Dirty Confessions of a Sexually Explicit Adult - 18+ Only Material Ahead

WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

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Maddi’s Diary, Day Twenty-Five, Monday

Dr. B said that he was very pleased see that I was moving forward in my relationship with Shirley. He feels that he can recommend that I be released from treatment. However... There is always a “However...”

The however in this case is that I cannot be released from court-ordered treatment until all “fees, fines and restitution has been fulfilled.” And court-ordered therapy does not mean court paid for therapy. I qualified for public defender because I was 18 and a college student, but the hospital stuff was submitted to my dad’s insurance and that established my dad as a responsible party for the expenses.

Dr. B tried to sound very sympathetic when he told me, “Normally, that would just be insurance co-payments and a few fines and fees, but in your case, your father’s insurance company has rejected the claim because it stems from an illegal act in which you willingly took part.”

He further explained, “I can’t reduce the fees because your father owns the land in the country plus his truck. They count all that as assets, so your family doesn’t qualify for reduced fees.”

He cleared his throat nervously and said somewhat apologetically, “And in addition to all of that, the state is charging you for a special inspection of the bridge you tied yourself under.”

As stupid as it sounds, the biggest item on the list was that damned bridge inspection. Because I had “attached unauthorized equipment to the physical structure” of the bridge, a special inspector had to be flown in from somewhere with a special crew to do a full inspection of the bridge. I ran ropes through some eyebolts what were already in place on the bridge!! I didn’t cut anything, weld anything, or even clamp anything. I didn’t hit it with a truck, a car, or even my fists. I just ran some damn rope through a ring on the bridge.

Evidently there is some weird-ass federal law that got written after a bridge collapsed up in Minnesota somewhere that requires this kind of inspection whenever there is “unauthorized or uncertified work or attachment on or to a bridge.” The bill for the inspection is $45,000 dollars!

The fines are almost nothing. My plea agreement includes a fine for public indecency. The criminal charge will be expunged from my record when I satisfactorily complete therapy. I still have to pay the $1,500 dollar fine plus $1,000 in court costs.

The in-patient stay at the looney bin was $14,000 and my 15 sessions with Dr. B cost $1,100 each for a total for treatment of $30,500. If I had insurance, those sessions would automatically be reduced to the negotiated amount of $600, but since I don’t have insurance– or it isn’t paying, I get stuck with the full, inflated charge.

It is one bullshit thing after another, but it all boils down to the fact that I have to come up with $78,000 by next Monday or go to jail...or worse, go into the state psychiatric facility downstate.

“Actually,” Dr B said, “the easiest thing to do would be to extend treatment. I can do that for a few weeks and recommend that it be extended on a month by month basis for up to six months. That would keep you out of jail or the state facility, but it would also continue to cost you $3,300 a week.”

He shrugged his shoulders. I think he was honestly sorry for me. “I know it’s a real catch-22. You can’t get out of treatment unless you pay for treatment, but if you don’t get out of treatment, the bills keep going up.”

He shook his head. “There really isn’t anything I can do. Maybe you can borrow the money from somewhere or your parents can help you out.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange,” I told him, but I didn’t have much hope. They think Dad has all sorts of “assets,” but he cracked a block on his truck out in Denver a few months back and the cost of those repairs, plus the downtime, emptied his bank accounts. He had to re-finance the truck to come up with the necessary money to replace the engine and get back on the road. There just isn’t any spare cash in the Miller family right now and I think the mortgage on the land is as high as it can be already. I will have to come up with something on my own.

Dad’s on an extended run and won’t be back until Sunday. Mom is gone on a week-long training trip and may have to work Saturday also. So I am on my own this week and most of this weekend. This isn’t something I want to talk to them about on the phone, so it will have to wait until Sunday. Maybe I can figure something out before then.

Work was a blur this afternoon and evening. I was really distracted, but at least I didn’t drop any trays.

End of entry for Day Twenty-Five

Maddi’s Diary, Day Five, Twenty-Six, Tuesday

I called Harold first thing this morning and asked him how much money I actually had in my Beat Girl account. He said I had $51,000 that I could draw out. Jesus! I’m really glad I didn’t know I had that much. I might have blown it all on some really expensive sex toys.

Just kidding, Dr. B. I have enough really expensive sex toys in my studio that are already paid for out of the Beat Girl profits. I probably should sit down with Harold some day and find out how much I, and he, am actually making on Beat Girl.

Harold told me that normally he could advance me quite a bit toward future earnings, but right now he was in the middle of a big business deal and most of his money was tied up. He could loan me $5,000 from his personal savings, but that was all he could come up with on short notice.

I told him I would keep the $5,000 in mind, but to transfer the $51 K into my checking account immediately.

As soon as I hung up from talking to Harold, I called Shirley. I cried on the phone with her for about a half hour, but then I had to get to work. I was crying most of the day, but I got all the orders right and didn’t spill any hot coffee on anyone.

The Beat Girl session was TERRIBLE! I should have had Harold cancel the session and put on a rerun. We do that once in a while when Beat Girl is “on vacation.” But those are always announced in advance, and I didn’t want to disappoint my fans.

I disappointed them anyway– at least most of them. It was a spank and paddle night which usually brings out my E buddies, but I was so down that they stayed home. Anyone who was hoping to see me go into a pain-induced orgasm was very disappointed. On the other hand, anyone who wanted to hear me scream in pain really got their money’s worth.

I probably should have dropped the safety switch when I realized that

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THE END