Audrey Exposed

by Queen, Roxy

  He leans back, for once not hiding his raging boner and I feel like we’ve made progress. With his hair dipping into his eyes, he gives me a tight smile. I think we’ve come to some sort of even footing. It’s not all about me. Sex is never about one person.

  I figure he’ll jerk off the minute I leave. That’s something that often makes me uncomfortable. In the past, my boyfriends jerked off because I was freaking out. They had to get release somehow.

  Now? It feels different. We’re in the same boat. We’re live wires about to ignite. I don’t look for him when I leave the apartment. Instead, I commit that last image of him to my mind, the way his hands felt on my back and the weight of his arms around my shoulders. That’s what I’ll think about later that night when I’m alone with my fingers between my legs.

  Chapter 20

  (Graham)

  I’ve barely cleaned myself up when Dr. Markson walks into the apartment through the door from the office. “I got your text,” she says. “My client was just leaving so I thought I’d catch you before you left for the day.”

  “Something came up today and I’m not sure how to handle it.”

  “With Audrey?”

  “Yes,” I sit on the couch. “It’s nothing bad, I mean, in some ways it’s good. She’s taken your suggestion of being more assertive to heart, but I’m also worried about my own behavior.”

  She studies me for a minute and I feel oddly transparent. After a moment she says, “Explain to me what happened and we’ll sort it out from there.”

  So I tell Dr. Markson everything that happened in my session with Audrey today, leaving out no necessary detail.

  “You knew that at some point this would happen; that she would pleasure you as well, correct?”

  “Yes. I guess I thought I would be the one encouraging her, not the other way around. I feel sort of…dirty about it.”

  “Did she appear to feel coerced?”

  “No, she had full control the entire time.”

  “Then I think you have to view this as a new phase in the therapy program. You’re exposing Audrey to the joys of sex, how to manage intimacy without anxiety. She’s right, at some point she has to explore your body as well. I’m impressed she took matters into her own hands.”

  That she did. Small, cool hands that felt very, very nice. “How do you suggest I proceed from here?”

  Dr. Markson looks over her glasses at me. “You keep going. Maybe a little give and take. Tit for tat. Don’t let her distract you from the primary goal, which is her own exposure; but let her have some control over the decisions you make. I would assume that in a typical relationship approaching her partner this way would be a lead-in for sex. That’s not something she’s ready for. Allow her to feel confident over these small steps. I think it may even accelerate your results.”

  Her words ring true and at the very least, I don’t feel like such a perv. “Okay. I think I have a better handle on how to proceed. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Graham.” She stands, pushing her long, gray braid over her shoulder. “Don’t feel guilty about the pleasure you receive from this. It’s no different from your other jobs. You’ve been paid before to submit and enjoy sex acts.”

  She leaves the apartment and I lean back on the couch and rub my face with my hands. She’s right. I have been paid to have sex with women and enjoy it. Normally, I did enjoy it, it’s hard not to. The women are beautiful. We have a good time. Something about this though, something about Audrey, seems different from those other times, and I’m not sure why.

  *

  I stand at the refrigerator, door open, lost in thought about what happened between Audrey and me today and where we’ll go next. I can’t get the memory of her hands on my cock out of my head.

  “Dude, close the door.”

  “Huh?”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Dave asks.

  I shake the memory from my mind and grab four beers. “Sorry, just spaced out for a second.”

  “You’ve been doing that all night and our guests have noticed.”

  “They’re your guests, not mine.”

  “Yeah, but to get Rachel over here, she had to bring a friend. Don’t worry, I told her and Cory that you’re celibate.”

  “What? Why did you tell them that?”

  “So you don’t look like a dick if Cory’s into you.” He takes two of the bottles from me. “Cory’s a psych major; she thinks the fact you’re doing it for an experiment is interesting. Oh, and she has a boyfriend anyway.”

  Dave and I share a two-bedroom house on the west side of campus. It’s a small, non-descript ranch, perfect for student housing. I found it when I moved here for grad school. Dave replied to my ad on the psychology department forum. So far, it’s worked out pretty well. He does the dishes, keeps the refrigerator stocked with beer, and pays rent on time. I walk into the living room and spot Rachel and Corey. Another bonus? He dates hot chicks, too.

  Corey’s blonde and young. She’s still an undergraduate. Her hair is cut short, almost boyish. It’s cute. Her tits are perky, playing coy out of the top of her tight, Tri-Delta T-shirt. She’s nice enough to spend the evening with, although she and Rachel talk a bit more about sorority life than I care to listen to. I asked if they’d been to see any of the local bands play or if they frequented any of the pool halls. They both stumbled around an answer, which was no. Five years ago, I would have nailed her, despite the lack of something in common. Boyfriend or not. Today? I’m not sure I would, even if I could break the contract for the experiment.

  I take the only free seat, next to Cory and hand her one of the beers. Four empty ones sit on the coffee table. Three of those are mine. I figure if I’m not getting laid then I may as well get drunk.

  “Tell me more about your project,” she says after taking a couple pulls on her drink. “I’m majoring in psychology, but can’t decide if I want to get my masters in it or social work.”

  I attempt to shoot Dave a dirty look for talking about the study, but he has a hand on Rachel’s thigh and his eyes on her lips. Dammit. “It’s just something I’m working on with Dr. Markson.” I pick at the wrapper on the bottle, peeling away at a loose edge. “We’re testing exposure techniques.”

  “On a client?”

  “Yes. Patient Zero, as we call him/her has acute fear of penetration. We’re exposing this person to increasing levels of sexualization,” I explain a bit more about what this means and what we hope to achieve.

  “So what’s your part in this?”

  I shouldn’t tell her. It’s not in direct violation of the study, but we promised Audrey complete privacy. However, I’m not talking about Audrey. I’m talking about myself. “I’m part of the experiment. I test the subject.”

  “No way. You’re like, using your body to acclimate her to various levels of intimacy, ultimately having sex?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Fascinating. How did you get involved in this?”

  Ah, now I have to hedge. A lot. I never reveal my job as an escort. Only to my actual clients who have as much to lose as I do. I find my clients (not the other way around) on secure message boards. When I heard about this study, I revealed myself to Dr. Markson. She’s the only exception. Even Dave doesn’t know the extent of my involvement with the women. He mostly thinks I do odd jobs and occasionally nail a desperate housewife. It’s not far from the truth, but far enough.

  “I applied. There’s a small stipend. I needed the extra money.” I lean into the seat cushion, lifting my feet onto the table. “So why are you here, talking to me if you’ve got a boyfriend?”

  “Rachel digs Dave. I’m her wing-woman.”

  “Your boyfriend doesn’t mind? Oh, and you must have done a good job,” I say. I point to the empty spots where Rachel and Dave are no longer sitting. He must have talked her into going to his room.

  “My work here is done.” She laughs. “Not that it was going to be hard to convince her out of her pants. As for my b
oyfriend? No, he’s cool. Our relationship is pretty new anyway.”

  I nod, feigning interest. I was just trying to take the focus off myself. Cory makes a small squealing noise, and I look up. “You have Grand Theft Auto?” she says, gesturing to the gaming system.

  “Yeah, want to play?” She nods and I hop up to grab the controllers. We spend the rest of the night drinking beer, playing games, and ignoring the sound of Dave’s headboard slamming into the living room wall. It’s a good night.

  Chapter 21

  (Audrey)

  He called at nine. Too early for a booty call. Too late for a date. Dylan and I sit across from one another in our favorite diner, in our favorite booth, eating our favorite foods. Greasy cheeseburgers, steak fries, and milkshakes. It’s so lame that it’s hip. At least that’s what I assume from the dozens of hipsters, mostly undergrads or townies, at the surrounding tables, sporting beards, flannel, and stocking caps. The table next to us is loud, talking about music and a cross-country trip they’re going on for spring break. A girl with purple hair kisses a boy whose hand has disappeared at the top of her thigh. Easy. They look sexy and content. I envy them.

  Dragging my attention away, I ask, “Do you remember that time we came here after the Naked Kat show and those guys were fighting out front?”

  “The night you decided to break up the fight?” A familiar annoyance flares in his eyes. He’d been so pissed when I tried to intervene.

  “Yes! Everyone was just standing around watching.”

  “You could have gotten your ass kicked.”

  “I didn’t though,” I say, trying to remember the details. I was drunk that night and fighting just seemed so dumb. “You were very worried.”

  “I was.”

  He pins me with a hard look. I know why. I do remember one other thing about the night. Dragging Dylan to the restaurant bathroom, high on adrenaline and tequila, and making out with him on the filthy counter top. I can still recall how his hands gripped my hips, trying to keep me from falling.

  To cut the tension, I stick my French fry in the small cup of mustard on Dylan’s plate. “Hey!” he shouts, snatching my wrist. “No sharing.”

  “What? You aren’t eating that.” I play dumb.

  “No food sharing. That’s your rule, not mine.”

  I nibble on the fry, and say, “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we should reconsider that rule.”

  Dylan shoots me a wary look, but his lips are curled in a smile. “I’m open to discussion. You know, about all the ways you’ve been wrong.”

  Dumping him, that was wrong. I miss him. However, do I miss him because I have a safety net with my obligation to the experiment? I can’t have sex with him, even if I wanted to. But flirting is fun. Easy. Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe all this, the flirting and going down memory lane is coming from a confidence boost due to the therapy.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” I say. It’s the best I can do.

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting,” he says, groping for my hand under the table. He finds it and clenches it tight. Reese never experiences this side of Dylan or if she has, she can’t get past her mistrust. “Once a cheater, always a cheater,” I can hear her argue. But Dylan never cheated on me. What he found with me was better and I’m a fool to let that go.

  “I’m getting better.”

  “I can tell,” he sighs, and with his free hand, he rubs his forehead. “I told you I’d be here when you’re done with the program. I’m not going to say sex isn’t a big deal for me. It is. I want to have sex with you. Badly.” He grins. “But it’s not going to kill me to wait for a while longer.””

  He holds out his cup of mustard, an offer of peace, and I dip four fries into it. His words bolster my confidence even further. I have something to fight for. Something to push me harder because even though he says otherwise, I know he won’t wait forever.

  I shove the fries in my mouth and say, “So…Jessica’s wedding. Any interest?”

  “At the beach?” he asks, head tilted. Yeah, he’s interested.

  “It’s in June and I thought you could go as my date.” I want to tell him that by then I may be done with the experiment. That I may be ready to make love to him, but I’m terrified I’ll jinx myself, so I don’t. “Reese and Alex will be there. All the guys. It should be fun.”

  He’s staring at me as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Does my invitation mean more? Maybe. I want to tell him but I can’t. Not yet. I just smile, flirty and nice. “So?”

  “Yeah,” he says, with his own teasing grin. “I’ll come.”

  I swipe another fry and smile at the man across the table, happy in the here and now.

  *

  Everything over the last week sparks an idea. The combination of Dr. Markson, Graham, and Dylan motivates me to plot and plan for my next session. Something I’m intent on bringing up the minute I leave the apartment bathroom. Any second now. As soon as I gather the courage, that is.

  I swing open the door just as Graham is about to knock. His hand hangs midair and his eyes move swiftly from my face to my chest back to my face.

  “Hot pink,” he blurts, eyes roaming. He replaces his shocked look with a heart-stopping grin. “I mean, hi.”

  I can’t help but laugh. Yes, my underwear is hot pink, with neon green trim. It’s gaudy, but fun. That’s all I’m trying to do, lighten the mood before I make a fool of myself.

  I took so long in the bathroom that he’s already lit the candles and started the music. The curtains are closed like last time, leaving the room shrouded in a comfortable darkness. I walk to the bench and ask, “Can we talk about something?”

  “Of course.”

  He removes his shirt on the way to the bench and damn he’s fit. Like six pack fit, lovely biceps, rock-solid chest kind of fit. His boxer briefs are black this time, the cotton molding nicely against his ass and thighs. I notice his hair has grown a little since we first met, curling at the nape of his neck and over the tips of his ears.

  “I, sort of, feel like I’m in my bathing suit. At least, that’s what I tell myself anyway.”

  “Good comparison, at least in context,” he says. I snort at the idea of anyone understanding the context of all this and he smiles back. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

  “No,” I say, then pause trying to figure out how to approach this. “I wanted to talk about you.”

  He tilts his head and tiny lines appear around his eyes. “Me? How so?”

  “I really enjoyed our last session. It was nice to feel in control. Powerful.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I’m wondering if we can do more of what we did last time. Exploring your body, as well as mine. And by body I mean…uh, you know, your thing…” I wrinkle my nose. “What should I call it?”

  “Hmm… my penis?”

  I make another face and shake my head. “No, too technical.”

  “Dick? Cock? Member? Hammer? Schlong?” He’s laughing harder with each suggestion. “My baby?”

  “Oh, my God.” His laughter is contagious. “Your baby. Only a guy would say that.”

  “What? What’s so wrong with that? It is like a baby. You have to be gentle with it, but it’s stronger than you’d expect. Soft and hard at the same time. Sticky, needy, and demanding, but also requires a lot of rest time. And it loves boobs.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  He shrugs. “Whatever works best for you, nothing you say will offend me.”

  I try the different names, rolling them around on my tongue, but I keep going back to the most ridiculous one. The silliness makes me feel lighter, less like a porn star or a proctologist; nevertheless, it’s too weird so I decide on something basic. “So I want to expose myself to Him. Not you know, near my parts. Not yet. But just so we’re comfortable with one another.” I don’t give him a chance to say anything because I need to get everything out. “I just…penises are like a fucking trigger for me. When I see one, my vagina shrinks and the walls go up
, like a fortress. I start to think about what the ultimate goal is; and the closer I get to one, the more the guy wants to go further. So normally, I just avoid them. They’re just so…stabby. And they have expectations.”

  He nods. “So you want to get comfortable with him, before we move forward.”

  “Yes, and I’ll do it dressed, or not dressed. Whatever you and Dr. Markson suggest. Two exposures, one stone.”

  He looks around, and says, “I think we may need to move somewhere else. Not sure sitting up is going to be the best position. Want to move to the couch?”

  “Um,” I glance around. “Can we move to the bed?”

  “Really?”

  “We may as well make the move while the focus isn’t on me.”

  We move to the bed and it’s not as frightening as I’d suspected. In fact, it’s very comfortable. I run my fingers over the soft comforter and flip the hem to find the sewn-on tag. Egyptian cotton.

  “Is this okay?” Graham asks, positioning himself with his back against the thick, blue pillows. “Want me to do anything in particular?”

  “Lie there?” And stay completely still, I want to add, but keep that neurosis to myself.

  He leans back and waits while I move closer. I have no idea where to start. Over or under the boxers? Suddenly, the last couple of weeks of massage therapy flash in my mind; and I understand how difficult some of the choices Graham had to make must have been.

  “Don’t over think it,” he says, noticing my hesitation. “Remember you’re in control. Do what feels natural.”

  I eye the lump under his boxers. Not exactly hard but not flaccid either. How could it be with so much discussion about it going on? I pull his cock out in one swift motion and glance up at Graham. The look on his face is passive, but his eyes monitoring my every move. The only sign of any discomfort comes from his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Do you have to watch?”

  “I think I do; otherwise, we’ve moved beyond therapy and you’re just giving me a hand job.”

  “I suppose it is a fine line.”