The psychiatrist told her that sex should be about intimacy, that she would find this out one day hopefully when it wasn't too late.
"It's just vanity," he said when she told him in their weekly meetings about collecting another boy, another new experience; a perversion previously unknown to her and that particular virginity taken.
"Well even if it is it makes me feel popular, I love being the centre of attention, I didn't have that when I was growing up and now I'm at college and can reinvent myself I don't want to be that shy intellectual wallflower anymore."
"Don't you want to be special to someone, to love and cherish a special someone and be loved in return?" he asked.
"But this way I'm special to lots of guys, you just want me to stop fucking them and start with you so you can be the disreputable lecturer who gets off with his prize-winning pupil and then I'll end up in a semi-detached life wondering which of the neighbours to flirt with at a dinner party."
The psychiatrist shrugged, "Well, I'll keep trying," and went to the bar to get her another double vodka and tonic.