The psychiatrist's report is on the kitchen counter. Mom is making her 'I'm thinking' face, which means she's praying for guidance and her knuckles are white on the mug. She says the 'sexual assistance program' recommendation is clinical. It's for 'developmental intimacy deficits.' I looked it up. It means hiring someone to teach me about touch. Not like a boyfriend. Like a tutor for my body. My skin feels like it's buzzing. I keep thinking about hands that aren't mine, how they would feel learning the map of me. Where my hips are sharp, where my cunt gets slick and warm just from a thought. Would the tutor tell Mom if I came? Would it be a sin if it was homework? Mom is crying again. I think my loneliness is a stain on her faith. I don't want a holy ghost, I want a real weight on top of me, to feel pinned and known. Is that so wrong?