“See how this feels?” I rub the side of the shaft over the palm of her hand. She smiles and nods. “If you rub the side of the shaft over your outer lips and clitoris it feels like the best oral sex you’ve ever had.”
“Oh,” she whispers, eyes wide.
“Have you ever watched any porn Beth?”
She shakes her head. “Only in high school,” she whispers. “And I didn’t really see the appeal.”
I smile and nod. “I want you to watch a few things for me.” She frowns, not understanding. “I want you to go onto a website called YouPorn. It’s the same as YouTube, but it’s people posting videos of sex.”
“Um, ok.” She looks worried.
“On the left–hand side of the page there is a category list.” She nods. “Click on love.”
She frowns, “Love?”
“Yes, there are some really tasteful lovely videos of couples in love having sex and trust me it’s nothing like the wham bam come in the woman’s face porn most woman are exposed to. Watch it with no sound, a lot of women are very audile and the sound of porn is what turns them off.”
“Oh,” she nods.
“And also click on the massage tab.”
“Massage tab?” she repeats.
“Yes, a lot of my patients find it really erotic watching someone get a slow massage finished by an orgasm.” I smile. “It’s very tasteful and kind of hot.” We both laugh. “And I want you to try something else.”
“Um, ok,” she nods.
“I want you to go and buy yourself some lube and begin to explore your body with your fingers again.”
“Oh god.” She looks down and twirls her hair between her fingers.
I smile. “Beth don’t be embarrassed, I talk sex all day. It’s my job.”
“Ok,” she mutters and smiles.
“Most woman have not brought themselves to orgasm with their fingers since they became sexually active and it really is a good way to reconnect with what you like and what you don’t like. Women’s bodies change when we have children and what used to arouse us doesn’t necessarily do it for us anymore. Remember Beth, you need to take responsibility for your own sexual health. Trust me, your husband will thank you later.” She smiles as she stands up to leave my office and shakes my hand.
“Those two boyfriends were idiots,” she winks.
“I know, “I smile and I wink back, “their loss.” I laugh and scrunch up my nose. “Remember I want thirty minutes a day private time.”
She smiles. “Ok, ok, I will. I’ll tell you how it goes next week.”
“Good, I look forward to it.” As she exits my office, I smile to myself. I should open a sex shop—I would be a fucking millionaire.
Monday mornings, definitely my hump day. Hard to get out of bed, harder to go to the gym before work, a healthy breakfast tastes more like cat food than All Bran and its damn near impossible to get motivated for the week at work. It’s freezing cold too to add salt to my wounds. It’s windy as hell. God I’m whinging today. Normally I have the excuse of too big a weekend, still silently suffering a hangover, carb overload, no exercise. Not today. I know the reason. It’s like the frigging day before Armageddon, like I’m walking to the gallows. I’m so nervous I feel sick to my stomach. I thought I would be excited. Though I’m looking forward to seeing him this weekend, I know that after Saturday night the beautiful man in my memories will be dead to me. He has long been dead. It’s just that damn movie screen inside my head keeping him alive, hero worshipping him. I know this is probably going to be the last week I can dream about him from afar, but reality is a bitch. A bitch that’s going to bite me hard on the ass on Sunday morning. I’m dreading it. It’s like I’ve already started to mourn the loss of him, even though he’s not even mine to lose. I am on the train, it’s an hour trip to work as I purposely looked for a job well out of my zip code. Don’t want to bump into any of my sexual psychotics at the coffee shop or grocery store. It’s a hassle getting to and from work but I feel safer having that bit of anonymity away from my patients. In the line of work I do my patients don’t want to bump into me either so it’s a win, win both ways. I shuffle up the aisle and take a window seat. I lean my head on the window, close my eyes and start to doze. I just need to get through the week. My mind wanders back to the man who haunts me, even in my sleep.
Finally this week is over—it’s been a marathon just getting through it. I am sitting on the plane waiting to exit at Melbourne airport.
“Why do they take so long to open the doors?” Bridget yawns as she stretches in her seat.
“Hmm, I know,” I answer as I stretch my legs. Brock our brother is sitting across the aisle with our parents and gives me a wink. I love Brock, he is in the navy, a seal. He is home in Sydney for three months which is unusual for him. He’s hardly ever home. You know, off saving the world and all that. He is six two and pure hard ass, he dotes on Bridge and me. Way over the top protective but I kind of like it. Bridge hates it. Brock punched her last boyfriend in the nose at Christmas lunch a couple of years ago. It was hilarious, although Bridge didn’t find the humour. What I didn’t tell her was that if Brock hadn’t done it I might have. Mark was his name, of course a total wanker. Boy, she sure does attract losers. I smile at the memory.
“What’s so funny?” Bridge asks me. I shake my head. If she only knew what I was thinking about. I finally enter the aisle and Brock grabs me from behind in a headlock and gives me a rough hug
“Your snoring kept me awake,” he whispers.
I nudge him with my elbow. “Shut up, I don’t snore.”