Before CE O : Includes the Complete CE O Trilogy

by MT Stone

  “But you two weren’t engaged or anything.” A slight scowl crosses Cindy’s face.

  “No. We had only been dating since the beginning of the football season,” I admit, rolling my eyes. “She had been dating Ricky Jordan before that, but they broke up after he went to play for the Canadian Football League.”

  “She didn’t want to move to Canada?” Cindy snickers.

  “He only makes a couple hundred thousand Canadian, so he couldn’t sustain the jet set lifestyle that she envisioned. In hindsight, I’m much better off without her.” I cross my arms and slouch in the chair.

  “It’s just hurtful to know that someone doesn’t love you for you,” she replies with a compassionate look. “Is that when the depression started?”

  “Honestly, the depression started about five minutes after the shock wore off. The way the doctors were talking and the fact that I was in a halo, I immediately knew that my football career was over.” I bite at my upper lip, still feeling the bitter disappointment. “Simultaneously breaking up with Teresa only added to the misery. What’s the use of having someone in your life if they’re only there for the good times?”

  “At least you learned that lesson at twenty-one,” she says with a sigh. “I didn’t wake up until I was still childless at age thirty-six and found out my husband had a twenty-five year old girlfriend. It’s a lot harder to start over at that stage of life.”

  “I’m sorry, but you don’t look thirty-six,” I mumble, shocked by that little tidbit.

  “Well, thank you. I actually turn thirty-nine in a couple weeks,” she admits sheepishly. “So now I can dread my fortieth birthday for an entire year. So things could be a lot worse than starting over at age twenty-one.” She lowers her head and looks me straight in the eyes.

  “I’ll turn twenty-two in August. I was the youngest kid in my class.” I feel compelled to tell her for some reason. “I have no idea what I want to do with my life. My path has always been so clear.”

  “You’re graduating, right?” she asks, flipping the page in my folder.

  “I’m just a couple credits short of a liberal arts degree, but I have no idea where to go next,” I confide, revealing what’s probably the biggest source of my depression. “My dad keeps pressuring me to go to medical school, but I don’t want to be a slave to the hospital like him. He still puts in hundred hour weeks.”

  “That’s why I chose a private practice,” she says with a smile. “I quickly learned the bliss of being able to set my own hours.”

  “I really liked psychology, so I took two extra semesters of it,” I tell her, a smile creeping across my face.

  “What?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

  “My favorite was psych 202, Human Sexuality,” I reply with a chuckle.

  “Everyone should have to take that class,” she replies with a slight flush coming into her cheeks. “How is your mother doing?” she asks, abruptly changing the topic.

  “Same as always,” I tell her, finding it funny that one second we’re talking about human sexuality and the next it’s my mother. “She works long hours too. I think sitting around the house reminds her of how empty it has become.”

  “Your parents both seem very driven.” Her eyes soften. “Was that an issue for you growing up?”

  “I got used to it.” I shrug. “At least I learned to cook at an early age. I still can’t stand the thought of eating another frozen pizza.”

  “Have you thought about culinary school?” she asks, perking up in her chair.

  “I have actually, but everyone I’ve talked to about it complains about the long days and having to be on your feet all the time.” I sigh, looking down at the floor. “I don’t think I could stand all day. But sitting on a computer for hours kills my neck too.”

  “I have the same issue, but mine is in my back,” she says, stretching in her chair. “I need to move around between patients. I’ve actually been looking into a treadmill desk, for doing paperwork. It would be nice to get my exercise done at the same time.”

  “I just finished physical therapy, so now I’m just starting to working out again.” I pat my gut. “I’ve never been so out of shape.”

  “Oh, to be your age again and think such things.” She laughs. “Just wait until you’re my age and you gain a pound and a half just by walking past a doughnut shop.”

  “I think you look amazing,” I tell her, wanting to see her cheeks flush again. The little blue and black dress that hits her mid-thigh turned me on the second I saw her. It’s been way too long since I’ve gotten laid.

  “So how’s your love life now?” she asks, with a shimmer in her eyes.

  “Non-existent,” I grumble. “I really haven’t met anyone new for awhile. Honestly, I’m not really interested in another relationship.”

  “Oh, don’t let one bad experience keep you out of the dating pool,” she says softly. “There are lots of good people out there. You just have to find them.”

  “So you date a lot?” I ask, turning the tables on her.

  “It’s not that easy when you’re my age.” Her eyes go back to my file. “The dating pool is a little leaner than it used to be.”

  “I can’t imagine you have any issues getting dates,” I reply, as she nervously tucks her long dark hair behind her ear. “You’re quite stunning.” She looks up with the most striking blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s the contrast between them and her dark hair, but they’re absolutely amazing.

  “Your mother and I have been friends for twenty years. She was my TA for freshman psychology and we’ve kept in touch ever since.” Her eyes fall back to my file and she shuffles the papers before finishing her thoughts. “So other than cooking and football, what are your other interests or natural talents.”

  “I’ve always been good with women,” I admit after a momentary pause.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you are,” she says with a curl of her lip. “But I think you already mentioned that you’re not interested in them anymore, remember? Besides, it’s a little hard to make a living unless you want to be a porn star or a gigolo.”

  “I’ve never liked that word, gigolo. Mom was a huge Richard Gere fan. She was watching a DVD one night when I was a kid. I sat down and started watching it with her until I figured out what was going on. I remember getting really uncomfortable and going to my room. I watched part of it a few days later, when she was back at work.”

  “American Gigolo?” A wry smile crosses her lips.

  “Yeah, I remember liking the part where he said he gave a woman her first Big O in nineteen years. That would be pretty awesome,” I reply with a wink. “He ended up in a bunch of trouble though, so that part would suck.”

  “He got a little too full of himself, if I remember right. That tends to get people in trouble,” she says, bringing out a definite plot theme. “I remember him being abrasive and cocky in the beginning and before long it came back to bite him. In the end, he was saved by love,” she adds with a sigh.

  “Yeah, it’s always that way in fiction,” I grumble, still feeling pretty jaded by how things turned out with Teresa. “It makes sense though. If you’re trying to escape from a shitty life, you don’t want to escape into more reality.”

  “Unless that reality makes your life look good by comparison,” she counters, arching her eyebrows. She’s so smart and sexy at the same time. I can’t believe she’s single. “You don’t agree?” she asks, seeming perplexed by my silence.

  “Oh, yeah. You’re right. People seem to feel better when they see that other people going through worse shit,” I reply, still mesmerized by her blue eyes. “Actually, I was just thinking about the fact that you’re unattached. Some things in this world just don’t make any sense.”

  “Well, after my last relationship it took quite a while to even think about entering something new,” she explains in a softening voice. “Then I found myself becoming more and more comfortable with living alone. That’s the two choices we all have. Endure the struggles of
dating in order to find the right person or just be okay with being alone until the right one simply comes along.”

  “In the meantime, you just order up a hot gigolo when necessary,” I suggest, still trying to make her cheeks flush again. She clears her throat, closes my file and places it on her lap before reestablishing eye contact.

  “You know,” she says with a thoughtful look in her eye. “There is something to be said for the perfect boyfriend experience.” She shares a look that lets me know she’s experienced it. “A wonderful evening, great sex and a goodnight kiss before he rides off into the sunset. No expectations, no disappointments.” Now I’m the one who feels a bit of heat in my cheeks.

  “I’ve always been intrigued by the idea, but isn’t it illegal?” I ask, surprised by the openness of our conversation. Then again, I could easily be having this conversation with my own mother. She has no filter when it comes to anything sexual.

  “There is nothing illegal about paying someone for their time,” she says, with a determined expression. “You’re paying me for this session. If we go to my place and have sex after our session, does that make it prostitution?”

  “No! That makes it a happy ending.” I laugh out loud.

  “If you pay the man for his time upfront and there is no guarantee of sex, it’s perfectly legal in all fifty states,” she says reopening my file to jot something down. “And if you’re not comfortable with the term gigolo, you can always become a sex surrogate. There is actually a hundred hour course you can take to become certified.”

  “A certified sex surrogate. That definitely sounds better than a gigolo. Mom has some sort of certification in sex therapy.”

  “Yes. We’re both certified sex therapists. Her and I both went through that training a dozen years ago.” She makes another note in my file. “If you got certified, I could refer you a dozen clients right away.”

  “Really? How much can I make doing that?” I ask, sitting up in my chair somewhat captivated by the idea.

  “I know experienced surrogates who make a thousand dollars a session,” she says with a nod. “It’s a nice way to make a living if you can separate your emotions from the physical act. The nice thing about being a surrogate is you might meet with someone several times before actually becoming intimate. That’s all taught in the certification class. How many more classes would you need for a psych degree?”

  “Somewhere between twenty and thirty credits, but that’s something I wouldn’t mind doing.” I continue to be mesmerized by her as she gets up and walks over to her desk. She picks up a business card and writes something on the back.

  “Here’s the website where you can look at the course material. I’ll give you a reference since you don’t have your degree yet. They know your mother as well.” She hands me the card and once again I can feel the tension between us. “Give me a call on my cell if you have any questions.”

  “Will do. Thanks.” I shove the card in my pants pocket before turning for the door. “I’m not committing to anything, but I’ll definitely check it out.”

  “There’s no pressure, Rex. It’s only an option,” she says with a warm smile. “I’ll see you next Tuesday.”

  Walking out of her office, I had the weirdest sensation. On the one hand, I was completely turned on by someone nearly twice my age. I actually had to make a quick adjustment when I stood up. On the other hand, she’s introducing me to a fascinating new world. A sex surrogate is honestly something that I’ve never even thought about. Mom has worked with people who have those type of problems for years and I’ve always been a little uncomfortable whenever she talked about it. A thousand dollars per session though? That will definitely open a guy’s mind!

  Chapter 3

  Cindy

  After Rex leaves, I feel my cheeks flush again at the thought of him sharing our discussion with his mother. I’ve known Margie for twenty years, but the thought of crossing her still makes me a little nervous. She’s one of those women who can intimidate with a simple glare. I know she’s a believer in sex surrogacy, but I’m not so sure she would be onboard when it’s her son who’s getting involved.

  I think back to how our conversation never really dealt with his depression, which is why she sent him to see me. Of course, if a young man like him gets into the business, he can make incredible money getting laid, so that in itself might cure the depression. I shake my head, knowing it’s never that simple. He’s not only dealing with losing the only career track he’s ever focused on, but the realization that a woman he loved was only interested in his earning potential. Nothing will damage the ego like figuring out that the people around you are attracted for all the wrong reasons. Looking down at my ringing cellphone, I see it’s Margie. Shit.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I answer trying to be casual.

  “How did it go with Rex?” she asks curtly.

  “We had a nice talk.” I reply, not wanting to divulge any details. She knows that everything is confidential, but because it’s her son she probably thinks I’ll spill the details. “He seems to be adjusting to everything pretty well. Teresa definitely sounds like she was a piece of work.”

  “Oh, thank god that’s over with. I could tell she was a gold digger the first time I met her. But she was a little hottie,” she adds sarcastically. I can literally see her doing the air quotes.

  “Even men twice his age make the same stupid mistakes.” My blood pressure raises a notch at the thought of my ex falling for the same exact shit.

  “Sorry, hun. You’ll still get the last laugh on that one. Karma will catch up to him,” she says showing her rarely seen empathetic side. “Judging by what she wore to the Christmas party; he’s been showering her with whatever she wants. That won’t last forever.”

  “It’s already lasted a lot longer than I thought it would,” I reply, thinking she would’ve moved on long ago. “It’s not like he’s a passionate man.”

  “Do those actually exist?” She laughs. “If Phillip is actually home, he’s usually buzzed and nodding off in his recliner. I can’t remember the last time we had a romantic encounter, much less a night out.” The conversation hits a lull as we both contemplate our situations.

  “That’s honestly why I’m not dying to get into another relationship,” I vent. “Most of the guys I’ve met since him are either creeps or losers.”

  “I’m sure there are good ones, but like everything else, you have to move lots of dirt to find the diamonds.” She laughs at her own remark. It would be funny, if it wasn’t absolutely true. But as she well knows it’s no better to be stuck in a loveless marriage. It’s one of the factors that keeps me thinking I’m better off just waiting for the right guy to come along.

  “We can always contact Hot Guys for Angels,” I tease, knowing she has most likely read about them in the same trade publication that caught my eye.

  “Honey, I’m not even sure this angel would know what to do with one of those hot guys,” she says with a giggle.

  “I don’t think you need to do anything. As a paying customer you just lie back and make him do all the work!” We both laugh out loud.

  “On that note, I better get prepped for my next appointment,” she says, seeming startled by the time.

  “Yeah, I have a three o’clock too. Have a good rest of your day,” I say, ending the call. I exhale, realizing that I must have been holding my breath. If she wants to learn anything about today’s session, she’ll have to talk to her son. A smile crosses my face as I think about the bulge he had when he stood up at the end of our session. He tried to subtly adjust himself, but that kid has one hell of a package. If he wasn’t Margie’s son, I would definitely be tempted.

  我愛你

  The Following Tuesday

  Since I haven’t heard anything back from Margie or Rex, I’m assuming there were no issues with the content of our last session. Most likely Rex did some research on his own instead of talking to his mother. I’m actually a little nervous, waiting for Rex to show up f
or his appointment. He’s half my age, so it’s interesting that I have butterflies. It’s something I haven’t experienced for years. Maybe it’s the whole taboo thing.

  “Hey, Cindy,” Rex says casually as he comes through the door and gives me a quick hug.

  “Hi Rex.” I get a whiff of his fabulous cologne and once again am forced to squelch the feelings simmering within me. “How have you been feeling since our last appointment.” I turn right to business since he too seems a bit flustered.

  “Better. You gave me a lot to think about,” he says, slumping into the chair. “It was a good distraction.”

  “Any thoughts?” I find myself very curious as to how someone like him would view the world of sex surrogacy.

  “I have some mixed feelings, I guess.” He pauses with a perplexed look.

  “You can be straight with me,” I tell him. “I’m not going to judge you for having perfectly normal feelings. Most guys your age would be a little overwhelmed by the whole concept.”

  “Yeah, I am. I like the idea of being called a sex surrogate, but it would be a lot easier to be a gigolo.” He sighs and glances away. “I don’t want to be a sex therapist like Mom. I mean, what do I know about how these women are feeling. I would rather just help them have an orgasm.”

  “That’s understandable, but most of the time their problems are a combination of mental and physical.” I explain, knowing that most of my clients have deep seeded issues with sexuality. “For the majority, it’s not going to be as easy as stimulating the right spots.”

  “You can talk about sex until your blue in the face, but nothing can compare to a great orgasm.” He stops abruptly. “I guess that’s my opinion, but what do I know? It’s not like I have a degree and years of experience to fall back on.”

  “Actually, you’re not completely wrong.” I pause, a bit hesitant to go further down this road. “I have a client who has been stuck in the same place with her last three boyfriends. She’s perpetually disappointed, even though there’s a good chance that the problem is actually her. She seems to think that finding the right guy will fix everything.”