Sorry. That’s pretty much what Doctor Mercer did with me. And encouraged me to write in my journal.”“Why?”“Because only I can answer the ult...mate question of my own mortality and what Birgit’s death meant to me. Or Stephie’s. Or Nick’s. Or Don Joseph’s, for that matter.”“Yes. And what was all the training?”“On how to get someone to talk about something so painful that they don’t want to talk about. Or so embarrassing. Or so personal.”“Yes. There’s more, of course, such as recognizing true. I was sitting on a chair next to him and I grabbed his hand and led him to a guest room. He undressed and we made out for a little while and then he pulled out a glass vial of cocaine and sprinkled it on my breasts and then snorted it off. He put a small line on his long, black cock and told me to do the same. I had never done d**gs before, so I was a bit hesitant. I didn’t want to irritate him or to have him tell John that I wasn’t being very acquiescent, so I snorted the line as I had watched. More

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