by Selena Kitt
She looked at him, incredulous, as he removed the vibrator, snapping his gloves off. He helped her out of the stirrups and took her elbow as she swung her legs around so she could sit on the examination table.
“You might as well be wearing armor,” he told her as he went over the sink to wash his hands. “It’s no wonder you can’t feel anything beyond ‘nice’ right now. It is a kind of armor.”
“What do you mean?”
He dried his hands on paper towel as he talked. “You’ve just built up a lot of walls. The good news about those walls is that they’ve protected you when you needed protecting. You’ve walled out all the bad things—and good for you! But the problem is that while you’ve walled everything out, you’ve also walled yourself in. And you’re going to have to break those down before you can get where you want to go.”
Her aunt Poppy had been right. This place—this doctor—was very different from anything she’d ever experienced before. She felt frozen by his words, unable to respond.
“Okay, examination over.” He smiled as he walked toward the door. “You can get dressed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“In the morning?” she managed, her throat tight.
“Group therapy,” he reminded her before he left. “Nine a.m.”
* * * *
I so don’t belong here.
She knew, of course, that this clinic dealt with all sorts of sexual issues, and maybe she was just being naïve, but she hadn’t expected to be in a group session with ex-prostitutes, sex addicts, and one woman (or man?) she still couldn’t quite determine the gender of. Rose couldn’t believe some of the things she was hearing.
“My father told me I deserved to get Aids.”
That was from the woman (man?) with the long, curly dark hair, mouth painted brightly with red lipstick. But he (she?) had a day’s worth of stubble. It has to be a man, Rose reasoned.
“And how did that make you feel, Kennedy?” The other group therapist—besides Dr. Matt—was a petite blond woman who said on the first day to call her Dr. Kelly and who seemed to think matching her eye shadow to her outfit was a good idea. Today it was a shimmery pink to go with her blouse.
“Fucking fantastic.” Kennedy—his (her?) name just served to cause more gender confusion—snorted laughter and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his t-shirt pocket. They weren’t allowed to smoke inside, but Rose, and she supposed the rest of the group as well over the past week, had become familiar with his routine of smacking the edge of the pack against the arm of his chair over and over. It annoyed her but she just watched, knowing that her own habit of tracing the side seam of her jeans during the whole session probably drove someone else nuts. They all had their little quirks, she supposed.
“Bullshit.” The girl with the dragon tattoo—just like the book, which so amused Rose she thought of her that way even though she knew her real name was Ann—practically spat the word from her pierced mouth. She had a ring on either side of her bottom lip—“They’re called snake bites,” Ann had told her while they were eating lunch the other day.
Kennedy glared. “Are you not familiar with sarcasm, you stupid bitch?”
“Fuck you.” The girl with the dragon tattoo give him the middle finger and a snarl.
“No name calling, Kennedy,” Dr. Kelly reminded him, waving one of the big guys back. There were two of them, both with shaved heads, that were part of their little group, and Rose thought of them both as Mr. Clean 1 and Mr. Clean 2. The one who actually had an earring in his left ear liked to stand up as everyone’s protector. Besides those two, their group was rounded out by a skinny young girl about Ann’s age with thin, lanky blond hair and dull eyes, and a chubby kid who couldn’t have been older that twenty-five with severe acne. He hadn’t said more than two words the entire week.
“Sarcasm is just the body’s natural defense against stupid.” Kennedy smacked his maroon pack of Pall-Malls against the chair, flipping it before doing it again.
“You’re half right,” Dr. Matt interjected. “Sarcasm is a natural defense mechanism.”
Rose smiled over at him and then looked at Kennedy. “If my father had said that to me, I would have been devastated.”
“Yeah?” Kennedy scoffed, dismissing Rose’s comment and sneering at the dragon tattoo girl. “How about you, Ann? Would you have been devastated?”
“My father?” Ann flashed him a smile, those snake bites rising with the stretch of her lips. “He started fucking me when I was five. If I had a penny for every time he told me I’d be better off dead, I’d have more money than Warren Buffet.” She allowed this shocking news to sink in, letting the silence stretch. Rose didn’t know if anyone else heard her mumbling, but she did. She was right next to her. “Funny thing is—he was right.”
“No he wasn’t.” Rose turned and put her hand on the girl’s forearm, over the dragon tattoo. It was a horrible rendition, red faded to pink, more amusing then menacing. “He wasn’t right. You aren’t better off dead.”
“This coming from you?” Across the room, Kennedy scoffed again. “You think we don’t know about your scars?”
Rose shrank into her chair and could almost feel her wrist burning beneath her long sleeved blouse. She’d been so careful… yet someone had seen. They knew. They all knew.
“So what did Daddy do to you, Rosie-girl?” The blond chimed in, her dull eyes brightening for a moment. “Or was it maybe Mummy?”
“Neither,” Rose insisted, looking around at the group. “My parents are good parents. I’m sorry for what happened to you…” She glanced between Kennedy and Ann. “Both of you. But nothing like that has ever happened to me.”
“So why are you here?” The blond leaned forward so far Rose thought she might fall out of her chair.
“That’s a good question.” Rose felt tears coming and didn’t want to show them. Not after hearing that they knew, they all knew about her suicide attempt. She couldn’t stand the humiliation, the shame of it. She knew she would hear about it later in an individual session, but she did it anyway—she bolted.
The group therapy room was around the corner and down the hall from the residence rooms. They all had private quarters with their own bathrooms. There were no roommates at the facility, and after hearing some of the stuff people said in group therapy, she understood why. They really didn’t want fraternizing between clients going on.
She passed one of the women who cleaned their rooms every morning but Rose didn’t stop. Her room opened with a key card and she flung it onto the desk, giving into her tears now, real sobs ripping through her body, making her shake with them.
What am I doing here?
She still didn’t know the answer to that question. Because Poppy had made the recommendation? Because her father was paying for it? Because she didn’t want to hear her mother complaining about how she’d let “the good one” get away in Sam? Because she felt fundamentally flawed and wanted to find a way to mend the cracks in her veneer?
Whatever the reason, she felt as if it wasn’t working. She’d been there a week and so far it hadn’t been that much different from other places and methods she’d tried. Sure, there was the live-in aspect of this place. And she couldn’t complain about the view from her room or anywhere else in the facility. Everywhere you looked, it was an island paradise outside. But how was that helping her with her issues?
Rose flopped face down onto her bed—even those were nice, double-size not twins, better than most hotel mattresses she’d been on—and buried her face in the pillow. I wonder if you can suffocate yourself? She hadn’t thought about suicide in months, but she thought about it now. Not in a real way, not in the same way she had the night it happened. But the thought of not being here, not experiencing this life, walking around like she was in a dream, was more than a little appealing at the moment.
What are you running away from?
Dr. Matt’s voice in her head. They had individual sessions for an hour every day. It was, she had to admit,
the most intensive therapy she’d ever had. It was as if he had become part of her consciousness, definitely more than just background noise. Instead, he was a constant presence, and she often heard him in her head like this, asking questions, making comments. She hadn’t told him about it though.
“Nothing.” She whispered it out loud, closing her eyes, feeling a dull ache behind them. She lied to herself again, hoping she might actually believe it as she let herself drift off. “I’m not running from anything.”
She was dreaming something strange but couldn’t remember what it was when the knock came on her door. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was nearly noon. Group therapy had been over for almost an hour. She thought about not answering it, but then she heard Dr. Matt’s voice on the other side.
“Rose?”
He smiled when she opened the door, holding out a small blue box. “I have something for you.”
“A blue box.” She took it from his hands, inspecting the name on the top. Lelo. What was Lelo? “You know, most women see a blue box and think Tiffanys.”
“Not this time.” He laughed. “This is to help you do your homework.”
Her head came up fast, eyes widening, knowing immediately what it was. “Okay, well, I’ll open it later.” She set the box on her desk, but she couldn’t help the blush spreading on her cheeks.
“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning against the door frame. He was long and lanky but he seemed to fill every available inch of space anyway.
“Fine.” She offered him a smile, a shrug. “Just fine.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Can we please stop with the lies?”
“I’m not lying,” she protested, crossing her arms over her chest. “I am fine. Now that I’ve had some time away from that…group. I’m fine.”
“So you’re not enjoying group therapy?”
She smirked. “Am I supposed to enjoy it?”
“Not exactly.” He grinned.
“I’m not like those people,” she confessed, hugging herself as she looked up at him.
He nodded, but disagreed. “You’d be surprised.”
“But…none of them have my problem.”
“No,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t have things in common.”
Rose sighed, not knowing if what he said was true or not, but feeling bad anyway. “Well I’m sorry I ran out.”
He shrugged. “You can apologize to them tomorrow.”
“Great.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Something to look forward to.”
“Well, it’s almost lunch time,” he told her. “Are you hungry?”
She shook her head. “I think I’ll just get back to napping.”
“You could always do your homework,” he reminded her, turning to go.
“You’re not the first therapist who’s prescribed daily masturbation you know.” She got the reaction she wanted when he turned and looked over his shoulder at her.
“Are you doing it?”
“Yeah, but it does nothing,” she countered. “I feel nothing.”
“Do it anyway.” He started out.
“It just makes me cry,” she called.
“Good.” He smiled over his shoulder at her. “Crying doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“It’s depressing,” she muttered.
“Do it anyway.”
“Okay! Okay!” She started to shut the door behind him.
“Don’t nap too long,” he reminded her. “We’re conducting your sleep study tomorrow. You need to be awake for twelve hours beforehand.”
“I remember.” She leaned against the door as she closed it, contemplating the box on her desk. It felt strange having Dr. Matt give her a vibrator, like it was a personal gift. Of course, it wasn’t. It was just another tool, something to help her with her “issues.” She’d been instructed by plenty of sex therapists to masturbate daily. She was familiar enough with the idea.
And she’d been a diligent student, just as Dr. Matt had told her to. Ten minutes of masturbation every night, by the clock. She set her cell phone alarm so she was sure it was actually ten minutes. So far, she had barely even felt a tingle. She felt strung too tight here, stretched thin, always too aware that there were people around, even when her door was locked.
“It’s not going to work,” she told the blue box as she opened it, sliding the lid off to find just what she expected inside—a vibrator. There was a little card that Dr. Matt had written on.
It’s rechargeable. Six variable speeds. Very powerful. Experiment all you like!
Rose giggled, pulling out the cord that went with it. It looked awfully small to be powerful. What the hell, she thought, checking to make sure the door was completely closed and locked before heading over to the bed. She left her jeans in a ball on the floor but her panties still on, lying back on the bed and turning the Lelo on.
It buzzed gently in her hand as she looked at it, running her fingers over the navy blue tip. The texture was soft and hard at the same time, like velvet over steel. So sleek, so tempting. Masturbation was usually an exercise in futility. She could work herself up to a fever pitch, but it was like starving to death, standing outside of a four-star restaurant, watching everyone else eating a gourmet meal—why torture herself like that?
Still, that sweet tingle between her thighs felt so good. If only…
She traced the Lelo vibrator over her fat, pink nipples, around and around. They hardened immediately, pointed toward the ceiling in anticipation. The sensation was delicious, sending sweet waves of pleasure down between her legs. She let the vibrator travel over her ribcage, down her trembling belly, under the elastic of her panties, parting the thick nest of blonde hair at the apex of her thighs.
The Lelo hummed against her clit and she waved it there, back and forth, hoping that Dr. Matt had finally found the perfect magic wand to break the spell, to cure her curse. It felt so good, she almost, for a moment, hoped and believed it was true.
“Mmmm.” She closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the sensation. The gentle buzzing made her ache, her body flushing with pleasure. She could feel the wetness increasing, her pussy beginning to swell. She focused at the center of the sensation, moving the wand in circles, hearing her own breathing grow ragged.
“Oh Matt,” she whispered, flushing with his name filling her mouth, wishing it was his cock. Oh god, what was she thinking? She hadn’t fantasized much during her “homework” sessions so far. It was too easy to flash to memories of Sam, and that ended things pretty quickly. And while Matt looked so very much like her ex-fiancé, they were so different she could have told them apart in the dark.
“Oh god, yes, lick my pussy.” She couldn’t help imagining it, Matt’s sweet mouth between her legs. She loved that feeling so much, although she hated asking for it, hated when Sam did it, because he liked her to have multiple-orgasms. Which was easy when you were faking them, of course, but it made it difficult to concentrate on the actual feeling—which was delightful—of a warm, wet tongue between her legs.
And what would his cock look like? Taste like? Feel like? She licked her lips as she fantasized, closing her thighs around the persistent buzz between them, the Lelo caught between her swollen pussy lips, tucked under the edge of her panties. Would he fuck her long and slow? Hard and fast? She wanted the latter but fantasized about the former, hearing his breath in her ear, his sweet urgings, “That’s it. Nice and slow. We’ll get you there, I promise.”
Oh to reach that blessed destination. If only she could. Rose sighed, knowing she’d reached that point, her whole body aching for release, belly tight, breathing fast, but like a starving orphan standing at a restaurant window, she would have to go home hungry with that empty, gnawing feeling in her belly.
She realized she hadn’t set a timer for this session, but her eyes were closed and she was already drifting off, too lazy to check. Their schedules were so full here, she barely had time to breathe, and a moment to herself in the middle of the day for
a quick cat nap couldn’t be resisted.
“Feel that,” he whispered. “Feel everything.”
She was. Every nerve ending in her body was alive at his touch. He was touching her there, between the legs, his fingers moving, probing, manipulating. She moaned in response, shifting her hips.
“Good,” he encouraged. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me what you want.”
“Oh god, Matt,” she whispered, the feeling too full for her to express. “Please don’t stop doing that.”
“Like this?”
Oh god yes, just like that, she thought, rocking her hips, stretching up like a flower reaching toward the heat of the sun, more more more. She couldn’t stand it. She wanted him. Her whole being screamed out for him again and again, like lightning flashing in the dark, followed by rolling waves of thunder.
“Matt!” she cried, thrashing, and he kissed her mouth, his breath hot, just as ragged as her own, his fingers buried between her thighs. “Oh yes, please, make me come! Please make me come.”
“I will,” he promised, but no, promises were empty, no one ever kept them. She moaned and tensed and tried to escape, but he held her fast, panting in her ear. “Give me what you want. Give me everything. I can take it.”
“Noooo,” she wailed, but her body gave in, oh god, yes yes yes, this was it, this was pleasure and pain and love and—
“Matt!” Rose woke with a start, her body covered in sweat, the Lelo still buzzing between her sticky thighs, a faint pulse—What? Is that it? Was that an orgasm?—the sweetest sensation, so close she could almost grasp it, fading between her legs.
“Not fair,” she whispered, grabbing the vibrator and tossing it aside. “So much for magic wands.”
She could have all the orgasms in the world—while she was sleeping, apparently. But she couldn’t remember them, couldn’t really fully experience them. It was like feeling full, but not remembering eating a meal. There was no pleasure in it.
* * * *
“I feel like Frankenstein’s monster,” Rose complained as Matt attached another sticky circle to her skin and then another lead. The wires snaked out under the hospital gown she’d been asked by a nurse to put on. She hadn’t seen the nurse though, since Matt showed up.