by Queen, Roxy
Are you religious?
Have you suffered sexual abuse?
Did your family have strict or lax boundaries regarding sex as you were growing up?
The questions went on and on, almost a hundred. By the time I finished, I no longer could tell if I answered like a crazy person or not. They’ll have to figure that out on their own. Stuffing the papers in my purse, I get out of the car and ride the elevator to the eighth floor. This time Dr. Markson greets me a moment after I enter the waiting room and ushers me into her office.
“I’m so glad you came back, Audrey,” she says. “How are you feeling today?”
“Okay, I guess, a little more nervous than yesterday.”
“Why is that?”
“I guess I’m one step closer to committing myself to this.”
“Well,” she says with a smile. “Let’s get it over with. Follow me.”
She walks to the opposite side of the room and stands by a door I hadn’t noticed the day before. She brushes her thick, gray hair out of her eyes and says, “I rent out the entire eighth floor of this building. I have the office you’ve just seen and a study lab for my students and other various projects. This room has been set up exclusively for this experiment.” She pushes open the door and reveals what looks like a tastefully decorated studio apartment. This is a little smaller than my own. It has a kitchen, a living area, and dining area that includes a small round table with two chairs. The living area contains a love seat and couch, both covered in deep red fabric. A cream-colored throw rests carefully over the back of the love seat. I glance around and notice that across the room is a luxuriously made bed with a handsome, dark cherry frame.
“I um...” I say, trying to absorb what’s going on. “I’m confused.”
Dr. Markson chuckles. “Come in and let me explain.”
I step into the apartment and sit on the love seat. Dr. Markson arranges herself on the couch across from me. “Let me explain the idea behind what I want to do and how I want to help you.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to keep my eyes on her and away from the bed. What the hell is that doing here?
“Exposure therapy is when we expose the subject to their fear in small, manageable doses. For example, if a client has a fear of dogs, we would start by looking at photos of dogs and then viewing dogs from a distance behind a fence. Then, maybe, go see dogs at the park. All of this incrementally until the patient is ready to actually come face to face with a dog and pet it.”
“So I’m the patient and the dog is sex?”
“Exactly. As I told you in our first meeting, most past experiments with sexual anxiety have been treated with medication or cognitive therapy. Those have their place; but for someone like you, a person with an absolute fear of penetration, with no physical problems, I believe exposure therapy may work better than anything else.”
I cross my legs in discomfort and try to ignore the way my heart races in my chest.
“I think that if we place you in an environment with strict parameters that we control together then we can cure you of your anxiety.”
“What do you mean by control together?”
“To put it bluntly, I want to expose your vagina to a penis.” My eyes pop wide open and my heart tries to jump out of my chest. “Eventually,” she adds. “Not immediately, of course, but eventually.”
“Where do you plan on getting the penis? Whose penis are you talking about? I don’t really understand what you’re saying.”
“Audrey, you will come to this apartment three times a week and meet with an approved associate of mine. Someone I have chosen specifically to work with you. This person has been trained for this experiment and your needs. He will work according to the rules and parameters I have set according to the phases of the experiment.” She stands and walks across the room and opens the refrigerator door. From inside, she pulls out two bottles of water and hands one to me. I break the seal and take a long drink. “Phase one, for example, will be a massage with clothes on, just on the shoulders. The next time you come, it would be a foot massage. As you become comfortable with each level, you will move to the next phase of exposure.”
“Until I’m ready to have actual sex.”
“Yes, penetration.”
“With a guy I don’t know.”
“Well, by that point you will know him fairly well.”
“What if we don’t get along?” I say, as though I’m actually considering this crazy plan. Which I’m not… because it’s crazy.
“If you’re truly uncomfortable at any time, we can reassess the situation.”
I study Dr. Markson while trying to figure out if I’m being punked, which would be really mean and terrible; and I would totally have to have therapy to recover from. Her eyes are clear and her expression seems genuine. I’m sure she’s not tricking me, but I ask anyway. “Are you for real with this? You want me to have a sexual relationship with a man I don’t know?”
“Yes, although like I said, by the time you have sex with him, you will have known him for quite some time. He is someone I have chosen carefully, out of a pool of candidates. He’s clean of sexually transmitted diseases. He’s intelligent and well groomed. He understands the foundation of the experiment and he is very willing to follow all of my guidelines. Everything that transpires between the two of you will be confidential between you, him, and me.” She pauses and says, “Audrey, you’ll be safe with him.”
I take a deep breath at the word safe. Because isn’t that one of my issues? Fear and trust? “Wow, that’s….can I think it over?”
“Of course. I would like to know in the next twenty-four hours though, so I can get everything together. I will need to make the scheduling work for everyone and finalize the paperwork.”
“Okay,” I say. My mind is going a million directions and my stomach hurts a lot; but again, I feel the tiny twinge of something deep in my chest that makes me know I’ll at least consider this woman’s crazy offer. That feeling, which is just as scary as the others, is hope.
*
“You’re actually doing this?” Reese looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. She waves over the waiter and motions for another margarita.
“You’re the one that told me to!”
“I had no idea you were going to have sex with a stranger,” she argues. “That’s really…wow. Just wow. What if he’s gross? Like smells bad?”
“Dr. Markson said he was specifically chosen. I mean, I’m not expecting Channing Tatum to walk through the door, but I don’t think it will be Seth Rogan either.”
Reese laughs and moves our empty glasses aside so the waiter can replace them with full glasses, one salt, one not. I’m the not. “Okay, sure; but really, you’re willing to lose your virginity to some guy you don’t know?”
“The alternative hasn’t worked out so great.”
“True,” she says, grimacing. “Maybe it will be easier with no strings attached.”
“Maybe; I mean, I’ll have to get to that point anyway. I have to pass phases or trials or something.”
“Like watching porn?”
“Could be. She mentioned massage and becoming comfortable with my body.” The wave of nausea that has been lingering over me all afternoon rolls over me like a tsunami. “I feel really hopeless and this may be my only chance to finally deal with this once and for all.”
“It sounds unconventional; but then again, so is your problem.” Reese taps her finger on the table for several beats. “Okay, I think you should do it.”
“You do?”
“Why not? This guy could be totally hot; and he’s obviously trained in the art of sex; so maybe in the process you’ll get, like, a couple good orgasms and learn a couple things.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Oh, God, that sounds like a nightmare.”
She scoffs before tipping her drink back and taking a huge gulp. She licks the salt off her lips. “Whatever, girl. Let me know if you want to share him because with Alex working the la
te shift, I could use a nightmare like that.”
Chapter 5
(Audrey)
My student teaching supervisor, after speaking with my principal, worked it out so that I could leave school three days a week at 3:30 in order for me to make my 4 PM appointment. Dr. Markson had sent a formal letter to my supervisor explaining that I’m involved in an important experiment with the psychology department. Whatever it said, must have worked, because no further questions were asked. She then sent over the contract for me to sign and return. I’m now officially part of this program.
I may pee my pants.
Dr. Markson isn’t going to be there today and she gave me instructions to enter the apartment by the other door, the one marked 806 in the hallway. She felt it would be best for me to meet Graham, my partner, without a third party present.
Ugh. Everything about this is so weird.
I have obsessed for hours over what to wear for this first meeting. It’s not a first date but at the same time, I feel like I should make a good impression. Because my student teaching assignment is with third graders, I typically wear something casual. Today though, I have settled on a green print wrap dress and boots. I wore my hair up in a ponytail, which I think looks nice but not too sexy. It also doesn’t look like I spent hours in front of the mirror curling or straightening it, like I would before a date. Because this isn’t a date.
Ugh. Everything about this is so weird.
I wipe my hands on my dress, staring at the numbers 806 on the gold metal plate. This is it, Audrey. You’ll walk in that door a girl and eventually come out a woman.
“I’m such a loser,” I mumble to myself, and twist the doorknob.
A man hops up from the love seat when I enter. He has dark hair and a defined, closely shaved jaw. He’s handsome, definitely not smelly or gross, and strangely familiar.
“Have we met before?” I blurt, trying to place him.
“Um… I don’t think so,” he says, flashing a heart-stopping smile. His eyes meet mine and they’re bluer than blue. Henry Cavill.
“Oh, I saw you going up the elevator last week.”
“Right. Of course, I remember that,” he says with an even brighter smile. Adorable dimples appear on his cheeks. He holds out his hand. “You were loitering in the lobby. I’m Graham.”
I remember why I’m here and my face burns, surely, turning bright red. I take his hand anyway and say, “Audrey.”
“Right.”
“Right,” I repeat feeling like an idiot.
“Would you like to sit down?” he asks.
“I guess so, thanks.” I take the same spot as the other day but this time I sit in the middle, hoping he doesn’t try to sit next to me. What am I doing here?
Graham sits across from me and says, “I know this is all new for you, but please don’t be uncomfortable. Dr. Markson has told me all about your situation and I just want to help. I think together we have a really good chance of defeating your anxiety.”
His speech is so sincere and he’s giving me the most empathetic smile. I want to die of humiliation. Covering my face with my hands, I groan, “Oh, God, this is so embarrassing.”
“Why?”
“Because you know I’m a defective misfit; and you’re here to help me with something I never share with anyone. Like ever, yet you’re just talking about it like its normal.”
“It’s your normal,” he says.
“Yeah. Whatever.” I cross my arms over my chest and nervously look around the room, anywhere but at him. I notice a small black journal on the coffee table. “What’s that?”
“Those are our instructions and guidelines for the day.” He picks the book up, and says, “Want me to read them?”
My stomach burns from anxiety. I want to run from the room and never look back. “I guess we may as well see what this is all about.”
He flips open the cover and reads, “Day one: Greetings and introductions. I’d like you to begin stage one of the exposure therapy. Graham will massage Audrey’s shoulders, hands over fabric. No skin touching, for a minimum of twenty minutes.”
“For the record, I’m not big on people touching me.”
“Well,” he says, putting the book back on the table, “I guess that’s why we’ve got a time limit and specific instructions. We’re going to approach each of your anxieties one at a time.” He stands. “Will you move over to the chair by the window? I think it will be better for the massage.”
“Okay.” I reluctantly stand and eye the door. There’s no way I can escape without looking like a bigger fool than I am already. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t like to be touched. I just don’t like to be touched by strangers,” I tell him, sitting in the seat with my arms wrapped around my body.
Graham walks across the room and adjusts the lights, lowering them across the room. The gray, overcast sky outside tinges the whole room in gray light. “Do you mind if I turn on some music?” he asks. Anything is better than the oppressive quiet, so I shrug. He spins through his iPod and stops on something, an instrumental. Next, he lights a couple of candles scattered across the room. When he finally stands behind me, I tighten my grip on the seat of the chair and hold my breath, bracing myself. He leans down and says quietly, “Are you ready?”
“Yes. I guess so.”
“Tell me if I need to stop or something. You’re in control.” The first thing I feel is the soft touch of his fingers moving my hair over my shoulder. The movement is light and fluttery. My entire body tenses in reaction. Then he begins the massage. My muscles are tense and taut, even my jaw is clenched protectively. He can touch me, I think, but I don’t have to relax. Graham’s doesn’t seem deterred by my hunched shoulders and lack of cooperation.
Just like instructed, he never strays from the area of my shoulders or near my skin. After a while, I have to admit the pressure feels nice, good even, and my shoulders slump. I inhale the spicy scent of the candles and close my eyes.
“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he says a short while later, lifting me from my thoughts. I open my eyes. He’s standing before me with a pleased smile.
“It wasn’t. Thank you, for the massage.”
“You’re welcome.”
We face one another in awkward silence, the parameters of our relationship new and strange. “Are we done for today?” I ask.
“Yes, I think so.” He shrugs a little and smiles. “You know, this is sort of new for me, too.”
“That makes me feel a little better.” I laugh and walk over to get my bag by the door. “I’ll see you on Wednesday?”
“Yes, I’ll be here.”
“Don’t forget to bring those magic fingers.”
He laughs and it’s hard not to like him based on that laugh alone. And the dimples. “I won’t.”
Chapter 6
(Graham)
I’ll admit meeting Audrey for the first time took me by surprise. What is my first impression? She’s attractive, gorgeous would be closer to the truth with long, red hair and extremely pale skin. Freckles cover her nose; her eyes are a brilliant green. They also carry a tinge of sadness, even when she smiles. I can’t help but notice she carries herself with a defiant air. If I met her on the street (or on the elevator), I would never assume she had a crippling anxiety disorder.
She left our first session joking about my magic fingers. I take it as a good sign that, at the very least, she’ll come back for our next appointment. I’m documenting these things from our session at the small kitchen table when I hear a sharp knock on the apartment door.
“Come in,” I say, assuming it’s Dr. Markson. She’s the only person who knows I’m here.
“How did it go?” she asks, walking past me to the refrigerator and removing a bottle of water. “Want one?” I nod and she places a bottle on the table in front of me.
“I think it went well,” I say, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. “She’s nervous but willing enough.”
“No major panic attacks?”
&n
bsp; I shake my head. “No. It’s more like she’s unconsciously protective. Arms crossed. Muscles tense. Jaw set. By the end of our time, she had relaxed substantially.”
“Excellent. Make sure you write all that down.”
I gesture to the laptop. “I’m already working on it.”
“How about you? Any problems?”
“No. I feel confident that we can work through this.”
“Me, too,” she says. “If you stick to the program, you’ll be fine. Veer off and things may get ugly. We can’t afford to let that happen.”
I think of Audrey’s sad eyes. “No, we can’t.”
She stands and leans her hands on the back of the chair. Silver rings flash on her knuckles. “If you need anything let me know. If you feel unprepared or need additional training or assistance, I’m available. Don’t forget that.”
“Thank you.” Dr. Markson is a fantastic therapist. She’s also my mentor and I’m lucky she’s given me the opportunity to assist on such a groundbreaking experiment. Countless other graduates would kill for a spot on this team. I would never jeopardize her work. “I won’t. Moreover, you can trust me. I have high hopes for this experiment.”
She smiles, taking her bottle and going out through the back entrance, leaving me to my thoughts and notes.
Chapter 7 (Audrey)
To my surprise, the instructions for Wednesday and Friday are the same. Massage. Outside the clothing. No skin touching. Twenty minutes. With the routine set, I’m able to relax a little faster each day. Graham follows the rules with strict precision and, increasingly, I have no concerns that he’ll go beyond the parameters. We’ve never touched, skin to skin, other than our handshake on the first day. Obviously, this is intentional and part of the therapy. I can appreciate the concept. It works.
Graham is incredibly patient and careful. No sudden moves and no veering from the script. Once he snagged my hair and he apologized softly in my ear. In our short time together, he’s made me feel comfortable and safe. I struggle on a daily basis with those two things. Am I ready to have sex? Do I feel safe? Do I trust the person I’m with? In this room, I’m beginning to feel protected, like I’m wrapped in squishy bubble wrap. Because of this, I think I may be ready for him to go to the next level, touching my neck or arms. I would let him do that. He’s earned my trust.
