by Queen, Roxy
“That can’t be so bad,” he says.
“No,” I laugh. “That’s definitely not bad. But they’ve got all this baggage and you can’t add to it.”
“God, you’re going to be the next Freud or something.”
“That’s the plan.” I finish my beer and see that the dartboard has opened up again. “Another game?”
“Guess you want to get your ass kicked twice tonight.”
“How about this, if you win the next game I’ll introduce you to Janelle.” Dave’s not a bad guy. A knucklehead but he treats women well. I’d rather she go home with him than some random asshole at the bar.
“No shit. Really?”
“Yes, but you treat her like a gentleman. Not like a piece of meat.”
He offers his hand and we shake on it.
Chapter 12
(Audrey)
“Mmmhmmm.”
“That feels good?”
I nod my head lazily. Two weeks have passed and I’ve advanced to lying on my back. Graham’s straddling the end of the bench with my legs on either side of him. “I went running yesterday and my calves are really sore.”
“Here?” he asks, pressing into the skin.
“Yes. Ouch. Yes. Exactly.”
His fingers inch upward, gently caressing the skin on my upper thigh, occasionally dipping to the soft inside flesh. Again, I fight a mixed reaction of part arousal, part fear. Nevertheless, the rules are specific; he’s not allowed to touch any part of my body covered by the fabric of my tank or shorts.
“How often do you run?” he asks. We’ve both realized my blood pressure lowers when I’m distracted. Conversation helps.
“A couple times a week. I’m terrible at it, though.”
His hand trails gently up and down.
“Why do you say that?”
He switches to using his fingertips, gently scraping his short nails down to my knee.
“I’m slow as molasses. Seriously, a turtle could out run me.”
He laughs and grabs my heel to extend my leg. My foot swipes against his crotch. His very hard, very protruding crotch.
Um. Wow. I guess that answers any questions I had about his sexual orientation.
He doesn’t stop his movements, focusing now on my other leg. If he can ignore it, so can I. “What kind of workout do you do?” I ask, because it’s become increasingly obvious that he works out. A lot. Two sessions ago, as he promised, he cut back on his own clothing. Each day he meets me at the door in a tight t-shirt and workout shorts. His arms are corded with lean muscles and his broad back and shoulders dip and curve. I’ve noticed his flat stomach and his chest… God, I have to look away from his chest.
“I run a little, too, and do some weights. Lately, I’ve gotten into parkour.”
“What’s that?”
“Climbing and jumping,” he explains, his voice coming from near my feet. I can’t see his face from my position. “Like where you run, climb a wall, and jump down without killing yourself.”
“I’ve seen that on commercials and stuff. Very cool.”
“It’s not too hard. You just have to have a lot of strength and balance.”
I snort. “Yeah, two things I’m not blessed with.”
The music stops and Graham reaches for my hands pulling me to a sitting position. We’re close to one another, face to face, and my hair flows down my shoulders. He takes a handful and says, “You’ve got the prettiest hair.”
“Life as a ginger, pretty hair, pale skin, I burn like a lobster in the sun.” My eyes dart downward to see if he’s still…interested. Yes. Apparently so.
I assume his compliments are an effort to stall a bit. I avert my eyes and mumble, “Thanks.” Then I stand and head for the bathroom.
I change quickly and swipe a brush through my hair. Graham meets me at the door with an envelope. “Dr. Markson wanted me to give this to you. See you next week.”
“Oh, orders from the doctor. I’m never sure if I should be excited or nervous.”
If he knows what the note says, he doesn’t reveal anything. “Maybe a little of both, have a good weekend.”
“Bye,” I say, and stuff the letter into my bag. It’s not until later that I’m thankful I opened it in the privacy of my home. Because, holy shit, I think I would have died if Graham had been there.
Why?
Going to a sex shop is not a big deal.
It’s not.
I keep telling myself that after reading for the third time the note Dr. Markson left me. She’s asked me to take a field trip to the local sex boutique, Heaven, and buy a personal device, a dildo, for Christ’s sake.
In what I’m aware is a classic Audrey moment, I sit in the car willing myself to go inside. I can do this. It’s a store. That’s all, I tell myself, as if words will make me grow a pair of balls and complete this task. I peer through my windshield and look into the front window of the store. Sexy lingerie and leather accessories stare back at me. Sure, I ordered a slutty outfit online for Valentine’s Day, but I’ve never been in a shop like this. Dr. Markson was specific that I had to actually enter the store and purchase the dildo before our next meeting.
I pick up the phone and call Reese. “I just can’t go in there. Not alone.”
“Well, sweetie, I’d love to shop for a dick with you, but I can’t. I’m at work.”
“Can’t you play sick?”
“No. I can’t,” she says. “But I’m sending you all my good vibes and positive juju. You’ve got this.”
“Ugh. You suck.”
“Like a ten dollar hooker.”
I hang up and stare out the window again, ducking when a car pulls next to mine. Good grief. I’ve lost my damn mind. As if anyone going into the sex shop is judging me on going into the sex shop, I scold myself. Desperate, I pick up the phone again. I’m doing this, but I’m not going alone. I scroll through the phone and stop on the one other person I can call in a situation like this. I press dial and wait.
“Hello?”
“It’s Audrey. I need your help.”
*
My knight in shining armor shows up in an ancient, battered, green Land Cruiser. He steps out with a smile, takes my hand, and leads me to the doorway of the big, scary store.
My nails dig into his palm, and he says, “What’s the problem?”
“I don’t think I can go in there.”
“We’re going to go in, pick out something, and leave. That’s all. Why is that such a big deal?” His tone is gentle, yet serious. He really wants to know.
“Everyone in there will think I’m having sex.”
He stares at me. “Yeah, so?”
“But I’m not. I feel like a…fraud.”
“Audrey,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down my arm. The motion soothes me. “No one in there cares about you. Do you think about why people are buying certain foods at the grocery store? It’s the same thing.”
“It’s not,” I tell him, but I know I’m being stupid. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
We enter the store and I can feel my eyes pop wide open. Graham glances over and smiles. “You’re a mess,” he laughs.
“What do you even do with that?” I’ve stopped to stare at what looks like a small statue of a baby. “Is that Jesus?”
“Ah,” Graham says, picking up the package. “That appears to be a butt plug baby Jesus.”
“A what?”
“You know a butt plug, for your um…” He makes a gesture.
“Out of a baby Jesus? Stop it. That is so wrong.”
He shakes his head and replaces the package. “Well, good thing we’re not here for that. Let’s go check out the wall of dildos.”
“Ugh.” We pass baskets of lubricant, edible panties, and several blow-up dolls. Toward the back is a huge display of personal devices. All shapes, colors and sizes. “Oooh!” I cry, grabbing one with rhinestones covering the sides. “So pretty.”
Graham takes it from me. “I don’t think that
’s quite what you’re looking for.”
I eye the shelves and pretend I’m not about to burst into flames just being in the boutique. “To be honest? They all look so…big.”
He takes my hand and rubs his thumb over mine. He’s being very touchy; but then again, so far, our relationship is based on touch and his movements calm me. God, he’s turned me into one of Pavlov’s dogs. One touch and I’m drooling with complacency. “I imagine that it’s overwhelming for you. Let’s just get something very basic. No bumps or ridges or spikey things.”
I gulp. “Spikey things?”
“How about this one,” he says; pointing to a slim, pink, rocket shaped one. He grins. “Bonus, it vibrates.”
“Whatever. Let’s just get out of here.” I snatch the package off the shelf. The guy working behind the counter has large circular gauges in his ears and dark, swirling tattoos creeping up his neck.
“Is this all?” he asks, and I’m sure I can hear the judgment in his voice at how pathetic my vibrating dildo is. Not freaky enough, not sexy enough, just awkward and lame. Basically, the description of me in sexual terms. Lame. I can’t even do a sex store right.
Graham nudges me with his elbow, and I say, “Yes. That’s all.”
The clerk rings me up and I pay. He hands me a black bag, and I clutch it like an old lady and her purse on the way out the door. Graham fights a wide grin, unable to hide his deep-set dimples. When we reach the car I ask, “What is that smile about?”
“I’m proud of you.”
“For what? Buying a hot pink, vibrating dildo? It looks like it’s for a sixteen-year-old’s slumber party.”
“It’s perfect. You’ve conquered another fear and I’m happy for you.”
I roll my eyes. “Doesn’t take much to impress you, does it?”
He squeezes my hand and opens his car door. “See you in a couple days.”
“Bye.” I wave as he drives off and I get in my car. The black bag sits in the driver’s seat, the package peeking out of the top. The sight of it makes me feel queasy. I catch a glimpse of my face in the rearview mirror. My cheeks are bright pink and my eyes are big as saucers. I may have accomplished a challenge today, but there’s something else making me nervous.
Dr. Markson wants me to have a dildo. But what does she expect to do with it?
*
“So, how was your assignment?”
“A success, I guess. I had to call Graham to help me.” Dr. Markson has on a flower print, blue and lavender dress with matching Birkenstock sandals. A tiny, butterfly tattoo, in red and blue, is inked on the inside of her ankle.
“Asking for help isn’t a sign of failure.”
“Then it was a success,” I say definitively, hoping we can move past this topic. She pushes her glasses into her hair; and I can tell by the inquisitive expression on her face that she’s nowhere near finished.
“Have you experimented with it yet?”
“Um…no. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with it.” Dr. Markson quirks an eyebrow, and I say, “I know what to do, just not what my assignment was exactly. From you. What you wanted me to do,” I sigh. “Sorry. I’m feeling a little nervous.”
“Is something different today?”
“I don’t know. Things are going well with Graham and our meetings; but I know we’ll be increasing our contact, and I guess I’m not sure what the, uh, dildo has to do with all that.”
“You’re worried I’ll have you introduce the device in your sessions with Graham.”
My fingers wrap around the edge of the chair cushion. “Yes.”
“Don’t worry; that device is for your personal use. I’d like you to start using it at home, so you can get a little more familiar with your body in a setting you have absolute control over.”
“So what exactly should I do?”
“Explore yourself. Find out what arouses you when you aren’t in a defensive situation. Have you used a vibrator or other device before?”
My cheeks flare with heat. “No. Not really. I’ve had orgasms before, manually stimulated by my boyfriends. But I don’t know, masturbation just seems so…”
“So what?” she probes.
“Weird? Lame? Lonely? I don’t know. I’ve never seen the appeal.”
She smiles at my confession. “Well, despite all of those reasons, I’d like you to practice several times a week at home. Get comfortable with your body. Work through any negative self-talk.”
“Okay,” I say, but I can’t see myself doing it.
Dr. Markson checks her watch. “We have a couple more minutes. How are things going with Graham?”
“Good, I think. I’m not exactly sure how they’re supposed to go, but I think we’ve made progress.”
“He thinks so, too,” she says. “He’s very impressed with your willingness to participate and how open you are about your fears.” Her comment clarifies that he talks to her after our sessions. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“He’s great. Very patient.”
“How do you feel when he’s massaging your body?”
“Good.” I shrug, feeling a little awkward talking about it. “He’s very thorough, but he always follows the guidelines you leave, so I trust him.”
“Any other feelings? Like physical ones?”
“Sometimes it tickles,” I laugh, thinking about the first time Graham found the spot inside my knee that sends me into a quivering mass of giggles.
“Anything else?”
I know what she’s getting at. Am I aroused during our sessions? The answer is yes, but it feels too personal to share. It’s something between Graham and me. We both get aroused; but so far, we have kept those stirrings to ourselves. I’ve seen the tenting in his pants. He’s surely noticed the raised, hard pebbles of my nipples. Without going into such detail, I say, “Yes. It feels good. Really good.”
She nods and switches questions. “Do you feel like you’re ready to move forward?”
“That depends, I guess. Where do we go from here?” I ask.
“Currently you’re clothed, but in arm and leg revealing clothing. Graham has exposed your legs, arms, hands, feet, and neck. Are you ready to remove your shirt?”
The burst of anxiety boils inside. I take a deep breath. “Naked? Or with my bra and underwear?”
“Not naked. No. Just step-by-step.”
“I think I would be ready to take off my shirt. I’m not sure about my shorts.” The thin layer of cotton over my panties feels like a protective double barrier between him and me. I’m not ready to give it up.
Dr. Markson makes a note in her book. “I think that’s an appropriate next step, if you think you’re ready. And Audrey, please understand that each phase from here on out may take a while longer to work through the exposure. It may take days to get comfortable as you reveal yourself more and more. Frustration is going to become a common feeling.”
“Trust me,” I say, looking out the window. “I’m quite used to feeling frustrated.”
Chapter 13
(Audrey)
For two days, The Rocket (as I’ve come to name it) has sat in my bedside drawer wrapped in a towel, beneath three heavy textbooks. I had no plans on using it. In fact, I figured I would just lie at my next appointment with Dr. Markson. Like she’d know if I masturbated or not, right?
Then, I met the girls for Sunday brunch, a bridesmaid meeting. Jessica’s wedding is six weeks away and everything needs to fall into place. Dresses, shoes, hotel reservations, airline tickets…that’s right, she’s having a destination wedding. Jessica’s wedding will take place on Cumberland Island, on the beach. We’ll take a private boat to the island and stay at the historic inn. It’s turned into this major event. Jessica’s father is a CEO at Coke, and nothing’s too good for his baby girl. Once the official planning has taken place and everyone has downed a couple of Bloody Marys, the focus turns once again to men and sex.
Of course.
“The rooms at the inn are very romantic,
” Jessica says. She’s the only one that has been to the inn before. Reese went camping on the island once in the 8th grade with her Girl Scout troop to see the wild horses, but she didn’t go to the inn. “Audrey, do you think you’ll bring a date?”
I swallow the remainder of my drink. “I’m not sure. When do you need to know?”
“In the next two weeks. If you don’t have a date it’s no big deal, I’ll just have you room with someone else. My niece is sixteen. I’m sure my sister will be happy to get her out of their room for the night.”
Great, I think. Now I’m the babysitter. A different surge of panic rolls in my stomach. I do not want to be dateless at this wedding. In fact, after everything I’ve been through for the last month, I feel a strengthened resolve. I will not be alone on this trip and I plan to enjoy it to the fullest. “I’ll let you know before then.”
Hours later, a half-empty bottle of wine rests on my coffee table, along with the remains of Thai takeout. The credits for a Nicholas Sparks movie roll across my TV screen, and I’m missing Zac Efron’s biceps already. He’s hot, and the combination of wine, a cheesy romance with a naked Zefron in an outdoor shower, and my new resolve has put me in the mood to attempt my homework from Dr. Markson.
I leave the couch for my bed, stopping first to double check the locks on my front door. I flip the metal bolt and secure the chain, because God forbid someone walk into the middle of this. It’s stupid, but I even pull the privacy curtains tight, even though they’re sheer and don’t provide much privacy. I may be tipsy, but not so much that my irrational fear of being caught by someone walking in my apartment is gone. Who would walk in? No one. There’s not a soul who has any reason to come in, other than the landlord, but like I said, irrational fear.
I’ve thought this moment out. I plan to recreate the environment of my sessions with Graham. I dim the overhead lights and light a variety of candles around the bed. I search my iPod for the hypnotic, trance-inducing music of “Explosions in the Sky” (I finally asked Graham what he played every session.) Then, finally, I strip down to my tank and shorts, grabbing my hot pink rocket. Armed and ready, I burrow under the covers.
