Lust (8 page)

“It’s no different than what I’m doing with you,” she argued.

“Yes it is. I’m a licensed professional. You’re not paying me to have sex with you. You’re paying me to help you. So that you can work through your issues regarding sex in order for you to have it. Hopefully, without paying for it. It’s not the same at all.”

“And that’s exactly why I paid them. I wasn’t searching for someone simply to have sex with. I needed someone that wouldn’t judge me. That would sleep with me and I wouldn’t have to worry about running into them again. I had sex with them to get over my issues. Not for pleasure or because I wanted it. I was trying to do what you’re doing, but all on my own.”

I had no words. Doing the math in my head and trying to figure her out all at once, I realized that she lost her virginity eight years ago. She had paid someone however much money to take her virginity because she was so desperate to get over the fear of being looked at or touched. After that, as long as she was telling me the truth about it, it had taken her another six years before she tried it again. The first time must have been traumatic because as far as I knew, she hadn’t attempted it again during the six-year span between the two times. And that had been two years ago.

“So you paid for sex twice. Were there any other times you tried or maybe got close but didn’t go all the way?” I wondered.

She shook her head but then quickly answered verbally. “No. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It’s not that I don’t want to have sex. I get the urges; I simply don’t act on them. The last time was enough of a reminder why I shouldn’t.”

“What do you do when you get the urges?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? As in you don’t even touch yourself?”

I noticed her body stiffen beside me.

“No, I don’t even do that,” she answered quietly.

I wanted to tell her so much. I wanted to tell her that it was okay to masturbate. That it was a completely normal human reaction. But it wasn’t the time or place for that. I made a mental note to add it to the plan. It was something she would have to be comfortable with before she could ever be okay with letting anyone else touch her.

“What happened the last time? You said it was enough of a reminder to keep you from doing it again. What happened?”

“I don’t want to tell you. It’s embarrassing and disgusting.” Her voice was quiet and I had to strain to hear what she said.

I waited until I was stopped at the red light in front of the restaurant before turning and looking at her. She was looking out the window, staring off in space. “You can tell me. I need to know these things. I won’t embarrass you or make you feel uncomfortable. This is my job, Ivy.” I tried to make my voice sound professional and solid, even though what I wanted to do was plead with her to trust me. I knew how to do this, though. I knew that patience was key. She would get better and more confident. We just had to start slow.

“Fine. I threw up.”

I should have spent an extra second before responding, but I didn’t. “Like during the act or after?”

“During… kind of.” She took in a deep breath before continuing. I could tell I had embarrassed her and I felt bad about it, but the need to know had overshadowed any embarrassment I had caused. “I had all of the lights out, hoping that would help, but then he started touching me and it didn’t matter that it was pitch black or not. I jumped up and ran to the bathroom.”

“And you still had sex with him?”

“Yes. I told him I had cancer and just started chemo. And that was why I was paying for sex because I needed something to make me feel better about it.” She looked at me and must have seen the puzzled look on my face because she said, “I read it in a book.”

“Should have known,” I said with a laugh, hoping it would lighten the mood. I pulled into the parking lot and waited until the conversation was over before turning the car off. “How was the actual sex part?”

“I cried the whole time. But I don’t think he knew that. He was behind me so he couldn’t see my face.” She seemed overly uncomfortable talking to me about it. “Once it was over with, I took a shower until the water turned cold. I decided for the second time that I would never do that again. I figured I would end up dying alone and untouched.”

“That’s not going to happen. I am here now, and I’m very good at what I do. We’ll work through this and then you can whore around all you want.” I laughed, trying to make light of the situation and ease her some, but it left a knot in my stomach at the thought.

At least it earned a smile from her.

“Reservations for Cade Morgan,” I told the hostess as soon as we walked in.

She smiled and took us to our table, which was in the back corner of the restaurant. It was the table I had asked for when calling earlier. I didn’t want our conversation to be interrupted or overheard. I knew Ivy wouldn’t be comfortable talking with other ears around.

“This is how I see things working out,” I began. “I would like to assume that you have no intentions of calling for male escorts again. Which means you need to meet someone, grow comfortable with them, and then see where that leads. But first, we need to get you comfortable going out to different places.”

“I’m not uncomfortable going places.”

“Then why don’t you? And don’t use driving as an excuse. There are lots of places around your apartment within walking distance that would lead you to meeting people. I’m not insinuating that you should go to bars and get hammered in order to get laid, but if you do go to a bar, you can have a drink or two and just interact with people. Just be cautious since some fuckers only go to bars to pick up chicks for sex. You seem to be somewhat of a good judge of character. Use that to your advantage and don’t ever go home with strangers.”

“You make it sound so easy. Yet it’s not. I have a hard time meeting people. I can’t explain it.”

“It’s not going to be an overnight thing. It will be something we will both have to work on. But I promise you this, we can get through it. But in order to do that, I need for you to trust me. I need for you to tell me the truth about things. I won’t judge you. I won’t think less of you. We all have our demons, our dark corners in closets where skeletons are kept. Show them to me when you’re ready. I’ll be right there by your side to battle them together.”

She smiled at me and I found myself in a trance. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from her. Her unusual eyes pierced straight through me as I fought within to look away. I couldn’t. Her nose was small and narrow; nothing special about it, but it fit her face and gave her a soft look. She had thin lips, which I didn’t particularly like on women—I like full lips to suck on—but on her, I loved them. They were perfect and didn’t get in the way when she smiled, which wasn’t often, but when she did, I was able to see her slightly crooked teeth. Which also suited her. Her top incisors sat up higher than the others did, almost what fangs would look like on people. I thought they looked sexy and made me wonder what it would feel like if she bit my shoulder while I was thrusting deep inside her.

I had to look away. I couldn’t keep staring at her perfectly imperfect features and stay professional at the same time. I had to stay on task and continually remind myself that I was her therapist. I was there to help and heal her, not to take advantage of the relationship we had. That would be wrong and unethical.

“So what’s the plan, Doc? How are you going to fix me?”

If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was flirting with me. But I did know better. She wasn’t capable of flirting, or at least she didn’t seem to be. It at least made me aware that once she was able to flirt and feel confident doing so, she would be a force to be reckoned with.

“First, we’ll work on getting you comfortable with meeting people. We’ll slowly work into finding a way that’ll make you comfortable with touch. It’ll start off with something as simple as holding hands, and then we’ll move up from there. But in order to break through your built-in barriers, I need to know about the things that happened when you were younger. You really haven’t given me much. I need to fully understand what fears your mom instilled in your head before I can show you how wrong she was.”

“I know she was wrong. I don’t need to go over the gory details with you to know that. I’ve  already come to that conclusion. I have been to shrinks before. I have heard it all. The social workers and foster families had tried talking to me. It’s not a matter of knowing she was wrong or not.” She was acting defensive and I hated it.

My patience started to thin out, no matter how hard I tried to fight it. I was always very good at keeping an even temper in sessions. I knew the defense mechanisms commonly used and how they worked better than most. But there was something about Ivy and the way she fought with me that made me quickly lose control of my emotions. She certainly wasn’t the first one to fight with me, but she was the first that actually got to me. It was like she knew exactly how to goad me, even though I knew that wasn’t what she was doing and she surely wasn’t trying to piss me off. It was because she mattered to me. And that pissed me off even more.

“I’m sure you are aware that it’s wrong, but you haven’t accepted it. You haven’t accepted that bad things happen, and there’s not always a reason. You haven’t accepted that sometimes there are bad people out there that do bad things for no reason other than because they’re vile people. Most importantly, I don’t think that you’ve accepted the things that have happened to you. Once you can accept that, then you can start to move on.” I was a hypocrite and a liar. I knew firsthand about horrible people doing vicious things. I also knew firsthand about good people making bad choices, and suffering through the consequences of those actions. I accepted that a long time ago, yet I had never been able to move on. No matter what I tried or how many times I tried the various steps.

“Do we have to talk about that here?” she asked as her eyes darted around the room at the other people oblivious to us and enjoying their meals. Her feistiness had begun to thaw, leaving way for her insecurities to take hold. I could see it in her posture, in the way she looked around in fear of people eavesdropping. I could sense it in her cold and rigid form as she sat across the table from me.

I slowly moved to occupy the empty seat next to her. I lowered my voice and took on a softer tone. “No, we don’t have to talk about that here. But we will need to discuss it at some point. Hopefully, sooner rather than later if you’re planning to overcome this anytime soon. But it’s up to you. We can work at your pace. I can make the plan but you’re the one that has to follow it.” I kept my voice quiet but stern as I leaned into her. I knew it was important to give her the control of the situation and then be there to take it back when she couldn’t handle it.

Once I moved chairs, we each had a wall to our backs and we could see the entire room laid out in front of us. The people dining were all busy with their own meals or companions to even notice or acknowledge our presence, alone in the corner. My eyes moved back to hers and I was so close to her face I could almost feel the heat from her pink cheeks radiating onto my skin. I placed my hand on her knee, feeling her soft skin beneath the rip in her jeans. I could feel the heat of her body burning through the material and into my palm. Our eyes never wavered as her breaths grew quick and shallow. It was sexy as hell.

“But there’s one more key that you’re missing here, Ivy,” I said in a voice so hoarse I wasn’t sure it was my own.

Her words came out shaky and breathy as she asked, “What’s that?”

“If you ever plan on being comfortable when someone else touches you, you’ll have to be comfortable touching yourself.” My eyes moved to her lips as I heard her already short breaths grow even shorter. I knew I had affected her, but I needed to make sure she wasn’t hyperventilating.

“Wha–what do you mean?”

“You need to learn to masturbate.”

Her eyes grew twice the size on her face. Her breathing had completely halted in her chest and her hands were rattling the silverware on the table. I kept my face straight as I stared back at her, even though all I wanted to do was smile.

“Listen, you need to calm down,” I warned.

“I can’t while you’re talking about
that
with your hand resting on my leg.”

“Talking about what?” I goaded her, wanting to hear her say the word. I was testing her, pushing her to see how far she would go. “Say it. It’s just a word. A word like any other word.”

She shook her head vigorously.

I finally let the smile spread. “You will. I assure you that by time I’m done with you, you will confidently say it along with many other words that I’m sure would have your head spinning to think about right now.” I gripped her knee in my hand hard and said, “And as for my hand on your leg, in due time, it will be on other places on your body. Some way more intimate than this. This will also become something you will eventually be comfortable with.”

Our plates were brought out so I released the tight hold on her leg and lifted my hands to the table. That was when she finally let out a breath of air and somewhat relaxed in her seat, but refused to speak.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I asked as she shuffled the food around her plate with her fork.

“I’m a picky eater.”

I didn’t specialize in eating disorders, but I was sure that was something one would use as an excuse not to eat in front of others.

“You ordered it. Why would you request something you don’t like? I can call the waitress over and have her bring you something else if you’d like.”

“No, that’s okay. I don’t need to bother anyone. I’ll just eat around the peppers and onions, and tomatoes… and zucchini.”

I laughed and she looked at me, trying to hide the small smile on her lips with her cloth napkin. “Ivy, that’s practically everything on your plate. Why would you order that if you don’t like anything in it?”

“I didn’t really read the menu. I just picked something.”

“Why?” I couldn’t imagine someone that claimed to be a picky eater not reading what was in the meal. I knew that she could read by the countless number of books her mind had devoured.

She shrugged and the dismissive motion told me she didn’t want to answer me. I placed my silverware down on my plate and looked at her, waiting until her eyes met mine.

“No one has ever taken me out to dinner before,” she answered meekly.

“I took you out the other night.”

“That doesn’t count. I didn’t order anything and it wasn’t like this. This is how I would picture a date if I ever went on one, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to order and I was nervous. So I picked something without looking. I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your money but I tried to pick the most inexpensive thing.”

The smile fell from my lips and without thought, my hand moved to hers, curling around her hand that rested on top of the table. I wasn’t sure any longer if she avoided the food because of a disorder, or if she really was telling me the truth. There was an innocence to her that called to me, that made me want to do something. She was almost child-like and I wasn’t sure how to approach it.

“Ivy, don’t apologize. We can have them bring you something else that you like.”

“That’s really not necessary. I’ll be okay.”

I began cutting away pieces of my steak as she continued to play with the food in front of her. “Here, eat this,” I offered as I moved food from my plate onto hers. “I won’t eat it all and what kind of man would I be if I let my date leave dinner hungry?”

She shook her head again, about to protest, but I stopped her by spearing a piece of meat with my fork and bringing it to her lips. Once she realized I wasn’t going to give up, she opened her mouth and took the food I offered. I felt my pants grow tight as I watched her lips close around my fork and take the piece of juicy meat. She hummed as she chewed on the piece of steak and it took everything in me not to touch her, when that was all I craved to do.

The tension around our table grew tenfold and I needed to find a way out of there desperately. We quickly finished my meal together and I paid the bill in cash, not wanting to waste any more time with a credit card transaction. I grabbed her hand in mine and hurried out of the restaurant.

I wanted to talk in the car, planned on it actually, but she was too quiet. The low music I turned on in the background was needed to keep me from going insane due to the silence. She was stiff in her seat, barely moving on the way back to her apartment.

She was surprised when I turned the car off after parking in front of her building. Her head jerked to me as I climbed out of the car and went to her side, opening her door to let her out.

“What are you doing?” she asked nervously.

I needed to know if she truly lived there or not, but didn’t dare come right out and ask her. So the next best thing was to make something up that would be both believable and comfortable at the same time.

“What kind of date would I be if I didn’t take you to your front door?”

“I thought you said this wasn’t a date?” she argued.

“And you said this was how you’d picture a date if you went on one. So I’m showing you what it would be like if it were a date. Don’t argue with me, Ivy. Let me take you to your door.”

She accepted my hand and let me pull her from the car. I didn’t let go and I wasn’t sure why. She no longer fidgeted endlessly while I held her hand, either. I didn’t need to hold hands with her as we walked up the exterior staircase, but I did. I couldn’t get enough of the softness her hands provided. I didn’t need to lean against the door jamb as she unlocked the deadbolt, but I did. And I really didn’t need to push myself inside behind her, but I couldn’t help myself and did that as well.

“What are you doing?” she asked, clearly startled, staring at me in shock as I closed the door behind me.

We were only a foot apart, and it took everything in me not to push her against the wall behind her and thrust my tongue into her mouth. The way her question came out in soft breaths of air combined with the memories of the way her leg felt beneath my hand were tormenting me.

“I… I wanted to see your place.” I had to shake my head to clear it and get a hold of myself. I was never one to stutter on my words or act nervous in close proximity to a woman. “I need to get a better idea of who you are, Ivy, and there’s no better way to do that than see where you live.”

I looked around me, taking in the bare walls and colorless room. A small television set that looked as though it came from the early eighties was sitting on a small table in the corner. One chair sat in the middle of the room with a folding card table next to it. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the chair had come from a garbage pile with the way it was decorated in patchwork, as if someone had haphazardly tried covering rips in the fabric. On the far wall, behind the torn chair, was a bed. It was neatly made with a thin white blanket pulled up to the pillows. It was small, maybe a full-size bed, but the room was tiny and I couldn’t imagine anything bigger fitting. A small table sat next to that in place of a bedside table, and it held an old IBM computer. It reminded me of the ones I used in middle school, and it wouldn’t surprise me if it used floppy discs. A tiny kitchen, that couldn’t have fit more than one person at a time, was right next to the front door, and what looked like a bathroom was on the other side.

I couldn’t imagine anyone living in something so compact unless they resided in prison.

“There’s no personality to your apartment, Ivy. How do I even know you live here?”

“I’m sure you watched as I unlocked the door. That should be a good indication.”

“How do I know you’re not dog-sitting?”

“Do you see a dog? Or any other animal?” Her tone was sarcastic and I had to stifle a laugh.

“You could be watching someone’s apartment while they’re gone.”

“Do you live here?” she asked with attitude. “Because aside from you, I don’t know anyone else. My friends are all online bloggers that I have never met in person before, and I doubt anyone would ask a stranger to watch their home for them.” She stared at me and I didn’t respond. “You got me, Cade. An old woman lived here alone and I killed her for her spacious living quarters. I was living in a big ole house but needed more space for all of my belongings, so I took it from her.” Her voice was deadpanned as she spoke.

I was completely caught off guard by her sarcasm. I wasn’t in any way prepared for it and couldn’t contain my smile any longer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that there’s no personality in here. This could very well be the home of a lonely old lady by the looks of it. But I believe you; I was simply trying to say no one could get any idea of who you are by walking in here. Why is that?”

“Maybe there’s nothing about me for people to know.”

“There is, though. Except you don’t want to let anyone in to see it.”

“Like what? What is there for people to see?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?” I leaned closer to her, causing her to quickly back away.

Ivy began to breathe heavily before turning her back to me. She walked to the chair and used the backrest to steady herself. I could tell she was battling something within her, and I wanted to help. I wanted to fight with her, not against her. I walked to her slowly and gently rested my hands on the sides of her small waist, causing her to jump in fear.

“It’s okay, Ivy. Take slow, deep, even breaths. Calm down. You can trust me, talk to me; I can help you. But I need you to open up to me if that’s ever going to happen. I need you to let me see you, the real you. The good and the bad,
and
the ugly. Let me help you.” My words were whispers into the quiet air that surrounded us.

“I don’t know if I can. You wouldn’t understand. Maybe I can’t be helped.”

I turned her so that she had no choice but to look at me. Her hands remained on the chair behind her, making her chest protrude between our bodies. I understood what she was saying, and she held more truth in her words than she probably knew, but that wasn’t going to keep me from doing all I could to help her. I knew the fears would never go away, the triggers would never disappear, and the voices would never quiet. But the key was to suppress them enough to live as any normal person would. To work around the issues without giving in to them. Take me for an example, I couldn’t have sex on a bed without hearing the screaming sounds of pain, so I improvised and fucked on other surfaces. It was all about working around the issues.

“I need you to tell me why you’re so scared right now. What about this or me is scaring you? I need to know this before I can fix it. Before I can make it better for you. I need you to open up to me, Ivy. Please, talk to me,” I begged in a voice just slightly louder than a whisper.

“You can fix it by backing away.”

“No, that won’t fix it. That’ll only make your heart rate calm and your palms dry up, but it won’t fix it. The next time you’re this close to someone, your heart will again race and your hands will again sweat. That’s not fixing the problem, that’s only prolonging it. So tell me, why are you feeling this way?”

“Because you’re so close to me.”

“I thought you said it was only intimate touching and looking. My hands are on your waist, not below the belt. And you are wearing clothes that cover you. This shouldn’t be bothering you. You shouldn’t be freaking out like this if you were telling me the truth. So I’m going to ask you again, and I want nothing but complete honesty from you. Do you understand?” I grabbed the sides of her head when she didn’t answer and pulled her face until she was looking directly at me. “Ivy, do you understand?”

She nodded, but I waited until she said, “Yes, Cade, I understand.”

“Were you ever sexually abused? And to make things very clear, I mean at any time in your life. From the moment you were born until the moment I picked you up for dinner, were you ever sexually abused by anyone?” I spoke slow and clear words, making sure she understood each and every one of them.

“No, Cade. I’ve already told you, I was never molested. Ever.”

“Then why are you so scared right now?”

“It’s not what you’re doing… it’s you.
You’re
scaring me right now.”