Congratulations on Describing Your Incredibly Embarrassing Wet Dream to the Wrong Person!

Psychiatrists are supposed to be bastions of public confidence, people who can literally be trusted with any secret. They’re supposed to be iron traps of will who never cave, no matter how many times someone shouts “pretty please at them.” They’re supposed to be un-corruptible, be it by sex or money or drugs.

They’re definitely not supposed to live tweet their sessions with patients.

So imagine your surprise when your mom sends you a link to a Twitter feed (when did she get on Twitter, anyway?) detailing your entire sessions with your psychiatrist. It’ll start with a series of “snore” posts every twenty five seconds, right up until you start talking about the weird sex dream you had.

“Gross,” the first post will read. Then the next post will read “Still gross, but getting hotter.”

Then the tweets will start to graphically transcribe the sex dream you detailed to your shrink. It’ll go into what you think your sister’s pubis looks like and what you think it smells like. Then it’ll detail the entrance of Jenny Michaels into the dream, that girl you have a huge crush on from your school. It’ll go over what you do to Jenny and what Jenny and your sister do while you watch. The shrink will start to rate his “boner meter” with a little set of ascii penises of various length.

By the time you finish the boner meter will take up an entire tweet, which will be followed by “lol. kid shouldve been in penthouse.”

Then he’ll laugh at how stupid your complaints about high school being tough are, and sign off the stream with the post: “fuck my mortage for making me sit thru this shit. peace”.

You’ll be mortified. Your mom will walk into your room just as you finish and just point and laugh at you.

“Fucking pervert!” she’ll squeal, before you slam the door in her face.

“Hah!” you’ll hear your father laugh from downstairs in the house as he reads the feed.

The only silver lining will come when your sister knocks on your door.

“Fucked up, man,” she’ll mumble through the wood. Then she’ll pause on the other side of the door, her breathing just barely audible. “I’ll talk to Jenny. See what I can do.”

That last bit will make you turn over and dry your eyes a little. You’re sure your whole school knows that you dreamed about having a threeway with your sister (granted, one where nothing happened between the two of you, but still) but she’s pretty good at talking people in to things, and if she puts in a good word with Jenny you might at least get laid out of the whole thing.

Congratulations on Describing Your Incredibly Embarrassing Wet Dream to the Wrong Person!