?"