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I was looking for love. She was looking for the same thing. I loved her smile. She loved the idea of walking away.

Hi, I'm Dr. Peter Swilling, possessed psychiatrist. Welcome to my Pulitzer Prize winning column on mental health. Please note that I have been thoroughly and completely discredited by every known professional psychiatric organization. As a result, I have many open appointments available. Call for morning, afternoon, and evening appointments. Some weekend times available. Please note that there is a sexual man living in my house. I keep him away from clients, who I see in my house. $80/hour. Sliding scale. Thanks for your call. It is very important to us.

Do you use the rhythm method for family planning? Do you realize that doesn't work? We can talk about it. Over coffee. In my office. Sometimes my hands WILL roam to your thighs during the appointment. I don't give TWO SHITS how you feel about that. It will happen. It WILL HAPPEN. If you get pregnant, don't blame me. I already told you that the rhythm method doesn't work. But oh, oh the rhythm when I nail my clients in my office. Just nail them. Sex. Great. I am possessed by a sexually aggressive ninety-year-old man. Please help me. Come to my house in Utica. I will absolutely creep you out, but that DOES NOT mean I am not worth saving. OKAY?

If you are feeling a little down, eat some fucking fruit. Don't whine. Motherfucker. Come here. Into my office. I will THROW THIS COFFEE INTO YOUR FACE if you even so much as question my methods. Kneel. Kneel before Lord Behr. KNEEL!

How is your mental state? We can talk about it. I am professional psychiatrist. Call me for an appointment. I have a secretary. My hands WILL go to your thighs during the appointment. I will be satisfied. Even if it is after you leave. I can self-stimulate. I take pictures of you in my home office bathroom going tinkle. I LOOK AT THOSE PICTURES AFTER YOU LEAVE. Please call me for an appointment. I need the cash. I killed a man named Behr and took his wife to Italy and now he lives INSIDE ME. Please help. I am possessed by Friend Behr. Please. Send money. $70,000.

I'll sell you my Acura. How much will you give me for it? I have never taken it off-road and I changed the oil regularly BEFORE BECOMING POSSESSED BY EVIL SPIRIT. You can drive out to look at it. Sit in the car. We can go on a test drive. My hands WILL move to your thighs during the test drive. It is to be expected. Standard operating procedure. Gender norms. Psychiatry. Welcome to the dawn. I look forward to seeing you at your first appointment. I will put a fresh pot of coffee on. Sit there in my chair. Scratching holy hell out of my balls. I haven't showered in weeks. Friend Behr's spirit WILL NOT ALLOW IT. Scratching holy hell out of my balls. In a ratty old bathrobe. Asking you about your family and your childhood. Scratching my balls. Did you feel unloved as a child? Holy hell my balls. How were your relationships with sexual partners in early adulthood? Were they traumatic. Scratching my balls like crazy. Bathrobe. Asking you questions. How about that? CALL ME AND HAVE COFFEE WITH ME IN MY OFFICE I WILL CHARGE YOU FULL PRICE. How about that?

Medically yours,

Dr. Peter Swilling

Having sexy dreams...Ok Ursula K. Le Guin might have written Canon, but I can still dream, can't I?

Ole (pron. Ol-E) is an alien, from a planet like the Left Hand of Darkness. That is, they don’t have genders, except to mate, which they do only four days of the month. Colloquially, their name for us is a word meaning “pervert”, since they see us all as being a bit sex-crazed. 
Se (to use the preferred pronoun) has wavy blonde hair, blue eyes and is rather thin and on the median range of where men start up and women leave off (back Home, se’s rather tall). Se tends to wear loosely fitting clothing, and has a fine tenor/contralto voice. Most often, se’s thought of as “she”, either as a woman (somewhat feminist) or an effeminate man. If I thought of hir as having a gender it would be “80’s rockstar”, as in David Bowie, or possibly Daryl Hall.
Se was from Ferret’s Ridge, a farm in the  Cold Country, where se lived with his clan mates, who raised hir until se got old enough to go to school in town. There, se learned of life on other planets, and decided to sign on to a passing space ship. 

Out of season, they do have, well, snuggling. Being in bed with someone is a good way of conserving body heat, and playing in bed with a chum is a fine high art. It’s kind of like what you did as a kid, tickling and play-fighting, and all kinds of things. If you’re both wearing pajamas, it’s kind of easy to forget there’s anything different.     

So it was, that Ole and me were having a good snuggle session, when I felt a something in hir groinal area. 

    “I guess it’s time for my shots.” Gethen, especially those who venture off-planet, use hormone treatments to turn themselves off and on, practice birth control and even to specify what sex they are. They could, if need be, drug themselves into being like Earthlike, but it’s not healthy, so they don’t. 

The phallus, to use a unisex term, is an inch-long or so nub off-duty. Below, there’s a cleft with generous inner lips that opens out a space in the pelvic region where the gonads are ordinarily stored…I forget most of the actual mechanics here, but intercourse with human men is possible, though it would take a whole team of them to satisfy a Gethene in the female mode. With a human female…well, it hadn’t been tried yet. “I’ve had three children. I’ll be gentle.” se offered. 
“Maybe if I sang you a love song?” We’d had a large lunch, eaten silently in Gethene fashion, and we were chatting until. “This is one I learned at school." The song had about a dozen verses, and at first sounded innocent enough, a young couple in love. Then, things began to get..weird. The love scene didn’t leave much to the imagination. It didn’t stop there, though. The girl is pregnant, and the narrator sounds as pleased about it as they were about how she got that way. Childbirth and nursing was described as sensually as the tryst.     

The final verse hinted that the mother would become a sire in the future.    

  “It’s…different.” I said. “Mostly, getting pregnant in a love song means some disaster.”     

 “I think it’s romantic that the insides that make the man climax and let the sperm inside are the same as those that push out the baby.”  

  “But childbirth isn’t romantic! It has to do with blood, and crap, and pain, and — I don’t know, but it’s just awful. Also, in Earth love songs, the girl isn’t married, and her life is ruined."    

 “You need city Creches. You get all kinds of aftercare. Then you get to nurse babies until your womb gets small. It's fun! Honestly, you pervs have it all wrong.”      

Turns out, there’s a period, about a day or so, when the Gethen know it’s about to happen, but there’s no real feeling or function to their genitals, while they individuate — that is, get to a kemmerhouse, and figure out who is going to doing what, and to whom. The process of individuation can be speeded up with proximity to someone further along, and the more proximal, the better. As I said, they can’t do much down below but there are hands and mouths, and nipples. Especially nipples. He might have bee bites, but they were equally as tender.
 That would lead us to go back to bed, and the process would inch forward, the lips becoming sacks, the spongiform tissue coming out of hiding, and the gonads falling into place while we played and dallied. 

All the while, Ole would be fussing over me. “I’ve heard that it rubs off.” Earnest questions: “Do you feel this inside you?” he said, tickling my cervix with a long finger." Let me — oh, that’s wet!  Your nub is so little…Let me just — take a sniff,  it’s so nice. Maybe a tiny taste?” I don’t think that they’ve discovered oral yet, he was so shy and gentle. 
And all at once, not a nub, but an honest to goodness pole under his jammies. “I hope I don’t hurt you…”     
It was almost a relief. 
I said, almost. He was done in about a minute, from In to Out, and for a second, I wondered what the fuss was all about, as he’d gone into yet another nap.      Somehow, I figured I’d be able to get by simply lying down and thinking of England, but it wasn’t that simple.
     “I can’t feel like you’re having a good time.” he said. He’d been talking about skiing. His hips were like jelly on springs.     
“I am.” Truthfully, though I’d thought I could get by if I just lay quiet and let him poke me.     
“Well, if you were, I’d be able to feel it. The hole in your womb would be nibbling on me like a little mouth, and your insides would grab hold of me, like they didn’t want to let me go, and your hips would be moving against me, like you wanted to gobble me up inside you.”     
I guess I looked slightly repulsed.     
 “No, really. Remember the song.”     
I could only marvel at his patience.       
“Can you feel it if I do this?”A finger, a cervix.     
“Oh yes!”  I found myself making sounds I had no conscious effort in. 

Throughout the night, the cycle of intimacy, sex and sleep was established. I got better and better at moving with him. As the day broke, I felt myself caught up in a twilight state, tired but only wanting more, as everything else faded into distant memories in favor of an eternal NOW, of coupling and being coupled. 
Our sleeps lasted longer and longer. 
Finally, I drifted off….
I woke up. I was sore. Every muscle ached. I was covered in dried precious bodily fluids, and hungry.
Ole looked down at me, with hir usual friendly warmth. Se was in hir usual Earth clothes: a loose button-down shirt, and a pair of relaxed-fit jeans. Se put down his coffee, and picked up a damp washcloth.
 I reflexively looked down. “Is it..?” I managed. 
“You’re safe.” se said. “Or not…Honestly, I can’t understand you perverts."

If you read "Your radical ideas about the combinatoric implications of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator have already occurred to others" you'll see that I propose (facetiously) that the MBTI is capable of assigning 290 ≈ 1.23 × 1027 different possible answer sets to only 16 categories.

Continuing the tradition of Combinatoric Shitposting for Mathematical Teens, I've decided to create my own Personality Test, able to surpass the MBTI. With this test (even at the current Alpha versions) there's enough personality types for every single "snowflake" on Earth to have their own unique type to share with the world.

Help Wanted!

If you want to help, I'd like for you to read the current set of very scientifically chosen questions (from my stable-like genius brain) and submit questions of your own. The actual test is nearby, but for now it's in Alpha only. Use it only if you know your way around these files.

Link to the questions.

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