by Ronica Black
Her excitement had grown and she was prepared for the next two hours. There weren’t many things she enjoyed more than educating women about their bodies and their sexuality. In her practice she encountered so many, too many, who were ashamed of their genitals and afraid to ask for pleasure. It was the reason she had started doing these private parties, to teach women what they should already know and be comfortable with.
Chan glanced up and gave everyone a friendly smile as she finished. She unveiled the three-dimensional diagram of the female pubic region, grabbed her bag full of lubricants, and looked to Nicky for direction. Her hostess appeared to be flustered once again as she realized what Chan held in her hand.
“Everyone.” She spoke up, her voice high pitched and markedly nervous. “If we could all gather in the living room.”
The dozen or so women immediately followed the suggestion and filed into the adjoining room, where they sat on the various sofas and folding chairs that had been brought in for the party.
Chandler carried her diagram and bag of goodies over to the main couch and set them down on the coffee table next to the cinnamon candle. She smiled inwardly, remembering her similarly flavored lube and just how many times she had licked it up off someone. And then, seemingly from nowhere, a pang of yearning swept in, quickly clouding her mind. Bright blue eyes stared into her, burning her soul as they watched as she came.
She eased herself down on the sofa and fought to keep Sarah from her thoughts, but the strong, sexy cop kept reappearing, torturing her to no end.
Her attention was refocused, however, when Nicky’s nervous voice rose above the excited hum.
“This is Dr. Brogan,” she announced, placing Chan’s glass of water on the coffee table, her eyes careful to avoid the large polyurethane vagina that stared up at her. “Everyone please make sure your name tags are on so Dr. Brogan knows who you are.”
The women all voiced various hellos and a few laughed like nervous schoolgirls. This group all batted for one team and one team only. Not only were they straight, but as she looked around at the group of soccer moms and middle-aged married women, Chan knew they were straitlaced as well and not likely the type of women that experimented.
She glanced down at herself, conscious that she was dressed nicely, but in her black slacks and matching pin-striped gray and black blouse she was not nearly as feminine as the females surrounding her. Her jewelry was the same as always, platinum, tasteful, yet somewhat bold, not remotely similar to the choices these women made. Most wore their nails long and painted, with average-size diamonds on their wedding fingers, their hair highlighted and styled just so. Chan tried to relax, knowing that while she was in her element with the knowledge she had, she wasn’t a part of this group. Never had been and never would be.
She sipped the water to wet her palate. Then, making sure that all the ladies were seated and ready, she began, a knowledgeable minnow in a room full of clueless sharks.
“Okay,” she breathed out, returning her glass to the table as she organized her thoughts. Vagina, clitoris, G-spot, some info on anal pleasure. Then on to orgasms, masturbation, and toys. “Welcome, everyone. My name is Dr. Chandler Brogan. And for the next two hours we’ll be talking about female sexuality.” She picked up the model, turning it for all the women to see. “Now, the first thing I would like to discuss is the vagina.” The women whispered and shuffled, a few giggling nervously. “Most women aren’t even aware of the power that they have in their vaginal region alone.” More snickers.
Chan stood then, knowing that she needed to hold their attention and guide them into a zone that many found embarrassing or uncomfortable. She’d discovered long ago that women came to these parties for many different reasons, including peer pressure, and it wasn’t wise to assume they were all at ease with the subject matter. Even though she knew this party was being thrown with a bachelorette theme, she still needed to be prepared for those guests that came out of obligation rather than fun. Her eyes traveled to two elderly women in the back who looked a bit apprehensive, and she began.
“I assume everyone knows where the clitoris is?” She walked slowly around the room, meeting the eyes of all who dared to look at her and her handheld vagina. Of course she knew that most if not all knew where their clitoris was, but she was treading lightly, giving the women a brief introduction. “It’s here,” she said, sliding her finger along the distended shaft. More than a few sets of eyes darted away, their discomfort more than evident.
Sighing with frustration, she returned to the sofa, realizing she would have to use one of her old tricks. She had seen this all too often: women and the shame they held in regard to sex. She placed the model on the table and dug into her goodie bag.
“Let’s start off with some fun,” she declared, holding up a handful of sample lubricants. “The things we’re going to discuss tonight might be a little uncomfortable for some of you. We’re going to talk about vaginas, penises, orgasms, et cetera. I’m not here to make anyone feel uncomfortable, so if you would rather not be here…” She motioned with her hand toward the exit. No one moved as she watched and waited.
“Okay then, what I’ve got in my hand”—she held up a tiny orange packet—“is flavored lubricant.” This won some more interesting remarks. “I have all different flavors.” She rifled through the pile. “Orange, strawberry, cherry, grape, cinnamon.” Chan’s eyes rested on Nicky, the hostess, who blushed profusely. Smiling, Chan said, “Some of them—like the cinnamon, for example—produce a warming sensation when applied.” Some oohs and ahs floated in from the crowd. “They’re lots of fun and I have plenty of samples here, but only for those who can come up with the dirtiest, crudest words for sex.”
She raised her eyebrows for emphasis. “For instance, I’m going to start with the word ‘vagina.’” She pointed quickly at a thick-waisted brunette who sat staring like a scared deer. Reading her nametag quickly, Chan instructed, “You, Susan, think of a word for vagina.”
The woman stammered, looking around wildly.
“Don’t think, just say it!” Chan encouraged. “Hurry!”
Susan met her eyes and jerked to life as Chan pressured her.
“Pussy!”
Laughter erupted around the room as Susan’s face lit up and she smiled, regardless of the heat in her cheeks.
Chan praised her quickly. “Pussy, yes, excellent.” She tossed Susan a purple packet of flavored lube. The woman juggled it, her reflexes not so quick. Chan moved on, hoping to keep up the momentum and the energy. “Quick, you.” She looked to the woman seated next to Susan. “Julie. What’s another word?”
The woman paused, unsure. “You mean for vagina?”
“Yes, quick, hurry! Not pussy, but…”
“Cunt?” she asked, obviously unsure, squeezing her shoulders up.
“Cunt! Beautiful!” Chan tossed her a pack of lube as some of the women clapped. “What’s another one? Come on, anyone. I’ve got a whole bag here.” She shook the bag as she looked around the room. Someone spoke up from the back.
“Coochie!”
“Coochie wins a prize!” Lubricant began to fly across the room as Chan continued, encouraging the women to speak up, unafraid. The ladies, in turn, began to relax, calling out anything and everything they could think of as Chan tossed packets into the air.
“Cooter!”
“Fuzzy clam!”
“Pu-nonnie!”
Her eyes fell upon the two quiet ladies in the back, the only two yet to give answers. They were older, perhaps in their seventies, and she thought for a moment that if anyone was likely to get up and leave it would be them.
Aunt Betty, according to her nametag, sat with her large purse clasped in her lap, and the other woman looked completely ashen. Chandler figured they had expected more of a bridal shower–type gathering, and she hoped they weren’t as uncomfortable as they appeared. The room grew painfully silent as Betty, the woman with the purse, stared Chan down.
“Little man in
the canoe!” she declared as Chan braced herself for a voice of disapproval.
She nearly fell over with relief and Betty grinned proudly and shrugged her shoulders as laughter and applause rocked the room. Chan slid a hand into the pocket of her slacks and laughed softly at Betty’s choice of words. Everyone was relaxing now and she was thrilled, but there was still one woman left who hadn’t given a response: Betty’s friend, Dorothy. The older woman fiddled with her dangling earring while Betty nudged her with an elbow. Dorothy bit her lower lip, which had a generous helping of bright lipstick.
“Come on, say something!” Betty encouraged her.
“I don’t know!” she quickly retorted.
“Don’t give me that. You used to cuss like a sailor.”
Dorothy seemed about to protest, then thought better of it. Instead, sitting up straighter as if it helped her gain strength, she said, “Mud flaps!”
The two best, most unique answers of the evening had come from a pair of unassuming elderly ladies. Chandler was not entirely surprised. She’d discovered long ago that appearances were not always reliable indicators of sexual awareness or behavior. Tickled pink, she laughed along with the other women as Dorothy stood up and began prancing around proudly.
She stopped in front of Chan and held out her hand. “Where’s my prize, girlie? Make it the red, the kind that tingles. Fred and I are gonna heat things up when I get home.”
More laughter ensued as Chan obligingly unloaded a handful of the cinnamon, which Dorothy cradled carefully and gleefully back over to her chair, where she dropped them in her purse. With her hands on her hips, Chan waited patiently for the laughter to die down. Everyone seemed to be relaxed and feeling fine, their faces glowing. She felt good too, the best she had all week.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “Okay, now that we’ve all heard and learned”—she looked to Betty and Dorothy with a grin—“some terms for the vagina, let’s learn a little bit more.” She pointed to the clitoris. “We all know that this is the clitoris. But can anyone tell me what it does?”
She glanced around. Most of the women were shaking their heads. Chan pressed on. “Why is it there? What’s it for? Certainly it must have a biological reason, right?”
A woman from the front spoke up, “I don’t know, it just feels good.”
“She’s exactly right.” Chan responded, tossing her another lube. “That’s it, ladies, that’s the answer.” She glanced back down at the model. “This little bundle of fleshy nerves is on your body for one purpose only. For pleasure.”
“You mean it doesn’t do anything else?”
Chan folded her arms across her chest. “Nope.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nada.” Chan could almost hear the wheels in their heads turning as they took in the information. “The clitoris is there solely for your pleasure.” She began to pace as she spoke. “Now I ask you, how many of you have been taking advantage of this? I mean, we are the only sex that has such a gift.”
“What about the penis?” Julie piped in. Chan merely smiled.
“What about it?” she continued before anyone could answer. “Think about it a minute. The penis has functions other than those of just pleasure. It ejects sperm, as well as urine.” She paused, then continued. “Without the clitoris could we still procreate? Could we still urinate?”
They all nodded their heads in agreement.
“Now that you know a little bit about this great, wonderful gift that’s nestled between your legs, let’s talk about the fun we can have with it.” She moved around toward the vibrators that sat displayed on the counter behind the sofa.
“Some of you have had clitoral orgasms, some of you have not. For some of you, it’s the only way you can climax.” She held up one the smaller vibrators. “And even though we are all the same in that we have similar body parts, we all have different preferences. Some of us like a lot of clitoral stimulation, while others don’t. I like to think of it as a doorbell. You don’t necessarily have to push the button hard and directly in order to make it ding. But then again, sometimes you do.”
“So you’re saying it all depends on what kind of doorbell we have,” Lynne said. The room chuckled at the analogy.
“Exactly. With me personally, if someone immediately goes to ring my bell hard and directly, they get kicked across the room. I can’t handle it.” Chan noticed that all eyes were trained on her. She smiled, glad that she was reaching them. “That’s why it’s important for you to experiment, play with your bell, learn what it is that you like and don’t like. Ring your own—” The doorbell chimed at that exact moment, startling Chandler, causing everyone to laugh.
“Sounds like someone wants to do it for you,” Betty let out, clapping her hand on her knee.
Their hostess rose to leave the room, but a male voice sounded from the other side of the house, along with the deep barks of a dog. “I’ll get it!” he called out, bringing his wife to a halt.
She seemed relaxed now and her eyes were dancing as she returned to her seat. “Please continue, Dr. Brogan,” she encouraged politely.
Chan met her smile. “Thank you, Nicky, I think I will.”
Chapter Eleven
Sarah stood at the door and squeezed the bottle of wine in her hands. She glanced around and noted all the cars on the street. A neighbor of Dave’s was, no doubt, having a party. A blue sedan backed into a space between two cars a few doors down and she watched automatically, certain the driver had miscalculated and was about to slam into the car behind him. To her surprise, he managed his way into the tight spot, but instead of getting out of the vehicle and heading for the party, he remained in the driver’s seat, engine off.
She watched him for a moment more, curious. But when he put his cell phone to his ear she turned her attention back to Dave’s. Laughter drifted out from inside the house, and her heart rate picked up as she realized that her invitation to dinner might not still be good. She hadn’t spoken to Dave since Monday, when he had confronted her about her behavior. But she had talked herself into showing up for dinner, wanting to make good with her friend. And to be more honest, to force herself out of her apartment and force her mind away from Chandler Brogan.
She felt the nauseous burning of shame rise up again as she thought about their uncomfortable meeting. How could she have been so stupid as to think that going to a shrink would solve her problems? What Chandler must think of her. Her thoughts were stifled as the door swung open and Dave stood looking at her in complete astonishment. “Sarah.”
He opened the door farther, showing off his basketball shorts and worn T-shirt. She knew by the look on his face that he hadn’t planned on her showing up. Killer, his chubby bulldog, immediately trotted out with excitement and began sniffing her boots.
“I’m sorry, Dave. I took a chance that dinner was still on.” She felt awkward, but more than that, she was concerned. He must be really pissed at her if he had thrown away their plans.
“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just thought you wouldn’t show, not after what happened on Monday and all…”
“No big deal.” She held out the wine, her peace offering, while trying not to step on the bulky, wiggling bulldog. “I see that you have other plans.” She heard more laughter from inside. She swallowed against her raw throat as the loneliness made itself known again. “Please, take this and I’ll see you later.”
Her eyes threatened tears as she waited for him to accept the bottle. She wanted, needed to leave before the pain grew inside. What was wrong with her? Why did she care if Dave made other plans? Had other friends?
“Oh hell no! You’re staying.” He tugged her inside and eased the door closed with Killer already trying to latch to her leg. “Thank God you’re here, I was about to go crazy!”
Puzzled that he was suddenly whispering like a little boy who had secretly stayed up late, she shook Killer from her boot and moved a few paces into the hallway. Keeping her voice low, she asked, “Why, what’s going on
?”
“Nicky’s hosting one of those, ya know, sex toy parties.”
Sarah stared at him a moment in disbelief, then her throat loosened and the sadness that had threatened to break like a gathering thunderhead dissipated. Cracked up by not only his words but by his uncomfortable expression, she laughed out loud.
“Shh!” he insisted, leading her farther into the house. “Killer, no!” he commanded his pet. The bulldog released her leg, enabling her to walk.
“Are you serious?” She fought the laughter but couldn’t hide her smile. Nicky was wilder than she thought, and she couldn’t pass up teasing Dave over it. No one else would’ve been able to. “Not keeping up your end in the bedroom, eh, Houston?”
She laughed again but was suddenly silenced as she heard a familiar voice. Her ears homed in as her mind placed it. Suddenly, her entire body grew tight and she found that her mouth was too dry to swallow as she turned to the living room, her emotions downshifting yet again.
The voice was low and smooth, humor lacing every word. Sarah crept up to the wall just as she had as a child and laid her hands on its surface as she imagined who was on the other side.
“Listen all you want,” Dave said, stepping up past her. “I’ll go get you a beer.” He walked off into the kitchen, leaving her alone at the wall.
Barely able to breathe, she peeked around the corner. Her insides burned as her eyes swept over the wonderfully delectable body of Chandler Brogan. The doctor stood confidently, holding her audience completely captive as she talked about the small vibrator in her hands.