The Sex Shrink of Seattle (Sessions #1)

by Kailin Gow

  We went into the green room and sat down and Tina disclosed all the reasons why she was such a brilliant agent. A guest appearance on Dr. Oz. Check. Keynote speaker at a self-improvement retreat in Hawaii. Check. Presentation for Sexaholics Anonymous. Negative. I didn’t do things like that; it wasn’t my type of crowd.

  A half hour later, I was in make-up getting the final touches on before I walked out onto the stage. The stage hand was instructing me about the callers that were already lined up and the audience members that were going to be asking questions. All basic stuff and when I looked at the stage manager, he was staring at me like a goofy pubescent boy. I saw the look in his eyes and I just played dumb. I was a one gender therapist.

  “Do you have any questions, Dr. Sessions?” the stage hand asked.

  “No.”

  “Great, you’ll be fine.”

  I placed my hands in my pockets briefly and replied. “I usually am, aren’t I?”

  He just nodded and scuttled off.

  Tina came up behind me. “Give him a break. It’s hard for you to be around anyone with a pulse who doesn’t get at least a bit aroused by your presence.”

  “Really, does that include you?” I asked. I smiled and kept my eyes on her, enjoying her response to bold questions.

  “Oh, Simon,” she said. “You know you’re sexy so stop playing coy with me.”

  “It seems rather ideal since I’m a sex expert, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s why you’re you and women love you.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. You can’t learn about intimacy in a book as well as you can from firsthand experience, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’m not confessing anything to you,” Tina replied. She turned to walk away and I couldn’t see her face but I was fairly certain she was smiling. Our little teases were an exciting part of her day and something I enjoyed rather well, too.

  Over the years men had grown to be rather jealous of me, making it so I didn’t have all too many male friends but I couldn’t help it. Great genetics and magnetic charisma gave me an advantage. And, of course, being smart helped, too. Whenever I’d struggled with a course in my life I’d just had to get a little private tutoring with the teacher to work my way up to that A.

  “Dr. Sessions, we’re ready,” the stage manager said, walking over to me.

  “Excellent,” I said. I breathed in, took a last glance at my image in the mirror just off stage, and walked out onto the stage to greet my people.

  There was loud applause, some whistles, and the sounds of women getting wet in their panties as they called out, “Simon.” I also heard the occasional gasp. I soaked it all in and used it as fuel to make a great show and deliver the ladies what they wanted.

  The substitute hostess, Rolanda Moore, was standing up and ready to give me a hug and a greeting. I’d hooked up with her once before, drawn in by her curves and smooth caramel skin. She was in her late 30s and had that rare confidence that many women closer to me in age—twenty-eight to be exact—seldom possessed. They thought they had it all and acted like they did but deep down they were still hesitant little princesses afraid to unleash their inner sexual beasts and unburden themselves from their hidden desires.

  I smiled at Rolanda and saw that she remembered very well how ‘pleasant’ our evening had been when we hooked up last month. We hadn’t seen each other since and as always, I impressed myself with how smoothly I handled the surprise of her presence. No one aside from the two of us knew about that night of wild sex. I think she would have done me on the hood of a delivery van if I’d allowed it.

  “It’s so wonderful to see you,” I said, hugging Rolanda tightly.

  “It’s been too long,” she said.

  In my opinion it hadn’t been too long. It had been just perfect.

  “Have a seat,” she said.

  I sat down on the couch next to her and sunk in, staring out into the audience.

  “I love you Dr. Sessions,” a loud, rather shrill voice called from the audience.

  “Then I’m a lucky man,” I said with a smile.

  Everyone gave their customary ‘awe’ sounds and then I turned to Rolanda.

  “Dr. Simon Sessions,” Rolanda purred. She smiled at me and turned to the audience. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he, ladies? We’re fortunate to have him here today. He runs one of the most highly regarded sex therapy practices here in Seattle.”

  “What’s your number?” another woman called.

  I smiled at her but didn’t respond. The first time I’d made a television appearance I’d thought it would be smart to share the number for my practice when someone asked that. I ended up with a booked list of clients who couldn’t afford to pay and also a bunch of tacky trinkets and flowers being delivered to my office, as well as a few boudoir photos, some of which I kept.

  “Our first caller is a young woman who has an issue she’d like you to help her with, Dr. Sessions. Are you ready?”

  “I’m always ready for you, Rolanda.”

  She giggled at my words and said, “You bet you are, doll!” Then she looked at the speaker box on the coffee table in front of the couch and said, “Are you there caller?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Dr. Sessions is listening.”

  “Hi, Dr. Sessions,” the soft, obviously nervous voice echoed out.

  “Hi, thanks for calling. What can I help you with?”

  I listened as she let out a breath and hesitantly stated her problem. “You claim to have so much experience with women sexually. I bet you’ve had sex with all types of women.”

  “That’s a lot to think off of my reputation,” I said. “As a therapist, I’ve worked with many types of women, this is true, but no two women are alike.”

  I wore my serious face and I knew that women loved to hear the words I’d just spoken because they felt like I understood them. More than anything, they longed to be unique. I turned to the audience. “Do you all think I’ve had sex with all types of women?”

  Everyone eagerly shouted, “Yes.”

  “You can do me now, Dr. Hot Stuff,” one woman shouted.

  I didn’t answer but smiled in the general direction the voice had come from. “Right now, it’s time to help this caller. Tell me what’s going on,” I coaxed.

  This time when she spoke her voice sounded a bit more confident, more intelligent and professional. “Being a man of experience, what type of woman does a man truly prefer? Does he want a virgin or a whore?”

  “That’s the eternal debate, isn’t it?” I began. “It’s true; men can be beasts. The truth is that they say they want a virgin but in reality, when in bed, they want a woman who knows what to do with a penis. They want a woman who is willing to unleash themselves and give all they have to that sexual experience unapologetically and passionately. Basically, they want to have fun in bed.” I paused and everyone else was quiet, waiting for me to finish my thoughts. “I’m sorry to bring out the truth about men, ladies, many of them won’t be pleased with me for it, but men prefer to have a virgin who knows how to act like a whore in bed.”

  Everyone gasped, acting like it was a surprising revelation.

  Rolanda was going, “Mmm…mmm…mmm.”

  Another voice in the audience shouted out, “I’ll be your whore, Dr. Sexy.” I didn’t have to see who shouted it out to know that she was older and had willingly blocked out the virgin part of that statement. Women who shouted that out had likely been around a country block a time or two.

  The caller spoke again. “How is a virgin who’s never had sex supposed to know what to do then? It’s such an unbelievable standard these types of vile guys put us through. Is that why most men have mistresses?”

  “Not all men have mistresses. In fact, very few do because let’s face it, most of us men aren’t smart enough to jockey one women, much less multiple.”

  The audience started laughing.

  “In all seriousness, only despicable men have mistresses. I don
’t like to speak ill of my own sex but men can be emotionally shallow at times, just wanting the thrill of the hunt and to be rewarded with a wild animal in bed. That’s the man who takes a mistress. Most men do buy into that fantasy that they’d like a virgin-like woman who can become a whore when they’re in bed.”

  “Is that your fantasy, Dr. Sessions?” the caller asked.

  “I’d never lie to someone who needs to know the truth. Yes, it is a fantasy that I’ve thought about quite often.”

  The audience sighed.

  Rolanda stepped in. “Do you have anything else to share, caller?”

  “No, thank you so much for your time, Dr. Sessions.” She ended the call and I was a bit thrown off by her voice. There was something different about her, although I couldn’t quite place what it was.

  “Well, we’ve all learned a thing or two about men from that call, haven’t we ladies?” Rolanda commented to the audience.

  Loud shouts reiterated her comment and I smiled at all of them, giving them that tender, understanding smile that showed I was a man in control. I wasn’t one of the beasts because I was too busy being the man of everyone’s fantasies. It was the kind of life every hot-blooded male would want or so I thought.

  Chapter 2

  The thought of doing anything that didn’t appeal to me, just to appease others, was not one I was used to. Today, however, I was going to do just that. As I put on my black Armani suit, bowtie, and sapphire cufflinks and dress studs, I apprised myself in the mirror. Excellence, that’s all I could think.

  My childhood friend Bernard had grown from a nerdy, shy guy into a man getting married and ‘moving on to that next stage,’ as they like to say. Now, he was an acquaintance, someone I may not even recognize if he walked by me. I had never seen him a single day since eighth grade when we graduated from the pre-academy because we’d chose different private, prep schools to attend after that. My parents were still close business associates with his, having a few joint ventures together, all part of the various companies that entailed the Sessions Enterprise Firm.

  I’ll hand it to my mother. She’s not very shy and with her lack of subtlety she’d managed to fill me in on every detail of Bernard’s life, emphasizing with gusto that he was getting married to a lovely woman—an accomplished woman. I had the last laugh on her, though. I’d been around many highly accomplished women with my career, including Bernard’s dear mum, who was always in competition for making the headlines for charitable events with my mother.

  * * *

  “Camilla, it’s such a pleasure to meet you,” I said to Bernard’s blushing bride. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”

  “Oh, thank you. I’ve certainly heard about you, too,” Camilla said to me, her cheeks flushed. I’d seen the look before but this was the first time in a long while that it hadn’t been because of me. She looked at Bernard and her face lit up, giving her an extraordinary presence, a beauty that was so unique. Ah yes, the blushing bride.

  “None of it is true,” I said, laughing lightheartedly. “My mother tells me you’re a pianist. I don’t suppose we’ll be graced with a performance by you today. I’d love to hear it.”

  “Not tonight; tonight’s meant for dancing and showing off my lovely bride,” Bernard said.

  “Of course,” I replied, smiling at him eloquently but not sincerely.

  Protectively, Bernard squeezed his new bride’s hand more tightly. I was not making a play on this woman, which was part of the reason why I had so few male friends. Aside from one friend Matt, who was similar to me in all things aside from profession, I couldn’t really hang out with men. All we had in common was our raw, animalistic desires, and I had a different approach to those than most. In the end, I didn’t really relate with most of them. Bernard was no exception. I stared at him and he’d changed considerably over the past fifteen years but I still saw the nerdy guy. His beautiful bride had just given him some confidence and he had his chest puffed out, rightfully so, I suppose, and was strutting around like he’d just won the prize in a cock fight.

  “I’ll leave you two to mingling. There’s quite a few lingering in the distance, waiting to get a chance for a word with you.” Then I leaned in and kissed the bride’s cheek, shook Bernard’s hand, and walked off. About half of the lingering crowd followed me.

  Walking up to the bar, I grabbed a glass of champagne and my thoughts drifted off to those days in seventh grade when us boys realized that girls were a bit more entertaining than they’d used to be in our minds. We were at a mixed social with the premier girl’s pre-academy in town and it was the usual scene. A divided line down the middle. Everyone quiet and leaning in, whispering. I had said, “This is bullshit.” Then I walked over and right up to the most beautiful girl on the side, Sally with the blonde hair and bright green eyes, and asked her to dance. She said yes and we broke the ice for everyone. It was great except for every time I took a break from the dancing Bernard would be swarming me for advice on how to go about it. No natural instincts, that one.

  Bernard’s mother came up to me. “Simon, darling, it’s so wonderful to see you.” She winked at me and I smiled brightly. “Do you have a date tonight?”

  “No, Mrs. Vanderhoort, I am just waiting for you,” I said playfully.

  She giggled. “Someday there’ll be a very lucky woman who lands you.”

  “Someday,” I said. I’d wanted to be landed one time and that was back in college. I’d brought Phoebe an engagement ring and was ready to pop the big question. Then one night we had a fight and she left the frat house, so mad and angry at me. I tried to visit her later and her car wasn’t there. It was the next morning that I’d found out she’d had a car accident and had died. I was devastated and from that moment on it was the last time I entertained being in love or committed to any one person. It was too painful, and to this day, I’d still wonder if we didn’t have that fight, would she still be alive.

  “Simon, are you alright?” I came back to the present and saw Mrs. Vanderhoort staring at me compassionately.

  “Just dreaming of you,” I said flirtatiously. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I must go find my mother. There’s something I forgot to share with her.”

  “Of course, such a good son,” she said thoughtfully.

  Another kiss on the cheek delivered. A soft pat on the shoulder added and I walked off, weaving my way across the crowded room. My thoughts were a bit harsh: what type of sexual therapist can’t even have a solid relationship with one person?

  “Simon! Simon!”

  I looked around to see who was calling for me so eagerly now and a big smile crossed my face. “Mr. and Mrs. Franklin, hello.” I walked up to the elderly couple and greeted them affectionately. I didn’t know them well but they were, like most everyone of a certain means was, associates of my parents. They just happened to have a bit more spirit to them, not really subscribing to the high society dialogue and protocol. I think it was because they were ‘new money,’ not inherited money. It gave them a certain zest for life that I truly admired.

  “So, how’s everything going, young man?” Mr. Franklin said, leaning on his cane with his left hand and taking a sip of the bourbon on the rocks he was known to drink with his right hand.

  “Wonderful, the business is starting to flourish,” I said with a smile.

  “That’s right, you’re a doctor, right?” Mrs. Franklin said. “What type of practice?”

  This is where things could get awkward at times for me. My parents were horrified by my choice of medical profession and I didn’t care, but sometimes it was hard for me to keep my persona up when I saw that critiquing eye of a stodgy man or woman who’d probably not had sex in years—with their spouse, anyway. “I’m a sex therapist,” I said. I looked directly at her and she started to giggle, kind of like a girl might when she got her first kiss.

  “Well, you’re just who we need to talk with, then,” Mrs. Franklin said forthrightly. “Any tips on how we can spruce up our sex life?
”

  “It’s been a lot of years and we’ve traveled every road twice, if you know what I mean,” Mr. Franklin added, laughing at his own joke.

  “Now?” I asked. Most people were hush-hush but not these two.

  “Just a little something, unless you think we should schedule an appointment,” Mrs. Franklin said, wrapping her arm through Simon’s.

  “No appointment necessary,” I said. I meant it, too.

  “Well, when it comes to the activity before the intercourse, what goes on?”

  They explained a bit to me, nothing I hadn’t heard before. It was the usual activity, making sure you touched every part that was sexual, spoke a few dirty words, and then proceeded to take the penis plunge.

  “How about trying something spicier? Maybe a new location, some toys, or even a flavored stimulant?”

  “Oooh,” Mrs. Franklin said loudly.

  “Do they have bourbon flavored things like that?” Mr. Franklin asked with a slight laugh. I could see that he was actually feeling a bit embarrassed now, which was a good reason why these conversations were meant for private places, not public affairs, albeit a prestigious one.

  “I don’t think so but they do have…” I stopped talking because I noticed someone standing behind Mr. and Mrs. Franklin. She was stunning. Exquisite, sophisticated, and had a natural confidence to her that wasn’t lent by a sexy dress or make-up, and certainly not by demanding everyone’s attention in the room. That’s why I noticed her, in fact.

  She stared at me, her chestnut brown hair and hazel eyes sparkling, coming even more alive from the light of the crystal chandelier above. Her lips were in an amused grin and she walked right up to me, standing to the left of Mrs. Franklin. I could smell her perfume and it was so alluring, subtle but intriguing.