Stanton Adore

by T L Swan

  “Ok, back to the conversation. Once and for all tell me why you think he’s cheating. I want ten reasons.” I wave my teaspoon at her. “No excuses.”

  “Ok,” she nods. “We used to see each other every night but now he’s a partner in his law firm I don’t see him much through the week.”

  “Ok, maybe he’s just working,” I answer.

  “Maybe,” she nods. “The sex has dropped off.”

  “By how much?”

  “Well it used to be three or four times a week and now it’s like once a week and usually I initiate it.”

  “Maybe he’s tired and stressed.”

  Abbie pipes in. “Bullshit.”

  “Abbie, you can’t comment. Boyfriends are different to one–night stands,” I mutter.

  “Ok, agreed,” she nods.

  I love Abbie, she’s a self–proclaimed sneaky slut. By sneaky slut I mean when we are out and having a great time dancing and drinking, she just disappears. Twenty minutes later we get a text telling us she’s gone home. She has a few boys in her kitty as she calls it. We know them as number one, first reserve, tall guy, hot guy, army guy and she has a tradie as well, although I don’t know what he does. Number one always has right of way if he’s out although I think army guy is rising through the ranks pretty quickly. Bridget and I know them all by sight but in all honesty have probably not spoken more than a dozen words to any of them. She likes it like this. We love her honesty and good on her if she can do it without guilt—why not? I could probably take a leaf out of her book and loosen the hell up.

  “And,” Bridget continues, “he’s started to guard his phone.”

  “Hmm, that’s not good.” We all silently sum up the situation.

  “And get this, last week when I stayed at his house I was looking in his drawer and he has bought all new underwear.”

  “Yeah, but maybe he just needed new undies.”

  “No, they were nice like nice, nice not everyday undies.” We stay silent and sip our coffee as we listen. I purse my lips as I think. “And then there’s the manscaping.”

  Abbie chokes on her coffee. “Manscape,” she blurts out.

  “Yes, please stop laughing. This is not funny.” I want to laugh myself but instead I frown at Abbie, symbolizing for her to shut up. My ability to keep a straight face when I hear the ridiculous is an added benefit of my job. “Last time we were together I noticed he’s like…” she whispers and leans into the table, and we both lean in instinctively to listen. “You know, done some extreme grooming.”

  Abbey narrows her eyes, “Did you ask him what that is about.”

  “Yes, when I first noticed it he seemed embarrassed and then said he did it as a surprise for me.” “Do you think it was?”

  “No, I don’t. And, get this, he’s clippered off his chest hair.”

  “God,” I breathe and sit back. “I hate manscaping.”

  “Why?” Abbie pulls a disgusted face. “There’s nothing worse than a hairy guy.”

  “You’re kidding,” I snap.

  “Don’t tell me you like hairy guys?” she pulls a disgusted face.

  I smile. “I do actually.” I nod to accentuate my point. “I like the difference in their body to ours. We are soft. They are hard. We are smooth. They are rough. You know, the whole Yin and Yang thing. It’s the differences that turn me on.”

  “Ugh, all of the guys I’m with manscape and if they haven’t I comment that I want them hairless before I see them again.” Bridget and I are both shocked, our eyes wide.

  “You actually say that?”

  “Yes, of course, wouldn’t you?” We both shake our heads.

  “No, god, no.”

  “Girls, have I taught you nothing. Ask for what you want. Men are stupid. They will do what we ask.”

  Bridget scrunches her nose up in disgust at Abbie. “The guy I’m going out with is a lot of things. He may be an adulterer and a prick, but stupid isn’t one of them and Tash is so damn picky.” They both turn their attention to me. “When was the last guy you were actually with?” Bridget glares at me.

  “What’s with the Spanish inquisition?” I roll my eyes.

  Abbie chimes in, “Yes, she’s right. Are you on the forty–hour man famine?”

  I smile, “No one really gets me hot. All the guys I meet are just so…average.” I hunch my shoulders.

  “Oh no,” Abbie scowls toward the counter.

  “What?” I ask as I sip my coffee.

  “It’s tunnel cunt.” I can’t help it—I spit my coffee all over Bridget.

  “Oh fuck, Tash, watch out.” She starts to wipe the coffee from her top, as I am in a fit of giggles.

  “Who in the hell is tunnel cunt?” Bridget laughs. “And how in hell did the poor girl get that god–awful name?”

  “See that blonde at the counter?” We all lean in, “She’s an ex–stripper and she has her eyes on James.” James is Abbie’s flat–mate who she worships.

  “How do you know she has a tunnel cunt? Actually, what is its definition?” Abbie and I are in fits of giggles.

  “Shut up you two.” Abbie scowls. “This isn’t funny.”

  “How do you know she’s tuning James?”

  “He told me.”

  “Oh,” I answer as I nod.

  “Does he like her?” Bridget asks as she continues to watch her.

  “He said not, but I’m keeping my eyes on her just in case.”

  We all nod. “Good idea,” I mutter. We all watch as TC our new girl on the radar passes our table.

  “Ok, anyway, where were we?”

  “Oh I know and I don’t like to pick up for the sake of it, you both know I’m not like that.”

  Abbie shakes her head in disgust.“You’re missing out. One day you are going to be forty–five, married and bored as hell and you’ll look back to these years and think I wish I had slept with all those hunks that were hot for me when I had the chance, and my body was smoking hot. You know the well dries up and turns into cellulite.”

  I smile at her. “It’s ok Abbs, I’m pretty sure you’re fucking enough for the three of us.”

  She scrunches up her napkin and throws it at me and we all giggle.

  “Ok back to you Bridget. I think we need to set a trap.” I smile as I call the waitress over to reorder more coffees.

  “Ohh I do like your wicked mind.” She purrs.

  “Now let me think,” as I rub my chin.

  The movie screen plays a rerun.

  “Natasha, make love to me. I need this connection with you.” His lips linger over mine tenderly. “It won’t hurt as much this time baby. It’s getting easier isn’t it?” His open mouth runs down the length of my neck.

  Buzz. “Natasha, your ten o’clock is here.”

  I rein in my now pounding heart. “Ok thanks Marg,” I buzz her. What the hell. Christ, how can he still affect me this much after seven years apart? I drop my glasses and put my face into my hands on my desk. With my left hand I rub my face in disgust. I literally still have a physical effect from my memories of this man. Why can’t I stop thinking about him? My heart rate, my breathing. I’m wet for fuck’s sake. Good god! With disgust I head to the bathroom, shaking my head. Five minutes later I stare into the mirror in my office bathroom and blow out a deep breath. I look like crap. I wash my face and repull my shoulder–length chocolate hair back into a ponytail. I am in my green scrubs, a mandatory uniform at SSAC, which stands for Sydney Sexual Awareness Clinic. Our boss feels it desexualizes us. If we are all wearing hospital scrubs we look more professional, more clinical. I have to agree. I actually look sexless. I could be male or female and you wouldn’t be able to tell. I don’t wear any makeup to work as a twenty–five–year–old, perhaps semi–attractive female. I try to play down my looks. My patients are damaged, beautiful but damaged. They all have a problem relating to sex or sexualisation. They don’t need a psychologist throwing her sexuality and seemingly normal life in their face. What a joke. The irony is I’m
just as damaged as them. Some days I feel like I should be the one on the black leather recliner chair telling them my problems, venting my insecurities. Today being a prime example. I take a deep breath and talk out loud to myself, like a total head case. You’re just unsettled because he’s coming back. I take a deep steadying breath. He’s long forgotten you Natasha, it’s time you forget him. With a resigned shake of my head, I mutter into the mirror. I wish.

  I read through my clinical notes.

  Patient: Bethany Marcus

  Symptoms: Anorgasmia/inability to orgasm

  Clinical Notes: Bethany has been unsuccessful in climaxing for a period of three years. It began when she went through a traumatic experience, i.e., her husband had a twelve–month affair. The marriage has survived; however, Bethany has been troubled since the ordeal. Bethany also suffers violent sexual dreams which are distressing to her. Bethany blames herself for her husband’s infidelity.

  Aim: Bethany would like to stay happily married to her husband Anthony. She would like to fulfil her role as a wife and mother to her family. Bethany would like to be able to forgive her husband and resume a satisfying sexual relationship with him.

  I blow out a breath. I really like my next patient. Bethany is beautiful and smart, with absolutely no confidence. Her cockroach of a husband has done a total number on her and then lets her blame herself for his inability to keep it in his pants. If I had my way I would just tell her to leave him, but I can’t do that. I have to help her work towards her goal, which unfortunately is a happy life with Anthony. I would like to see Anthony but Bethany won’t allow it.

  I open my office door.

  “Hi Bethany.” She smiles shyly and walks into my office. I gesture for her to take a seat. “How have you been since I last saw you?” I ask.

  “Not very well,” she quietly answers.

  “Oh, why is that?” I ask. She stays silent as I sit and wait for her answer. Sometimes waiting for answers is the hardest part of this role. She shrugs her shoulders.

  “I see.”

  “How have you been?” she asks me and I smile. This is typical Bethany, she always puts others before herself and she sees me as a person and not just her therapist.

  “Me. I’m good,” I answer. “A little demotivated this week,” I shrug and smile. “You know how it is.” She nods, grateful that my life isn’t perfect. “Tell me what’s happening,” I urge.

  “Anthony told me I am terrible in bed.” Her devastated eyes meet mine. What the fuck.

  “How did this come about?” I ask, trying to control my anger. This guy is a total worm.

  “We were in bed and you know my problem,” I nod and stay silent. “I just can’t come, I don’t know why. It doesn’t matter what I do, what I think about, it just doesn’t happen.”

  “I see,” I nod. “And what happened then?” I keep my voice monotone so as to not throw her train of thought.

  “As usual, he got frustrated and asked what the fuck was the matter with me.”

  “Ok,” I nod. “What did you say?”

  “I told him to just finish off as it wasn’t going to happen. And then, well he just finished off, and rolled over.”

  “I see,” I stay silent to let her finish but she remains silent. “What happened then?”

  “I told him I was coming to you.”

  “Had you not told him before?”

  “No, I hadn’t.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He told me that no expensive doctor could make me receptive in bed, that I’m a cold fish and that he’s never been with a woman who is so unresponsive.”

  “What do you think of that?” I ask.

  “He’s right,” she sighs.

  “I don’t believe that,” I assert. “You may be unresponsive to him at the moment, but it’s not physical, it’s totally emotional. Bethany, I treat both men and woman who suffer from Anorgasmia and they are in loving relationships with a person they can trust.” She nods as she listens. “Have you thought about what we talked about last visit?”

  “Yes,” she says. “It’s not going to be possible.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because he doesn’t know I haven’t orgasmed in three years.”

  I cross my arms. “What do you mean?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “I’ve been faking it all along.”

  I nod. This is common. “Do you think you should come clean?” I give her a small empathetic smile.

  “No, he would be devastated.”

  I nod, “So it’s ok if you’re devastated, just not him.”

  “I know how this looks,” she whispers.

  “How does this look Beth?” I urge.

  “That I am a martyr.”

  I smile. “Is that what you think?” I ask her softly.

  “Do you?” she asks.

  “No, I don’t think you’re a martyr. Would it matter to you if I did?”

  She nods her head.

  “It shouldn’t matter what anyone thinks Beth, only you.”

  “I care what you think,” she smiles. “You’re the only person who knows about this.”

  I frown. “You haven’t confided in a friend?” I ask, a little shocked.

  “No. I don’t want my friends to judge Anthony, or me for staying with him.”

  “I see,” I answer. “Beth, do you think that the friends you keep are really on your side?”

  She looks at me as she processes what I have just asked her and then she shrugs. We both sit in silence as I wait for her to speak, but she doesn’t.

  Mmm, we will come back to this. “Did you speak to Anthony about foreplay?” She shakes her head. “Mmm ok, so can I guess you didn’t do as I suggested and ask him to try Viagra?”

  “I just can’t.” She looks so vulnerable my heart goes out to her. “I don’t want him to think that I think he’s not good enough for me in bed.”

  “But it’s ok if he makes you feel lacking,” I sigh. She nods. “Bethany, I don’t know a woman alive that can come in seven minutes of penetrative sex with no foreplay.” She nods. “You know Beth and this is off the record but I take at least twenty minutes to get in the frame of mind and then another twenty minutes, at least, of foreplay before I even want to think about sex. He needs to know that it’s not happening. Maybe he would try harder if he knew.”

  She nods. “Maybe.”

  “Isn’t that your grudge with him?” She frowns. “That he was dishonest?” She nods and hangs her head, knowing what I am going to say next. “Are you being totally honest with him Beth?”

  ”No,” she answers. I stay silent, waiting for her to process the information. “Last time I saw you we talked about trust.”

  “Yes,” she smiles.

  “How are the trust levels at home?”

  “I try, I really do, but I just can’t seem to get there.”

  “Beth, trust is not something that happens. It is a decision you make. You either decide you will trust him from now on, or you move on. Do you have trust that you will be ok if he leaves you?” She shakes her head. “I see, but if you move on with him and you haven’t made that decision to trust—to trust him and to trust yourself to be strong—you are setting yourself up for a lifetime of misery.”

  “I know,” she whispers. “It’s not completely his fault. I was so engrossed with the kids. I was just so preoccupied that I didn’t realize that he needed more sex and I let myself go and I didn’t even try to be sexy for him.”

  “Beth. Don’t you dare sit there and defend him to me. For the record you were busy with his kids. His children, not someone else’s. And you let yourself go. How ridiculous. I sit here and I see a beautiful, smart English girl who has left her family and her country to move to the other side of the world for a man who has taken her for granted.”

  “He would never have cheated if I was, I don’t know, more attractive.”

  I sigh. “Beth what do you see when you look at me?”

  “Wha
t do you mean?” she asks. I stand up and walk around in front of her and do a twirl.

  “Now, when you look at me what do you see?”

  She smiles, “A really pretty smart girl.”

  I laugh, “That’s funny Beth, do you know that in my past I have had not one but two.” I hold my fingers up to accentuate the point. “Two boyfriends play up on me.” Her mouth drops open.

  “But why?” she mutters under her breath.

  I shrug my shoulders. “Who knows, but it has absolutely nothing to do with me.” She frowns at me. “Men play up for a number of reasons, Beth. But the main reason is that they are lacking something within their own self–esteem. They need to feel desired or wanted or need their ego stroked. Whatever the reason Beth, infidelity is the path of a coward. Staying loyal to one person is hard work, and it’s something that both you and I strive for. And you can be proud of that. Many women when faced with an affair go down the payback route and only end up feeling a lot worse for doing so.” I stay silent, waiting for her to say something but she doesn’t. “There is only one way to receive equality in your marriage, Beth.”

  “How?” she asks.

  “Demand it. People in life treat you how you believe you deserve to be treated. If you think you don’t deserve to be satisfied in bed then you won’t be. If you believe your husband can do better than you, then he will think he can too. Beth, what you need to realize without me telling you is that you and you only can make changes in your life. Forget about Anthony and his problems. Let’s work on you.” She smiles a shy smile at me which I return. I sit on top of my desk with my legs crossed. “Now I have some homework for you.”

  “Ok,” she smiles, as she sits up in her chair, feeling a little empowered.

  “I want you to go to the adult warehouse and buy yourself a vibrator.”

  Her mouth drops open. “What?” she whispers.

  I nod and smile. “It’s time for you to take your sexuality back into your hands. Literally.”

  She swallows a large lump in her throat. “I’ve never, I don’t think. Anthony will freak,” she adds.

  “Anthony is not to know about this.” She looks at me wide–eyed. “What I want you to do is every day fire up the vibrator and give yourself foreplay without the expected orgasm at the end.” I wait for her to speak. She doesn’t. I smile. God I love their faces when I start talking sex toys. I walk over to my desk, open my bottom drawer and pull out my large demo vibrator. I turn it on and her eyes widen.