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Fucking Psychology

For Nataraj

By Draconicon

"I don't know why you fucking need me here. I don't have a fucking anger problem."

"Do you not?"

"I swear to God, I don't have a fucking anger problem."

The tiger growled under his breath as he paced back and forth across the therapist's office, his arms flailing around every time he repeated his objection. Hank hated the fact that he was here, and he was going to make damn sure that everyone else knew that he hated it here, as well.

"Coach threatens to throw me off the football team if I don't come here, you threaten to put me on medication, everyone else fucking thinks I have a problem. I don't have a problem. The world had a fucking problem with me."

"That is an interesting way to look at it."

"And you're just a fucking robot!"

He would have thrown one of the chairs through a wall if he had thought he could get away with it. The only thing keeping him from doing that very thing was the fact that he'd have to pay for it, and he didn't have the spare cash to pay for a busted chair, let alone a hole in the wall.

So the tiger kept pacing, kept growling, and kept making a general noise about the whole situation. All the while, his therapist - a skunk named Charles, or so the fucker said - kept making notes about whatever he said. The more he talked, the more notes were made, and the more annoyed he got.

Eventually, he whipped around to the skunk, grabbing the notepad and throwing it across the room. He loomed over the skunk, hands on the arms of the chair, and glared down at him with all the force he could muster.

"Are you fucking listening to me?!"

"I believe, Hank, the question would be better framed as 'Are you listening to yourself?'"

"Sanctimonious bastard."

"I am merely trying to do my job."

"You're the most overpaid fucker in the school. How many people have you gotten hooked on pills, huh? How many fuckers have you gotten sent off of the team because they wouldn't do what you told 'em? You try that shit on me, you asshole, and see where it gets you. Nowhere good, I promise you that much."

"Really?"

The skunk smiled in a way that only made the tiger angrier. He took a step back, trying to pull himself together, while the skunk chuckled a little more.

"I propose a test."

"A test, huh? I hate those."

"Yes, you hate most things. But indulge me."

The skunk pulled a button out from under his chair, setting it down on his lap. Hank turned, looked at it, and looked back up.

"What the fuck is that supposed to be?"

"This, Hank, is the Emotional Response button. I want you to take this and press it every time that you're ready to explode."

"I don't -"

"Have an anger problem. I know. But...indulge me. I won't write it down on the notepad...considering you threw it out the window, I'm probably not going to use that notepad ever again."

With a bit of hesitation, he reached down and picked up the button. It didn't seem like it had anything particularly bad about it, but...well, he could give it a try. Just looking at the skunk made him want to explode, so he slammed his fist down on the button as hard as he could.

Bzzzzt.

It gave him a slight shock, but it was a good distraction. He stepped back, taking a couple of deep breaths as he tried to pull himself back together. It was hard, considering that he was barely holding onto his tenure on the soccer team as it was, but -

Wait, soccer? I'm a...I'm a football player...

He shook his head, groaning. There was something wrong about that. He looked back at Charles, about to ask him to explain what the fuck was going on. However, just looking at that skunk, seeing that smug smile, made him growl so much that the tiger slammed his fist down on the button again.

Bzzzzt.

Swim team...that's right, I'm on the swim team. Wouldn't have a bod like this anywhere else, he thought, the tiger looking down at himself. Sure, his arms and legs were slightly skinny compared to some of the football players, but he was more of a sleek and trim feline rather than the buff bodybuilders that filled out the other sports. He smiled slightly, feeling a bit better, less angry.

He was able to sit down, finally, and glanced over at the skunk. This time, he only got a little angry, rather than overpoweringly so.

"Sorry. Maybe there was something to that button, after all."

"There's no trouble. Now, let's talk about your anger issues."

"I don't have anger issues!"

The skunk raised an eyebrow, and Hank growled under his breath. He wasn't...quite...ready to explode. He didn't have to push the button.

"I'm not dealing with anger issues. It's not a problem."

"Then why did you give that swimmer a bloody nose?"

"I DIDN'T GIVE HIM ANYTHING! That fucking -"

Bzzzzt.

He must have hit the button without thinking about it. The tiger groaned, taking a moment to pull himself back together. What...what were they talking about? It was getting a bit harder to think.

Leaning back in the chair, he felt a little strange, like something was off. For a moment, he swore he saw himself with a striped t-shirt and tight shorts, showing off a toned body from swimming all year long. But then it disappeared, and reality reasserted itself. Reality, yes. For he wasn't a swimmer. Never had been. Was too interested in just running around, chasing...chasing...

Nnngh...

He remembered chasing something, something that swayed about, but that felt wrong now. Maybe something else would give him a clue. He leaned forward, almost jumping as he felt his bare feet rubbing against the carpet.

Of course I'm barefoot. I'm a runner, I have a barefoot lifestyle. Why wouldn't I be barefoot?

But there was something wrong...wasn't there?

"Sir, I don't...I don't feel quite right."

Charles nodded, and the skunk seemed much more of a kindly man at this point. He looked back at Hank, and the tiger smiled slightly.

"I'm sorry. I just...I can't think too straight. I feel really confused now."

"I'm glad that you're admitting to your confusion. Do you remember why you were sent here?"

"I...can't, actually."

"Just press the button again."

"But...why? I thought it was just for pressing if I was...was..."

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't remember. Most of his thoughts were gone, now that he really paid attention. It was like it had all been sucked out of his head, if it had ever existed in the first place.

Shrugging, Hank pressed the button again.

#

Charles smiled as he looked over his glasses, enjoying the sight of the former jock stripping himself of his masculinity with every press of the button. The tiger had already lost a few dozen pounds of muscle and at least six inches of height, and his clothes had changed with each press. From a jock's letterman jacket to a soccer player's jersey, down to a swimmer's shorts to a pair of running shorts, he'd been changed over and over again.

Now, it was changed again. The sports wear became rather feminine, complete with arm and leg bands of fluffy pink and black stripes. The tiger's hips flared out, becoming very ladylike, and he smiled as the feline's hips flared out against the arms of the chair, almost trapping the former athlete there with his bigger ass.

I will need to thank my father for that button. It was a lovely Black Night gift, he thought as he leaned back in his chair. He had shucked off his shoes as the tiger had pressed the button the last time, and he chuckled as Hank's eyes dropped down, staring at his feet. And now, for the finishing touch.

"You remember why you were sent here, now?"

"I...yes, sir. I do."

"Tell me."

"I...was running around the campus, staring at people in sandals, and..."

"Yes?"

"I leaped at one of them, and knocked them to the ground, and wanted to just lick at his feet until they were completely clean. They pulled me off of him and sent me to you."

"Yes, and what did you learn from that?"

"I have a foot fetish, and it's out of control. What do I do, sir?"

"You will need to find someone that can supply your needs here. I suggest looking around the jock population. They're usually looking for little fembois like you to use; I'm sure that you can trade that booty of yours to get what you need."

"That's...that's brilliant, sir! Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. Now...why don't you practice your foot licking skills on me?"

The demon in skunk form extended his legs, putting his long, slender feet at the disposal of the tiger. It didn't take long for that tongue to be put to work.

The End