by Ana Sparks
“Wait, are you serious?” Jacki asked.
“Jessica?”
Amanita’s voice had that soft quality that it got whenever she was trying to be careful about someone’s feelings. I’d known that voice since high school, and while I usually found it soothing, right then, it really grated on my nerves.
I hated the pitying looks that everyone was throwing at me, so I gestured at their glasses.
“C’mon, guys, I just said that so you’d all have to drink.”
I winked at them and held up my glass, then took a big gulp.
“I mean, if we’re going to drink to that properly, we’d have to chug the entire alcohol supply,” Lanie pointed out.
She then nuzzled into Jane’s hand, and I made a mental note to make sure that nothing happened between them that night. Jane had been pining after Lanie for as long as I could remember, and I was not letting it finally happen when Lanie was drunk and might not even remember it the next morning. If Lanie was going to finally find her courage, she was going to do it while fully sober.
Everyone laughed at Lanie’s comment and drank, but Amanita and Mary were shooting me looks that were still far too concerned. They’d known me for two decades, and they also knew that I’m a horrible liar and that I rarely even bother with hiding the truth. I knew I’d be interrogated about that later. Crap.
The game moved on from there, with everyone getting progressively drunker as we went on. I could drink for some things, like flavored lube, and having been in handcuffs, but I couldn’t drink for having tried anal.
I wasn’t super adventurous in the sex department, in case you can’t tell. Let’s just say that my golf handicap was about the same as the number of people I’d slept with, and I was the top golfer at my club.
Right then, it was a good thing, because it meant I didn’t have to drink a lot, and I could keep an eye on the people who were. Mary was completely sloshed, Elian ended up having a boozy cry-fest, and Lanie passed out on Jane’s lap. By the time all was said and done, it was definitely a good thing I was there to help everyone get into bed.
I didn’t mind being the ‘group mom,’ so to speak. I’ve always liked taking care of people. And the girls were all—for the most part—sweet and funny drunks. Jane helped me carry Lanie back to her bedroom, where she snuggled under the covers and murmured Jane’s name.
“Wait for me in the living room,” I instructed, wanting to give Jane a pep talk.
Tessa and Amanita were able to stumble to bed on their own, Jacki just needed a guiding hand so she didn’t bump into a door, and all three apologized to me the entire time for being clumsy. It was adorable. I took a little extra time helping Mary.
“You’re the best,” she told me, flinging herself onto the bed. “You’re just so…so responsible. I love that. Why aren’t you responsible about orgasms? You should be more responsible about those.”
“My life is not defined by orgasms,” I told her, knowing that I sounded like a prude.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to have an orgasm. It was just that I had long given up on the idea, and I refused to let it keep eating at me, because I knew if I started to dwell on it…
Anyway. It was a silly thing, really. I had a great job that I enjoyed, and a wonderful group of friends. What else could I have wanted? Well, except maybe a long-term boyfriend…
“But orgasms are great!” Mary insisted, letting me pull the blankets up over her. “We’re gonna get you an orgasm, don’t you worry. I promise—just like prom when I promised I’d get you a date, didn’t I?”
“You did,” I reaffirmed. “Tony Marsden, quarterback and senior heartthrob. It was awesome.”
Mary smiled sleepily. “See? It’ll be just like that.”
I left Mary to her dreaming, talked quietly with Amanita about plans for tomorrow, and then spent the next hour or so with Jane.
Jane wasn’t hung up on Lanie, exactly. She had dated other people—and certainly slept with other people—since meeting Lanie in college when Mary and I had introduced our roommates to each other. But it seemed there was always a part of Jane that just couldn’t get over her, and it didn’t help that Lanie hadn’t ever addressed it or even breached the topic. It’s hard to try to get over someone that you’ve never dated, especially when you don’t know what their feelings are.
I knew that hurt Jane, the idea that she could be considered not worth the risk. I could imagine that it would hurt me, too. The only thing I could think of that would be worse would be that person lying to me, but at least Lanie had never done that. She and Jane had just been too busy avoiding the subject, dancing around it, for lying to even be a possibility. You can’t lie about the things you don’t discuss.
I didn’t mind staying up with Jane; counseling was kind of my thing. I found it a little ironic that the girl with the least dating and sex experience out of all of her friends was the one to give all of the sex and relationship advice, but I guess that’s not uncommon. Having an outsider’s perspective means you can be less emotional and more logical.
The problem, though, was that I ended up staying awake until three in the morning, and I had to be up early to help Mary. She wanted to present us all with gifts to thank us for being her bridesmaids.
Mary had always wanted a big wedding, which was fun, but also meant a lot of work from everybody, and she wanted us to know that she appreciated us stepping up. I’d told her that it wasn’t necessary and that we’d do it all for her again in a heartbeat, but Mary was just generous that way. It was why she was my best friend.
When my alarm went off in the morning, I sincerely debated rolling over and going back to sleep. But I wasn’t known as the responsible one because I stayed in bed whenever I wanted to, so I got up—or dragged myself up, really—and stumbled into a bathrobe and slippers to meet Mary in the kitchen.
She was awake already, miraculously, and prepping the gift baskets. She’d also brewed coffee, bless her.
“I need to just hook up an IV line,” I told her, the words sounding clear in my head but coming out croaky and garbled. “Caffeine drip, right into my bloodstream.”
“As a nutritionist, I cannot even begin to explain to you how unhealthy that would be,” Mary replied. “I’m making pancakes for everyone; would you mind heating up the syrup?”
“No problem.” Mary had always made pancakes for Amanita and me the mornings after we’d slept over at her house. “These little baskets are adorable, Mary—you really didn’t have to.”
“Of course I did; I want to take care of my friends,” she replied. “Speaking of being taken care of…”
I took a sip of coffee to brace myself. I knew that mischievous tone—and I should have known that Mary wouldn’t let the subject of my anorgasmia drop so easily.
“Now, I know you’re going to just say no right off the bat,” Mary said, “But I want you to hear me out first.”
“Okay…”
“I know of this guy; he goes by the name of Dr. O.”
I almost spit out my coffee.
“He goes by the name of what?”
Mary gave me a ‘you heard me’ look.
“He’s a professional.”
“You sure about that?”
“He has a medical degree and everything.”
“Those things can be faked, you know.”
“He’s an expert at teaching women how to pleasure themselves, both alone and during sex.”
“You realize you sound like you’re quoting a brochure.”
Mary sighed.
“Honey, I want you to experience this.”
“But what if I’m okay without it?”
“Are you?”
I shrugged.
“I mean, I am okay. I do want—I wish that I could have the same experience that you all have had. I want to share in that, since you all seem to have such fun with sex. I do enjoy it, even without the orgasms, but I just get so stressed out! I keep trying to figure out how to do it and I never get the
re, so it just becomes a disappointment for me and my partner. I feel like a disappointment, like there’s something wrong with me. Best-case scenario, I lie to them, and then I feel like crap for lying to someone I’m being intimate with.”
“You feel like crap for lying about why you’re five minutes late to work,” Mary pointed out.
“Honesty is important, okay?” I replied.
Mary was a proponent of little white lies and that sometimes a lie could be a good thing. I was not so on board with that.
“Anyway, I do want to have an orgasm, if only because I wouldn’t feel so incomplete.”
“Then go to Dr. O!” Mary said, flipping the pancakes.
“Mary, no. Think of what people would say if the news got out.”
I could already imagine the workplace whispers, the comments about what kind of woman past the age of thirty had never had an orgasm. I’d be the butt of every joke. My boss might even fire me; she was overly-paranoid about PR.
“The news wouldn’t get out,” Mary replied. “He has tons of clients and he’s very discreet.”
A thought occurred to me.
“Wait…have you hired him?”
Mary shook her head.
“No, I met him at a party. But I’ve sent some of my friends and clients his way and they’ve all reported him to be a great success, and quite the gentleman.”
I snorted. “I’m sure they have.”
“Just think about it, okay?” Mary said. “Just promise me that.”
“I’ll think about it,” I hedged, “But my answer’s not going to change. I’m not risking anyone finding out about it and hurting my career. And I’m fine, okay? I am perfectly fine.”
“If you feel like you’re a disappointment,” Mary pointed out, “Then you’re not fine.”
“Forget I said that,” I snapped, embarrassed.
I knew I shouldn’t have been so snappish with her, but I was operating on only a few hours’ sleep, and damn it, I’d gotten that far in life without an orgasm.
“Do you think this is the reason that you haven’t ever had a long-term relationship?” Mary asked.
I rolled my eyes. “No. Men just aren’t to be trusted, that’s all.”
“Hmm.”
Mary didn’t sound convinced. As I said, I’m a bad liar.
“Well, if you change your mind, just let me know.”
I snorted. Fat chance of that.
Chapter 2
Asher
Before we begin, I know what you’re thinking—why would a guy with an actual MD, a qualified OB/GYN, start providing a quasi-gigolo service?
Answer: Money. And fun.
Bills don’t just pay themselves, and while it’s true that doctors make a lot of money, that doesn’t start right away. You have to work your way up, same as any other industry, and I’d felt the specter of student loans creeping up over my shoulder. So, I’d applied my considerable skills to more interesting studies of the body.
It was a shame the way that women often weren’t given permission to explore their own bodies, raised to expect sex to be awkward, not told that they could demand their pleasure be just as valued as a man’s. I enjoyed helping them learn how to bring themselves pleasure, both on their own and with others. It didn’t hurt, I suppose, that I was rather in shape.
I don’t like to seem arrogant. I just prefer to state the facts.
The level of intimacy in my work depended upon the client’s needs and their level of comfort with what we were doing. Sometimes, I would simply show them how to pleasure themselves while they were alone and provide them with written tips for when they were with someone else.
More often than not, however, my clients preferred the full experience, so I’d show them how they could behave with a partner—whether it was positions that were particularly enjoyable, or how to talk to partners so that they understood what that client needed and wanted.
I was good at what I did. So, a few years in, I was not only free of debt and living a rather comfortable lifestyle, but I was also drowning in clients. I was at the point where I had to pick and choose because I simply couldn’t help everyone. I didn’t have the time.
I had few repeat customers, which was a good thing. Every so often, a client would think that there had been a deeper connection between us and would try to book me again.
Luckily, it was usually easy enough to sit them down and explain how the release of hormones during orgasm simulates a feeling of deep connection with your partner—a habit leftover from our earliest days as humans, in order to establish mating bonds and family units. I’d promise whatever they were feeling for me was merely the release of those hormones for the first time, and they’d be on their merry way.
Even without regular clients, however, I often struggled to decide who to help, and who I unfortunately didn’t have the time for. That morning, that was exactly what I was doing while sipping coffee, scrolling through my emails, and looking over booking requests.
I had originally established myself through word of mouth, having bought a second phone that people could call specifically for my services, but over time, I had found it easier to set up a website. Clients would fill out the application, explaining any health issues, their diet, a bit about their sexual history, etc.
I’d have more detailed interviews with them when we met up, but I liked to have as much information as possible beforehand. Always, when I wasn’t able to meet with someone, I would instead offer them tips and advice based on their application. I liked to think that it helped.
I was trying to decide between two applications when my phone buzzed. Getting a text on my work phone so early in the morning—especially with no prospective clients lined up—was unusual, so I gave it a look.
To my pleasure, it was from Mary, a nutritionist I’d met at a party about six months before. She had sent a few clients my way in the months since, even though she’d never visited me herself. Mary had been engaged when I’d met her, and if I was remembering correctly, had been about seven months off getting married, meaning her wedding would be coming up in about a month. She was a lovely woman, and very comfortable talking about things like sex, which I appreciated.
The text read:
Hey Ash! Sorry to bother you so early, but I was hoping you could do a sort of last-minute favor for me?
My real name is Asher O’Reilly, although not many people knew my last name. I tended to prefer anonymity, but since Mary had met me in a business-related party, she’d been introduced to me with my real name. I didn’t mind, since she had proven herself to be discreet.
I replied:
Hey, how’s it going? Are those wedding bells I hear in the distance? Let me know what the favor is and I’ll see what I can do.
Mary’s reply was almost immediate.
So glad you’re up! And thanks, haha—one month to go, don’t remind me. My best friend, Jessica, is in need of your help. She refuses to see you though, so it’ll have to be discreet.
I didn’t mind that. It was against my usual M.O., but I could make it work. I’ve been told that I’m charming, and I liked to think that my clients appreciated my personality as well as my skills in the bedroom. If Jessica was wary about going to see someone for something like this, then I could play the casual, coincidental hookup who finally taught her how to enjoy sex the way that it was meant to be enjoyed.
I got another text from Mary.
Here’s a picture of her!
I almost dropped my phone.
Jessica was stunning. I didn’t think that often, having been with so many women. In a way, it had given me an appreciation for all of the ways that the female form could be expressed, but it also meant that it took a lot for me to be impressed.
Right then, I was very much impressed. This Jessica had dark brown hair that fell around a sharply defined face with bright, clear blue eyes.
The picture must have been taken while Jessica and Mary were at the gym together, since Jessica was on a yoga m
at, grinning, her legs spread wide in a split. Clearly, flexibility wasn’t the issue here. She was wearing tight leggings and a sports bra, both of which clung to her and allowed me to see how in shape she was, with firm muscles, perky breasts, and tan skin.
She was the most beautiful woman I’d seen in a long time, and I loved the carefree smile on her face. It looked like she was having fun, and I loved women who knew how to have fun. Judging by the photo, I guessed that she was in her late twenties or early thirties, but Jessica clearly kept up with her body. I mean, being able to do the splits? That was pretty amazing.
I was already planning on helping Jessica out, since I liked Mary and it saved me the trouble of having to choose my next client. Instead of sifting through all of the options, I’d had my choice given to me. But now that I’d seen Jessica, I would have cleared my schedule even if I’d had other people lined up. It wasn’t often that I got the chance to work with someone as stunning as her.
I had a feeling that most people who interacted with her felt the same. It was hard for me to believe that she hadn’t ever had an orgasm. How could any man not see that beautiful creature and want to make her time with them as pleasurable as humanly possible? But, you never knew. I didn’t want to judge.
When can I meet her? I replied.
The response took a while to come. In the meantime, I wrote some responses to applications that I wouldn’t be accepting, providing them with some advice. One woman, for example, sounded like she just needed more time to warm up.
Explain to your partner that he’s skimping on the foreplay. Foreplay is just as important as the main event, not to mention that it’s good bonding time for a couple. It can also help the guy last longer, if that’s an issue. Take your time warming up and you’ll see how ready your body is by the time he’s inside you.
I responded to a few more applications this way, by which point Mary had replied. I read the text, glad to see that I wouldn’t have to wait long to meet Jessica.
How about this Tuesday?
That was in two days, but not a problem. Mary had also included the details of the bar at which I could ‘run into’ Jessica.
