by Logan Chance
She crosses the room back to her chair.
“It’s just that…” her words fall away on a whisper.
I perch on the edge of my desk, facing her. “Let’s start over. Tell me what’s going on, Rose?”
She bites her bottom lip before answering. “I’m just not very...experienced. And I want to start having lots of sex.”
I grip the edge of my desk, but continue as if that statement doesn’t irritate me. “How many partners have you had?”
“Two.”
Two. Two very lucky bastards who obviously didn’t know what they were doing if they didn’t make her come. I’ll get through this session if it fucking kills me. “Well, intimacy and sex are nothing to be ashamed of. The two should go hand in hand. And it’s perfectly natural to want to please your partner.” I’m on autopilot. I sound like a high school guidance counselor, next thing I know I’ll be telling her to make sure she’s being safe.
“I do want to please them.”
From knowing Rose the few months I have, I can tell she’s a people pleaser. Which isn’t a bad thing. And I have no doubt in my mind she’d be fantastic in bed. I mean, she’d please her partner just fine.
For fuck’s sake. I scrub a hand down my face. “Why don’t you tell me what the problem is?”
“Well, I’ve never had an orgasm from sex.”
“But on your own you have? What about from oral?”
Oral is my specialty, I want to add. She shakes her head. “On my own, I’m a pro,” Oh fuck, “but I’ve never had one with anyone else’s help.”
Ah, so it’s not a medical problem. My guess is a wrong partner problem. I sit back down in my chair, my eyes having a hard time focusing on her. “I see.”
All I see right now is my head between her legs, showing her what it feels like to come so hard she can’t walk. I take a peek at the clock on the wall, watching each second tick by; this is the longest hour in history.
“I just want to know what that would be like,” she continues the torture. “I want to know how to let myself go with a man.”
I accept. I want to shout those words, and for some insane reason, I want to be the man she lets go with.
“And you think I can help?” I raise a brow.
“Yes, I think I just need some unorthodox treatment.”
“Unorthodox how?”
“Well,” she shifts in her chair, “I think maybe we could go over a few things. Like mechanics.”
“You want me to teach you how to have sex?” I ask, bounding from my chair once again like a five-year-old who can’t sit still. “This is insane, Rose.”
Completely insane.
She shifts in her seat. “I know it’s unusual. But, I figure you’re the best person to come to for advice like this.”
I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Think calming ocean. Think crashing waves. I glance at the clock, and she still has a little over half an hour. I yank at my blue tie.
Where do I fucking begin with this girl?
“I thought maybe you could suggest different …” her words trail off, and I’m hanging on the edge of my seat trying to figure out what she wants me to suggest.
“Go on,” I say when she doesn’t continue.
“I just thought maybe you could offer different techniques. Maybe I’m doing something wrong?”
I hold up my hand, stopping her train of thought. “Rose, stop right there. It’s not you, and I don’t want you ever thinking that. Your partner should be fully invested in getting you to climax.”
The sun rushes through the window, highlighting her flawless skin. I like the sun on her. She’s probably only ever been with men who care about getting their own little rods off before they even have her fully turned on. Basically, she’s probably only ever been with chumps. That thought pisses me off for some reason. Like I have to make it all better for her. Like I need to be the man of the hour and be the one to get her to come all over the place.
Fuck. Finally her hour is up.
“I understand if this is too weird,” she says, pushing up from her chair. “Just know, I need help. I can find another sexpert, if you prefer.”
Fuck that. “I’ll have to think about this.”
She nods. “Thank you. Your next client will be here in ten minutes.”
And with that, she shuts the door, leaving me wondering what the hell to do. Another doctor helping her is probably best, mainly because she’s too tempting, but whether I do the right thing remains to be seen, mainly because she’s too fucking tempting.
You know what’s cool about living in LA? Famous people. You know what’s cool about being related to a movie star? Nothing. I joke. My sister is still the same Chelsea she was before she shot to stardom. Corny jokes and all.
Want to go to a party tonight filled with sexy single women? her text reads. Get it? Sexy...you’re a sex therapist.
I cringe a little. Please stop. Your jokes are getting worse.
You know you laughed.
No, I really didn’t.
Mhm. So you interested? I can’t make it, but thought you might be interested.
I don’t even have to think about it. Being in the limelight is great for Chelsea and Jonah, and now for Ethan, too, but it’s not for me.
I like the normalcy of grabbing a drink at the local bar and not being hounded for autographs of the people in my inner circle. Partying with the rich and famous was cool in the beginning, but after a few years, it fell flat. I wanted more out of life.
Nah, I’m good. Working at the Clinic.
Oh, that’s right. Save lives, big bro.
I slide my phone back into the pocket of my slacks, lock up the house, and head off in the direction of downtown.
A few times a month, I put this medical license to good use and volunteer down at the free clinic on San Pedro Street. It’s the least I can do, and it actually makes me feel like I’m doing something of value.
Sure, sex is an important part of any healthy relationship, but sometimes I feel like it’s a shallow job. It’s not what my passion is. I want to know I’m saving lives, does that make sense?
I pull into the back lot behind the brick medical building and grab my bag containing my stethoscope and white lab coat. It feels good to be here, and when I step inside, I get that rush like someone took a syringe and injected my veins with pure adrenaline.
“Hey, Hallie,” I greet the nurse on duty, stepping behind the triage station.
“Dr. Sincock, hey. We have a full house tonight.”
I grab the first chart in line. “That’s how I like it.” I step into the waiting room, studying all the faces in blue chairs, waiting to be seen. Hallie’s right, this place is packed.
Over the baby cries, coughs, and cacophony of sickness I call out for Thomas Gibson.
A stout man with black hair, holding his arm, stands from near the back of the room. His tired face looks relieved, like he’s been waiting in this room all day, and most likely he has.
“How are you doing today, Mr. Gibson?” I ask.
“Not too good. Hurt my arm.”
He follows me down a short hallway into a small box of an exam room.
This clinic is cramped, and sometimes I wish I could buy the place, tear it down, and rebuild it bigger and stronger.
Mr. Gibson takes a seat in a small blue chair next to my computer station. With a click of the mouse, I bring up all the information I need to collect from him.
“Any allergies?” I ask. He shakes his head no and after I’ve gathered all his past history, I stand to check out his arm for swelling and tenderness. “How did you hurt it?”
“Helping my brother fix his truck. I don’t really know how it happened. One minute it was fine, then the next it hurt.”
“Let’s get you x-rayed.” I walk him down the hall to Radiology and ten minutes later my suspicions are confirmed.
“Well, your shoulder is dislocated. Did you fall?”
“No.”
&nb
sp; I raise a brow. “We can snap this back in. No fall?”
“My brother and I were fighting a bit.”
“Ah, that explains it.” I motion for Mr. Gibson to lie down on the exam table. “This might hurt a little.”
Once I have his shoulder back in place, Mr. Gibson sits up and rotates his shoulder a few times. “Feels much better.”
“Keep it immobile. Just go home, relax, and take some ibuprofen.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
I walk him out, giving him further instructions on after care. When I get to the front, I make sure Hallie hooks him up with a sling.
The rest of the night passes swiftly, adrenaline carrying me throughout the rest of the evening. This is my element. This is what I should be doing. So much better than a party any day.
When I leave the clinic, I decide to take a walk downtown before heading home and dip into a little diner for a cup of coffee. I’m dead tired, but this feeling is something I miss from my time working a rotation in the emergency room.
The lights. The thrill of saving a life. The feeling of knowing you’re making a difference in the world.
I stare into my coffee cup, watching the black liquid form swirls as I blow onto it.
A flash of red passes by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the restaurant, and I immediately think of Rose and wonder how she’s spending her night.
Maybe she’s on a date, with one of the men she needs sexual advice for. Anger courses through my system, and I try to push the thoughts away, but like a lingering guest, they won’t leave. Like she’s fastened herself into my system. The smart thing to do would be to not help her, but maybe it’s best I face this head on. Sometimes the more you’re around someone, the less attractive they become. Something tells me, that won’t be the case.
9
Rose
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
― Maya Angelou
My closet looks like it belongs to Mother Teresa. All I need is a nun’s veil for my head. It must be a subconscious result of my religious upbringing. Funny how we don’t realize seeds are being planted in our brains until one day you see the forest. To play devil's advocate, I could also be boring.
The plastic hangers slide along the rail as I rummage through the colorful collection of business attire, looking for anything that will show off the girls. And I’d like to say, I truly must be a saint, because I don’t have anything revealing. So many cardigans.
A black pencil skirt and white blouse make the cut today for work. I unbutton the top three buttons exposing the swell of my breasts, but it doesn’t feel right. So, I button one back up and dab on a little mascara and gloss. Voila; I look like I’m going to church instead of tempting Dr. Sincock into helping me.
Deep breath.
I don’t even know how to face him, I really don’t.
But face him I will. On the way to work, I repeat that over and over in my head, so I don’t turn around and go home. When I arrive at my desk, I’m immediately summoned into Declan’s office.
Seriously, what was I thinking coming in today? Full of trepidation, I enter his office trying to get a feel for how bad I’ve messed things up. He looks troubled; that’s not a good sign. His sandy hair, usually so perfect, looks like he’s raked his hand through it a million times. Even his stern black suit looks like a bad omen.
He snaps his attention away from his computer, and his fingers cease flying over the keyboard. “Shut the door.”
Oh shit. I’m being fired. I just know it. I do as he says, and with tentative feet, step further into the room.
“Have a seat,” he instructs.
On autopilot, feeling like I’m headed to the electric chair, I take a seat in front of his desk. He smiles. It’s a really nice smile, he should do it more often. Without a doubt, it’s best he fires me, because at the moment I’m about to lose my job, I’m fixated on his lips. The tempting curves and the way the bottom is slightly fuller than the top. I bet he’s a great kisser.
“Rose, I’ve been thinking about yesterday. And I think…” his words trail off.
A boulder sized lump forms in my throat. I’ve never been fired before today. “If you could not mention on my termination report that I can’t orgasm through sex, I’d appreciate it.”
“Termination report?”
“Yes. I’m guessing I won’t be getting a reference from you?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not firing you.”
An audible sigh of relief escapes from me. “You’re not?”
“No,” he confirms, “I’m going to help you.”
“You are?”
He smiles, showing off a perfect set of white teeth. “Yes, Rose.”
“Thank you.”
“Once we get back from Santa Maria, you can schedule yourself an appointment.”
Well, that’s not going to work. I can’t wait that long. His schedule is packed and my book is so close to being done. “Can’t we do a speed therapy? Maybe in Santa Maria we can discuss a few techniques. You can give me a few assignments?”
Something flickers in his eyes before it’s quickly snuffed out. He doesn’t speak. Oh man, I’ve rendered a sex therapist speechless. I’m sure this is no small feat.
“Ok, yes,” he finally answers. “That’s best. We’ll get it over fast. I think it will be good for you. I’ll put together a little plan.”
Oh no, my sex life needs a plan.
“Anything else?”
He shakes his head.
I leave his office feeling like I’m walking a tightrope. One misstep and I’m going to be a broken mess. It’s bad enough I have to go on this trip with him, but now I’ve ensured I’ll have to discuss sex with him. If this were in my novel, I’d be saying ‘Nah, girl.’ But even if I wasn’t discussing sex with him, I’d still have to go. One of the best hotels in the Santa Maria area is already booked, a car waiting on us when we arrive—a normal sized one—so it’s best to just continue with the plan. The end result will be worth it.
Instead of dwelling on how crazy this is, I make a to do list:
Tell my mother I’ll be out of town.
Let the group know I won’t be at next week’s meeting.
Get non nun like clothes.
Research the benefits of avocados for something to talk about with Declan.
Find earbuds instead.
Pray for myself.
So much to prepare for.
I text Julie, letting her know my upcoming plans. All of them. And then my phone rings.
“Hello,” I whisper into my cell phone.
“You’re going on a trip with Sincock and having sex therapy sessions?”
“Shh.” I peer over my left shoulder to make sure Declan isn’t standing right behind me. “It’s business.”
“Mhm,” she hums, accusingly.
“It is. Nothing will happen.”
“I want all the details. And we should probably go over what you’re going to pack.”
“Pack? Why would we need to go over that?”
“You can’t just bring your everyday wear. You need some sexy with it.”
I mentally picture my closet. “Yeah, there’s no sexy there.”
“Well, then we need to go shopping. What are you doing after work?”
My email pings, and I have a new message from Declan, flagged urgent—“We’re having dinner tonight to discuss the plan. Pick a place.”
So bossy. I answer him with a few taps of the keyboard. “Julie, I have plans tonight.”
“What? With who?”
“Dr. Sincock.”
“What kind of plans?”
“Dinner and discussing his plan.”
“What plan?”
“I don’t know. We’ve said plans so many times, I’ve forgotten which plan is which.”
She laughs. “Ok, call me later.”
We hang up and I add one more thing to my to-do list: Do not cross any lines with Dr. Sincoc
k. Immediately, I get rid of that one, ‘cause I already have. Instead, I add—do not fall under the Sincock effect.
10
Declan
Many doctors are said to be uptight, not having experience in fun things.
Every thought my brain has had in the past twenty-four hours has been justifying why I’m going to help Rose. Basically, when you cut the bullshit, it’s self-serving—I don’t want her discussing her sex life with anyone else. Maybe I need my own therapist. No, I need a taco...no not that kind of taco, well, I need that too.
Fuck, what is wrong with me? I’m taking her to dinner now?
While I wait for her outside the restaurant, I scan the courtyard, looking at all the people milling about, wondering if any of them have the same problem as me.
Are they lusting after someone they shouldn’t? I mean bosses have dinner with their assistants all the time, right? It isn’t against any legal code, or anything. It’s perfectly acceptable to have dinner with my secretary. This is not a date, I remind myself, this is business.
“Hi,” a quiet voice says behind me.
When I turn around, I’m taken aback for a moment at the sight of Rose in jeans and a flowy black shirt that exposes the slope of her shoulder. Her long hair is free from the confines she had it in earlier and I have an overwhelming and disturbing urge to sniff it. “Hi. Ready?”
She nods, and we step inside the Burgatory—a local burger joint. To my dismay, the hostess informs us it’ll be twenty minutes until we’re seated and hands us a little pager thing.
“Want to walk?” I ask Rose, to ease the awkwardness.
She nods, and together we exit and step across the street to a manmade lake. We follow the light-covered path around the water in silence, even though I have so many things I want to talk to her about. Mainly, I want to lay down the foundation of my plan, but figured I should probably feed her first before we get down to the nitty gritty of it all.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she starts, but I wave off her apology.