by Olivia Jake
I already knew that she and my dad didn’t have a great relationship, and perhaps that’s why I wasn’t shocked about her affair. In fact, I don’t ever remember thinking anything other than, well, I guess we’re finished talking about me...
I never got close to anyone after that first experience in high school. I felt so abandoned and betrayed by people I thought were my friends, the only person who didn’t abandon me was my mother. And once she’d shared about her affairs, of which there were many, it became a recurring topic of conversation between us. While I knew talking about her love life helped her and helped us get closer and closer, it also taught me how pathetic some women could be when it came to the men, and the choices they made in their lives, and I vowed to never be vulnerable or needy or desperate like she was.
I was too young to know what I was doing, but after that first experience and having Barb as a role model, I never let myself be vulnerable again. I thought I was using sex as a weapon, screwing strangers before they could hurt me, but by my late 20s I hadn’t protected myself at all. I’d simply built walls.
She often felt guilty and worried that it was because we were so close that I didn’t have a relationship with my father, or anyone my own age. She did take a lot of my time and focus, but it took two to tango, and while she could have been more of a mother in my younger years rather than a friend, that just wasn’t how things shook out. We were partners. We had gone through and experienced so much together, I couldn’t fathom her not being there. I knew of course that eventually she wouldn’t be, but she was still so young and vibrant. She was still so much a part my life.
So while it was easy to romanticize the past, to remember events or people through rose-colored glasses, with the news that my mother had a likely fatal disease, I briefly wondered if I was making our relationship out to be better than it was, because the thought of not having my mom around was unimaginable. But the truth was that, while it wasn’t a perfect relationship, she really was my best friend and had been since I was a teenager.
I looked at the picture of Gunnar. He’d had some bad plastic surgery, made worse since his identical twin hadn’t had any. Before I could read the brief article, our name was called, snapping me back to reality. Back to what was important.
****
I had been so preoccupied taking care of my mom, her animals, and my job that I hadn’t had any time to worry about seeing Dr. Rosenberg at Barb’s next chemo appointment. Marty had given me my space at the office, stopping by to say hi or talk about work, but nothing more than that, and I found myself missing his company. In the early mornings, instead of bringing me coffee and a pastry and chatting, he simply poked his head in, wished me a good morning, and then went into his office. What do you expect, Steph? Not everyone’s a glutton for punishment like you. Like so many other things, I knew I had no one to blame other than myself. So I put on a brave face each day and set out to face whatever fresh hell would be thrown at me next.
After Barb’s weight and vitals were taken, and once we were settled into our respective chairs, she turned to me with a stern expression.
“I don’t care what he says, you be nice to Dr. Rosenberg this time. Do you understand me?”
“I promise, mom. I’ll be good.”
“Good. Now, can you tell I have this awful bag under my dress?”
Typical Barb, which given everything, I was happy she was still in there. “No, ma. It’s all pinned up. No one can see.”
I looked over and saw the same woman from the previous week’s session. Once again, she was all alone and once again, I felt for her. Poor thing.
“I like your blouse. It really brings out your eyes.” She said softly to me.
“Thank you!” I wanted to say more, I wanted to say what I was feeling ‘You’re sitting there with an IV plugged into the port in your chest, you have no hair, and yet you’re able to give a compliment. That takes grace, and strength, and I so admire it.’ Of course, I didn’t say any of those things. I just smiled at her and then refocused my attention on my mom who was busy talking with the nurse.
When I looked up again, she smiled again. “You’re new here. Last week was your first time?”
I let out a single laugh. “Yeah, we just joined the club.” She laughed too, an honest to goodness laugh, her smile lighting up her sad face.
“Joined? Or were drafted?” She joked. Both my mom and I nodded with understanding.
“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly voluntary.”
“I’m not sure who in their right mind would sign up for this willingly.” As she said this, all of our smiles faded.
“A masochist.” Came a voice from behind us, making me jump slightly. I’m not sure what I expected, but Dr. Rosenberg’s expression was unreadable at first. Perhaps part resignation, part anger, part… I don’t know. I hated the effect that just his voice had on my body, but just hearing him made me tingle as my heart rate sped up. In the damn oncologist’s office? Nice, Steph. Real nice. He glanced at Sherri, but she immediately looked down and pretended to bury herself in her book, making him roll his eyes and shake his head slightly before he returned his attention to my mom.
“How are you feeling, Barb?”
As my mom looked up at him, I could see just how much this disease and treatment had already taken from her… and it was only the second week of chemo. Gone was her flirtatious coy self. It was as if she realized that no amount of flirting could change any of this.
“I’ve felt better, doctor.”
He nodded, and put his hands in his pockets as he turned and looked like he wanted to say something to Sherri but she refused to look up. When he turned back to me the intensity in his gaze both frightened and turned me on. All it took was a few words out of his mouth for that to change.
“Doctor, I have a question about my mother’s drain.”
“Have you talked with the doctor who put it in?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Whatever he said probably still stands.”
God I hated how dismissive this man could be. Dismissive and utterly cold.
“I understand that, but being that you’re her oncologist, and we’re here, I thought…” I looked at my mom and then back at Dr. Rosenberg and knew this was only going to upset her. “Never mind.”
How on earth could I have been turned on by this prick?
He clenched his jaw as he stared at me. His penchant for eye contact was beyond unnerving. I held his gaze, unwilling and unable to look away.
“Stephanie, can I have a word with you in my office?”
I froze, then looked at my mother, my promise to her still fresh in both of our minds. I was a big girl. I could go talk with the good doctor like an adult. I kissed my mom’s forehead as I got up and followed the doctor down one of the football field sized hallways to his office. He didn’t wear a lab coat, so I watched the cheeks of his nicely shaped ass all the way. With what I’d been feeling lately, I allowed myself this little treat. His office was buried at the end, away from the treatment rooms, facing the ocean. As incongruous as it was, there was a feeling of serenity in there and I was grateful for the view as it allowed me to look somewhere other than at him.
Unlike facing Dave at the shoot a few weeks earlier, I didn’t feel disgust or regret or embarrassment. After the little exchange we’d just had, all I felt was anger. At him for being so cold and at myself for somehow liking this man. When I heard the door close, I turned to him and exploded.
“What is wrong with you?! Do you have any feelings whatsoever? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be on this side of the table? Is your time so God damned precious that you couldn’t even humor me and give me one of the many non-answers that seem to be commonplace from most of the doctors we see?!”
“Are you finished?” he asked impassively as he leaned against his desk, his arms crossed confidently over his chest.
“Finished? You’re the one who asked me to your office! And now you want to rush me out of here?
Jesus, seriously, what is wrong with you!?”
“I doubt we have enough time to try to answer that.” He deadpanned and I did a double take. This man seemed to be Sybil incarnate. Cold. Self-deprecating. Oddly caring at select times. Scarily reflective. Sad. Unfortunately, I softened. I hated that I did, but there was something about him that was so broken, even after him being such a jerk, I couldn’t stay mad at someone who wasn’t being mean in that exact moment.
Exasperated, but now calmer if not resigned, I said, “If you could just take a step in our shoes, see this disease from our perspective.”
“I can… my wife…” he looked down at his shoes.
“You’re married?!” I may have been many things, but a home-wrecker? No. Not after growing up with someone who made cheating part of her marriage.
“No.” he paused and I was relieved until he corrected himself. “Yes, technically, but no, not really, not anymore.”
“You either are or you aren’t.”
“I’m in the middle of a divorce. We’ve been separated and living apart for almost a year.”
“And your wife has cancer?!”
He smiled tightly. “Your opinion of me is just going from bad to worse, eh?”
“I’m not the jackass screwing around on my cancer-stricken wife right before I divorce her.”
“I don’t expect you to understand. But for what it’s worth, she’s divorcing me. I just need to sign the final papers, but our marriage has been over for a long time. And before I kissed you, I hadn’t been with anyone but her.”
Well that took the wind out of my sails. I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry about your wife.”
“Thank you. Me too.”
There was an awkward silence where we just looked at each other. Finally, I filled it in.
“Why did you ask me to your office, Dr. Rosenberg?”
He chuckled tightly and shook his head as he looked around, like the walls of his office held the answer.
“You won’t believe me.”
“I may think you’re a cold prick, but you don’t strike me as a liar.”
He laughed. “That’s the second backhanded compliment you’ve given me.”
“It wasn’t much of a compliment.”
“I take what I can get.”
“So, why am I here Dr. Rosenberg?”
“Brad.”
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t going to play this game again.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we kissed.”
“You what?”
“I said, I haven’t—”
“I heard you, I just…”
“Don’t believe me?”
“It’s very hard to. You make it very difficult.”
“Hard to believe I have emotions other than indifference and callousness?”
“Look, I should go.” I didn’t know what I was feeling for this man, but he was so messed up, whatever it was I shouldn’t have felt it. He was way more than I could handle. I started walking towards the door and he grabbed my arm.
“Please don’t.” he said with such intensity, though it was more than that. He said it like if I left, it would be the last straw, like he needed me there. I felt myself weaken. He obviously sensed it too as he grabbed hold of my other arm, stared into my eyes and then leaned down to kiss me. His kiss was just like him, it was passionate and angry and intense and sexy. And I returned it. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did. Once again, he walked me backwards as we kissed until we hit the wall. His mouth was all over mine, his stubble rough against my lips, his teeth tugging at, playing with my lips. He slid his hands down and cupped my ass as he lifted me.
“Wrap your legs around me, Stephanie.” He growled into my ear and as I did, I could feel he was already hard. I moaned as he bit that sensitive spot on my neck, every part of my body responding to what he was doing. I ground myself against him and tightened my legs, wishing I hadn’t worn a dress. Wishing I had something more between us than just my underwear and his pants. Because what my body was feeling was too much. Just like when he kissed me at the hotel, I was actually feeling. I wasn’t just going through the motions, I was feeling sensation and excitement and passion.
He shifted so that just one hand held me up as his other hand unzipped his pants and he pulled himself out. As he started pulling my panties down, I had the wherewithal to pause him.
“Condom?” I panted and he looked at me like I was nuts. It took him a moment to come back to reality as he shook his head and slowly let me down.
“No, no condom.” He panted and then leaned his forehead against mine as he put his hands on the wall behind me. “Fuck.”
“Not without a condom.”
He opened his eyes and smiled, a genuine smile, and then leaned in and kissed me tenderly. As he did, he shoved his shoes and pants off with his feet and then slowly made his way down my body, first pinching, then kissing and gently biting my nipples through my dress, the sensation shooting all the way down making me moan and arch against the wall. As he kept going I realized what he was about to do and stiffened.
On his knees in front of me, he looked up.
“Dr. Rosenberg.” I half panted, half pleaded.
“Brad.” He smiled.
“Brad, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know that Stephanie. I want to. Let me. Let me make you feel good.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He lifted my skirt and pulled my panties down. I’d never let a man do this to me before, ever. It was way too intimate, and I’d felt way too exposed. It seemed like the kind of act reserved for someone I trusted and I’d never trusted anyone I had been with. How could I have when I never knew any of them? So whether I actually trusted Dr. Rosenberg or was so drained from the emotional ping pong, I couldn’t have said. But I didn’t push him away. For the first time, I allowed a man in in a way no one had ever been before. Intellectually, it made no sense. Given everything I was going through with my mom, I felt more vulnerable than ever before. I didn’t feel weak in the way I used to see her, but I couldn’t find the strength to stop him. He kissed me and licked me and touched me until my legs started trembling, and that wonderful tingling and warmth that I had only ever before felt by myself started welling up and spreading inside me. Part of me wanted to stop it, giving this to him scared me, but I was past the point that I could stop any of it. My legs were shaking so hard I thought I might crumple, but he held me until it overcame me and I shattered as I panted and gasped, stunned by the sheer force of it.
When he poked his head out from under my dress and looked up at me, I was mortified as I saw my juices all over his face. But my embarrassment was quickly accompanied by astonishment. I just had a real orgasm with a man. My first time I didn’t fake it. Ever. And it was with Dr. Rosenberg, in his office, while my mother was down the hall getting chemo.
Realizing what I’d just done, and who I just did it with was incredibly sobering. It wasn’t just that I happened to be literally stone cold sober.
My expression must have changed, must have said it all. Brad walked around his desk to grab some Kleenex to wipe his face. He still had no pants on and I couldn’t help but look down at his now softening cock. I guess the horror on my face killed the mood. There wasn’t anything I could say that could possibly explain what I was feeling and thinking, not that I could have put it into words anyway. I picked my underwear up off the floor, smoothed my dress out as best I could and then, like a coward, without looking back at him, without saying a word, I walked out.
As I walked through the hallway, my emotions were a bunch of tangled nerves. Part of me was elated that I could actually feel so much with a man after years of wondering if I’d ever be able to experience that with anyone other than myself. But the elation was mixed with worry over what just happened. Worry that he’d reject me the next time I saw him, and that I’d just done something so incredibly wrong. I put my underwear on in the bathroom while I checked my reflectio
n. I prayed my mom wouldn’t notice how red my lips were. When I got back, I was relieved to see that she had dozed off, so I slid into my chair and gently nudged her.
“Oh, honey, I must have nodded off.” She said groggily.
I smiled feeling like heel, knowing what I’d just done. “Ready to go?” She nodded and I helped her up. We were the last people there and the nurses were busy tidying up.
We walked out slowly and as we got to the hallway, I looked to my right to see Dr. Rosenberg standing there, his expression unreadable, watching us as we left.
I was sure I’d just crossed some major ethical line, but instead of only feeling bad about it, I actually wanted more. Maybe it was because I actually had an orgasm. Or perhaps because I wasn’t shit-face drunk. Or that I knew him. For normal people, those would probably be good reasons, but I’d never had a normal relationship with sex. I’d never had a relationship, normal or otherwise. And knowing what little I did about Dr. Rosenberg, he wasn’t normal. Regardless, I’d just blurred one more line.
CHAPTER 9
Even though it had only been two chemo treatments, the side effects hit my mom hard. The day after this last one, she called me at work saying she felt like she had the flu, she had chills all over and was vomiting over and over again.
