At the psychiatrist

Zenza sits in the leather chair across from the doctor, hands loose on his knees. He says it straight out. "Doctor, I don't think I'm capable of fucking anymore. I just don't find anyone attractive." The doctor keeps that knowing smile, like he’s heard it a thousand times. "I’ve got the fix for that." He picks up the phone, dials once, and tells the voice on the line to come in. A moment later the nurse steps through the door, her blonde hair catching the light, skirt sharp against pale thighs. She doesn’t ask what the problem is. She already knows what the doctor expects. She moves to Zenza without hesitation, sinks to her knees, and starts loosening his belt. The doctor stays in his seat, watching. When she takes Zenza in her mouth, the doctor nods once, satisfied that the cure has begun.