Bakersfield, CA or NO SEX DRIVE=NO PROBLEM!

I have this cousin in Bakersfield, California. Her father was a preacher man that the good lord brought to heaven early. Perhaps to reward him for all the times he got wasted on moonshine in the shed out back and spanked his daughter with that belt he surely had bought in Tijuana, while he was there fucking hookers.
My cousin, L, is 21 now, and she's saving herself for her own personal prince. Maybe another preacher man with a stiff leather belt from Tijuana? She wears cheap Target sweaters in pastel colors and patent leather flats. She enjoys bible studies. And still, because we sometimes played as kids, she considers me her best friend. No one listens like you do, Kim. That makes me feel like drinking a tax-free size bottle of Vodka and float into oblivion.

Lately, she's been on anti-depressives. They give her a lot of anxiety and sexual thoughts. Or so she says. I thought they were supposed to do the opposite. No sex drive=no problems
She goes to a Christian College and told me she's had dirty thoughts about one of her teachers. She says she closes her eyes and sees herself grinding herself against his corduroy pants over and over.
Her mother hasn't left the bedroom in years. The curtains are always drawn and homo-erotic jesus pictures are plastered all over the walls. She doesn't understand, of course. She probably swallows a sack of pills every day. Poor L does everything around the house. And it is only because I feel sorry for her that I will drive through the burnt-out land to hold her hand and tell her it's alright to fantasize about dry-humping your teacher.