New writer, wants help.

I'm starting this story, and I really am just kind of trying to figure it out. I don't have any proofreaders, so I was kind of hoping anybody interested could read parts of this over and give insight and constructive criticism to a young writer whose working on his first story. Without further ado:

“Dealing with this shit is really something you can’t fathom, so I don’t see why the fuck you talk down to me so much in an effort to rehabilitate me.”
    “If you think I’m talking down to you, you can tell me what I could do better to make your therapy better.”
    “Don’t treat me like a fucking child because I’m in a wheelchair. I’m 17 god damned years old and you barely treat me like a 7 year old. I didn’t suffer any brain trauma, so you don’t need to talk fucking slow like I’m a wetback immigrant. You also don’t need to ask me about my feelings, I’ll fucking address it when I’m ready to.”
    “Well, Caleb, this is your therapy session, anything you say goes.”
    “Excellent.”
    “I hate to waste a session though, what do you want to talk about?”
    Caleb looked intensely at something sitting on the psychiatrist’s desk and after an uncomfortable pause he asked, “Do you go for some plump ass titties or do you like that shit nice and perky?”
    The psychiatrist was in shock, as if Caleb had slapped him in the face. He weakly replied, “Excuse me?”
    “C’mon doc, I know you enjoy a nice pair of knockers, so tell me how you like them. We don’t have all day, these sessions are short.” Caleb said with a particular smugness in his voice.
    “I really don’t think this is constructive conversation.” The psychiatrist said, palpably uncomfortable.

and the rest
“Like fuck it is, it’s my first session here and I would rather hear about what kind of tits you like rather than drone on about bullshit I barely mean.” Caleb said slightly angrily at the psychiatrist.
    “I don’t know if I’m comfortable answering.” The psychiatrist said, his words were meaningless to Caleb.
    “Listen, it’s a harmless fucking question, and I think the two of us would gain a better understanding of each other if we asked honest questions like that. I’ll even let you ask one after this, only if isn’t about my fucking legs being useless.” Caleb said, finally persuading the psychiatrist.
    The psychiatrist almost winced from this and he replied to Caleb, “Fine, if you need an unorthodox therapy method I will accommodate it.”
    Caleb put on a goofy accent as he asked the psychiatrist, “How will you have them, plump as a chicken or perky as can be?”
    “Neither, I like perfect handfuls, slightly perky is good, but I appreciate a little substance.” The psychiatrist said, embarrassed by his answer, but committed to it.
    “Shit, good answer. I didn’t expect that from you. You know what I can tell from that? You have taste. I trust a man with good taste. Now I’ll tell you how I like mine, I like that shit perky. Not fucking A cups, but a B or a small C is perfect. Small tits are classy. I look for class in women; well to you they’re girls. I can’t tell you how often people go for the quick fuck at school. What a load of shit, getting a girl drunk is too much effort for some of these fucking lowlifes. They meet up and expect to have their pants dropped in twenty minutes. Fuck that shit, I’ll take a girl out first, even if they are a slut, I’ll wine them and dine them properly before I even consider making some sort of sexual advance. Now I don’t roll like that normally, but that was sophomore year. I’ll wait a good two months before I even ask to fuck, and I don’t do this as part of a fucking system, I do this because I respect them as women and I treat them with class. As a result of this, I’ll get some of the most prude girls at school at fuck after three to four months. And these are the girls it was worth it to fuck, they don’t look washed up, they know how to be sexy and they know how to cover up. Modesty is important in a girl, actually, the ones who cover up respect themselves more and are happier people. Now even though I’m in high school, I still look for good people to fuck. A good fuck or a hot date isn’t shit, it’s completely fucking meaningless. But if you have two people who understand and respect each other, they outshine all the other couples around. Even if they aren’t the most attractive people in the crowd, they are still the most beautiful people because what they have shits on the superficial bond that is the high school hookup. I’m not even going into love, because you don’t need to love the person in question. I’ve gone through relationships where I treat my significant other better than people who are in alleged love and we would barely bring the word up. And that’s because I have class and I seek partners who have class. Relationships start and end so fast it makes my fucking head spin, but in each one I’m a fucking gentleman and I never treat my girl with anything less than class and respect.”
    “Well you certainly have a lot to say.” The psychiatrist said calmly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anybody articulate like that so seamlessly.”
    “When I see something, it just clicks.” Caleb said, not quite understanding the psychiatrist’s compliment. “Now ask me something, shrink.”
    “Hmm, do you think the ladies will go for you despite you being disabled?” The psychiatrist asked
    “Please shrink, I’m fucking crippled.” Caleb declared.
    “Ok, do chicks dig cripples?” The psychiatrist rephrased.
    “Fuck if I know, I’m sure I’ll get a hookup or two out of sympathy, but I don’t really want a part of that.” Caleb said. “Even though I was thrown into this situation, I don’t want other people to be sorry for me.”
    “Well I’m sorry, Caleb.” The psychiatrist said without knowing what else to say.
    “You have a lot of fucking nerve, shrink.” Caleb snapped at the psychiatrist and instantaneously broke out into laughter. The psychiatrist timidly joined Caleb after a few seconds. The two sat laughing for a moment and then Caleb’s sense of humor finally registered to the psychiatrist.
    The psychiatrist cleared his throat and asked, “You’re a bullshitter, aren’t you?”
    Caleb answered, “I’m crippled.”
    “I thought so.” The psychiatrist noted as he wrote down something in his notebook. He looked at his watch and exclaimed, “We’re out of time. I’ll see you next week.”
    “I hope so, shrink.” Caleb said as he reached for the psychiatrist’s hand.
    “Please Caleb, its Dr. Roy.” The psychiatrist said as he shook Caleb’s hand.
    The psychiatrist held the door open for Caleb as he exited. Caleb wheeled down to the parking lot alone. An Oldsmobile Cutlass waited for Caleb. Caleb rolled up to the Cutlass and banged on the window. A seventeen year old sat sleeping at the wheel and he awoke after Caleb banged the window several times. He looked surprised as he jumped out of the car and popped the trunk. He picked Caleb up by the shoulders and dragged him to the hood of the car, where he sat him down, folded up the wheelchair and put it in the trunk. He came back to Caleb and grabbed him by the shoulders again and plopped him in the passenger seat of the Cutlass.
    “That’s a pain in the fucking ass to do every time.” Caleb complained.
    “I’m the one who needs to pick you up.” His friend retorted. He turned the car on and pulled out of the parking lot. “How was therapy?”
    “A load of shit, near the end was pretty cool though. I talked to the shrink about titties.” Caleb casually stated.
    “No shit? How does he like them?” His friend asked in wonder.
    “He said he likes handfuls with a little substance, but slightly perky.” Caleb recalled.
    “What a tasteful shrink.” His friend exclaimed.
    “This guy looks like a total schmuck too. But he knows a thing or two about the finer things, I can tell.” Caleb said.
    “Isn’t that great? You’re best fucking friends with your shrink now.” His friend snickered.
    “Fuck off.” Caleb snapped at his friend.
    “All this bullshitting aside, your timing is unfortunate. We’re going to start our senior year and you’ll catch most everybody by surprise. Now sure, people are already talking, but most of it is dismissed as rumor. There’s another thing too, all the fucking rumors. People are saying literally everything, and you’re not around to substantiate any of this so it’s still open season.”
    “I’ve thought about this, thank god I don’t have a Facebook. Fuck that shit, people thinking I died and fucking around with it. People can say what they want, but it doesn’t really mean much to me when I’m still around and I’m still the one who people can’t figure out. I can also tell really easily who’s been talking shit or not and that shows who has some fucking integrity around here.” Caleb said as he shifted his weight in the passenger seat with his arms.
    “Well your attitude surprisingly appropriate. Not a good attitude, necessarily, but it’s certainly going to get you through this.” His friend said, with a hint of uncertainty prevalent in his voice.
    “And that’s all I’m really trying to do. I’m not really pissed because I wouldn’t have done anything differently, and I’m not sad because I know I can get myself through this.” Caleb flatly stated.
    “I’m interested to see how you fit in, to be honest. Nobody ever figured you out, you never fit into any scene and you had this energy that nobody could even come close to emulating. But now I actually think you might lose some of that, people might think you’re benign without your legs.” His friend stated certain of his statement, but faltering with the words.
    “I think there’s no avoiding it, Phil, I’m not going to bullshit you. I will look vulnerable as fuck. But really, it’s a load of shit; I don’t need working legs to be myself.”

You are not using the word fuck often enough.