So, what would happen if a sex crazed woman became the patient
of a gorgeous psychiatrist with his own sex demands? Read on...
I can feel myself sweating a little as I maneuver my blood red
Porsche Caymen S into the parking garage. I am nervous as hell -
who would've thought Ms. Perfect would need to see a damn
shrink? I mean, it's not like I'm crazy or - okay so maybe I
have a couple of issues. I'm a workaholic, I'm disgustingly
vain, and I may have a slight addiction to the idea of fantastic
sex. So what?  Sighing, I leave my beautiful car, blowing it air
kisses as I strut away. That's my one and only, my baby. Yeah,
about that crazy part again.. um.. don't listen to the whole car
thing and think, "Well.. duh!" because, well, there's more to
it.  Anyway, I smooth down my light grey pinstripe pencil skirt
and forest green button down shirt. In a hair brained effort to
cool off, I unbutton the first few buttons on my shirt, allowing
some of the breeze to play with my cleavage. I wait for the
elevator, balanci