Hope is Sanity. Sanity is Hope.

Though you're happy to find a counselling service which allows sex during the sessions, you're irritated that the counselor seems to be an anthropomorphized physical embodiment of the concept of pornography. It's frequent pop-up ads are unprofessional.

"Have you had any communication or trust issues in the relationship recently?"

"Now you mention it, I asked what I felt was a fairly innocent question about some new tattoos and it sparked a kafkaesque nightmare of **** and admin."

"You'd be surprised how often I hear that." replied the sentient distillation of the world's commercialised erotic recordings. "Chloe, are you keeping secrets from your partner."

She took a breather from sucking your big cock to answer "Oh, undoubtedly. Deep, dark secrets. Secrets so awful that our relationship, though capable of enduring an eight way act of **** ****, could not possibly-"

"Did you kill anyone?"

"Oh, no no no."

"Um... are you secretly someone else?"

"No."

"Do you have shadowy ties to-"

"I had an affair."

"Oh, Ok... so you are in love with them?"

"No, no no. Just sex. Like at my job, except no pay and i like it a lot more."

"Right... so I guess it's someone I know."

"God no. Two total strangers. One tattoo each. I didn't tell you because" she looks around the room then whispers "they're black."

You take a moment to process the information before asking.

"Chloe, dear, have you, the entire time we've been dating, been under the impression that I am, in fact, _extremely _racist? Like, 'would rather fuck my own parents than think about miscegenation racist'? Pre civil war racist?"

"Oh... um... are you, not a racist then?"