chapter 7 (pt. 3)

Eric paused long enough to regain his composure. "Fair enough, but where do you draw the line?"

Dr. Stieglitz looked puzzled. "I beg your pardon."

"You keep using the word 'paraphilia,' not fetish. Where do you draw the line between the two?"

Dr. Stieglitz gave the slightest of nods in acknowledgement and began to clean the lenses of his thickly framed glasses with his handkerchief. "I see what you're getting at, Eric, but I really don't think..."

"Define it," Eric insisted.

"Very well, a paraphilia is a condition in which a person's sexual arousal and gratification depend upon fantasizing about, and or engaging in, atypical and extreme behaviors. Often paraphilias revolve around a particular object or a particular act; in your case, body fat and the accumulation thereof."

"Do all psychiatric professionals agree that feederism constitutes a paraphilia?" Eric already knew the answer.

Dr. Stieglitz stopped for a moment, as the bottom corner of his lip curled into the faintest hint of a frown. "No. They do not."

"Wait...what do you mean? You told me it was?" Stephanie asked in confusion.

"In my opinion, feederism should be classified as a paraphilia, but there is dispute within my profession on that topic. Many practitioners are hesitant to pathologize sexual behavior involving consensual adults, even when those behaviors drastically deviate from mainstream norms of sexual behavior. It is challenging to precisely define a paraphilia, because societal standards of what is and is not acceptable sexual behavior evolve over time."

"Let me guess," Eric postulated, "up until recently, your profession counted gays, lesbians, and transgenders amongst recognized forms of paraphilia. Am I right?"

This was followed by an even longer pause and an even more pronounced frown by Dr. Stieglitz. "That is accurate."

"Tell me, Doctor, did you give any gay men or women shock therapy? Or did you just stick to food poisoning?"

Dr. Stieglitz had reached his breaking point. Rising to his feet with indignation, he visibly scowled at Eric before turning his attention to Stephanie. "I can see your husband is not ready for treatment. If the two of you are able to reach an understanding, you have my contact information."

"Don't hold your breath on that call, Doc," Eric spat, accomplishing little more than spouting gasoline upon an open flame.

"Hmmpphhh!!!" Dr. Stieglitz grunted in disdain before slamming the front door behind him on his way out.

For several minutes, Eric and Stephanie sat in quiet consternation, unsure of what to say or do next. It was Stephanie who eventually broke the silence.

"What should we do now, Eric? What do you want?"

"I....I need a second opinion."