Patty Mills 18 Points Full Highlights (1/16/2015)

“Thanks for having me over, Tim. You’re the best,” Patty said, walking into Tim Duncan’s home. “Maybe you’ll help clear my mind a bit.”

Tim closed the door behind his teammate. “That’s the plan, Patty. Let’s sit in the den and talk this through.”

The two Spurs sat across from each other, Patty in a luxurious leather recliner, Tim in a simple straight-backed wooden chair. “It’s happening again, Tim,” Patty began, closing his eyes against the memories. “I thought I had gotten over it, but when I went to the mall last week, I almost relapsed. I’m afraid of what might happen next time.”

Tim nodded his head sadly. “Your towel addiction is rooted deep in your psyche, Patty. You tell me that you have truly forgiven your mother for her loveless parenting style, but is that the truth?”

“I love my mom,” Patty answered. “The bond between us is stronger than ever, and I don’t feel resentful towards her like I did before.”

Tim rubbed his chin, lost in thought. In time, he spoke again. “Perhaps you associate towels with good times in your life; championships, the appreciation of fans, NBA success in general. You have to disassociate towels with all of that, return them to neutral status. Remember, towels are meant for drying, nothing more.

Patty thought over his teammate’s words. “You’re right, Tim. I need to remember that towels are not for waving or for otherwise pleasuring myself. Hey, do you mind if I visit your facilities?”

Raising an eyebrow, Tim replied, “Sure, go ahead. You know where it is.” There was a distinct note of suspicion in his voice.

Scampering to the bathroom, Patty closed and locked the door. In a rack next to the shower, there it was: a stack of neatly-folded, pure white bath towels. Heart pounding in his chest, he approached the beautiful terrycloth articles, reaching one finger out to tentatively stroke their softness. Before he realized what had happened, he had disturbed the towels from their stack and strewn them about the bathroom. The site of them lying prone, waiting to be flung through the air, excited him like no woman ever had.

He knew he couldn’t spend too long, or Tim would get suspicious. The deed had to be done now; the urge had to be sated.

He had just begun to unbuckle and lower his pants when there was an urgent knocking at the bathroom door. “Patty! Are you okay in there?”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Patty wailed, ignoring the fact that Tim couldn’t see through the solid wood door. “I just…slipped! I wasn’t doing anything wrong!”

There was a kicking sound. Then, the lock broke, and Tim entered the bathroom. He surveyed the scene before him, no surprise registering in his face. “Patty, you have to stop this madness!”

Patty shrunk to the corner of the room. “I can’t stop it, Tim! I can’t! The towels have too much power over me!” He began to cry in his angst.

Tim joined his teammate in the corner and put an arm around him. “You can get over this addiction, Patty. I know you can. If we work together, we’ll beat this.”

There, in the blue-tiled bathroom, surrounded by white towels spared from abuse, the two Spurs sat for hours, one crying, the other consoling.

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