Audrey Exposed (6 page)

I know what she’s getting at. Am I aroused during our sessions? The answer is yes, but it feels too personal to share. It’s something between Graham and me. We both get aroused; but so far, we have kept those stirrings to ourselves. I’ve seen the tenting in his pants. He’s surely noticed the raised, hard pebbles of my nipples. Without going into such detail, I say, “Yes. It feels good. Really good.”

She nods and switches questions.
“Do you feel like you’re ready to move forward?”

“That depends, I guess. Where do we go from here?” I ask.

“Currently you’re clothed, but in arm and leg revealing clothing. Graham has exposed your legs, arms, hands, feet, and neck. Are you ready to remove your shirt?”

The burst of anxiety boils inside. I take a deep breath. “Naked? Or with my bra and underwear?”

“Not naked. No. Just step-by-step.”

“I think I would be ready to take off my shirt. I’m not sure about my shorts.” The thin layer of cotton over my panties feels like a protective double barrier between him and
me. I’m not ready to give it up.

Dr. Markson makes a note in her book. “I think that’s an appropriate next step
, if you think you’re ready. And Audrey, please understand that each phase from here on out may take a while longer to work through the exposure. It may take days to get comfortable as you reveal yourself more and more. Frustration is going to become a common feeling.”

“Trust me,”
I say, looking out the window. “I’m quite used to feeling frustrated.”

Chapter 13

(Audrey)

For two days, The Rocket (as I’ve come to name it) has sat in my bedside drawer wrapped in a towel, beneath three heavy textbooks. I had no plans on using it. In fact, I figured I would just lie at my next appointment with Dr. Markson. Like she’d know if I masturbated or not, right?

Then
, I met the girls for Sunday brunch, a bridesmaid meeting. Jessica’s wedding is six weeks away and everything needs to fall into place. Dresses, shoes, hotel reservations, airline tickets…that’s right, she’s having a destination wedding. Jessica’s wedding will take place on Cumberland Island, on the beach. We’ll take a private boat to the island and stay at the historic inn. It’s turned into this major event. Jessica’s father is a CEO at Coke, and nothing’s too good for his baby girl. Once the official planning has taken place and everyone has downed a couple of Bloody Marys, the focus turns once again to men and sex.

Of course.

“The rooms at the inn are very romantic,” Jessica says. She’s the only one that has been to the inn before. Reese went camping on the island once in the 8
th
grade with her Girl Scout troop to see the wild horses, but she didn’t go to the inn. “Audrey, do you think you’ll bring a date?”

I swallow the remainder of my drink. “I’m not sure. When do you need to know?”

“In the next two weeks. If you don’t have a date it’s no big deal, I’ll just have you room with someone else. My niece is sixteen. I’m sure my sister will be happy to get her out of their room for the night.”

Great
, I think. Now I’m the babysitter. A different surge of panic rolls in my stomach. I do not want to be dateless at this wedding. In fact, after everything I’ve been through for the last month, I feel a strengthened resolve. I will not be alone on this trip and I plan to enjoy it to the fullest. “I’ll let you know before then.”

Hours
later, a half-empty bottle of wine rests on my coffee table, along with the remains of Thai takeout. The credits for a Nicholas Sparks movie roll across my TV screen, and I’m missing Zac Efron’s biceps already. He’s hot, and the combination of wine, a cheesy romance with a naked Zefron in an outdoor shower, and my new resolve has put me in the mood to attempt my homework from Dr. Markson.

I leave the couch for my bed,
stopping first to double check the locks on my front door.  I flip the metal bolt and secure the chain, because God forbid someone walk into the middle of this. It’s stupid, but I even pull the privacy curtains tight, even though they’re sheer and don’t provide much privacy. I may be tipsy, but not so much that my irrational fear of being caught by someone walking in my apartment is gone. Who would walk in? No one. There’s not a soul who has any reason to come in, other than the landlord, but like I said, irrational fear.

I’ve thou
ght this moment out. I plan to recreate the environment of my sessions with Graham. I dim the overhead lights and light a variety of candles around the bed. I search my iPod for the hypnotic, trance-inducing music of “Explosions in the Sky” (I finally asked Graham what he played every session.) Then, finally, I strip down to my tank and shorts, grabbing my hot pink rocket. Armed and ready, I burrow under the covers.

My
hands recreate the pattern Graham has traveled for the past month with his hands, up and down my arms and legs, gliding between my thighs. I close my eyes and summon images of wet showers, choreographed sex, and a movie star’s back. These images come, they’re quickly replaced with intent blue eyes, and a jaw covered in a thin layer of stubble. That deadly smile. Hands that know every exposed inch of my body better than I know it myself. I find myself stopping at the barriers used in our sessions; but the idea of the rocket excites me and with a quick shimmy, I slip my shorts and panties off, feeling the cool sheets on my skin.

I lick my lips
and wonder what Graham’s mouth would feel like touching mine. The scratchy feel of his beard. Are his lips soft? Is his tongue warm? I pretend it’s exactly how I want it and flip the tiny switch at the base of the rocket.

My hips jump at the sound, anticipating contact. Fear? Not much. I know I won’t do anything I’m not comfortable with. Shame? A little. A man should be pleasuring me, not a vibrating plastic tube. I push the shame away and use my fingers to spread myself wide. The first touch of the rocket to my clit sends
shocks of electric waves across my lower body. It’s been a long time since my pussy has seen any action.

The contact proves to be too
much, so I guide it to the edges, warming my body up. It takes time but soon my hips move, seeking contact. I adjust the rocket, grazing it over my clit. A surge of pleasure ripples through my body.
Oh
, I think, pressing my head into the pillow.

I explore my body and realize not everything feels great
, but not everything feels bad either. A lot feels wonderful. It’s not as scary without the pressure of
more
hanging over my head. I’m in control of the pointy object; and once I realize what feels nice, I do it repeatedly until the room turns fuzzy around the edges, and my body takes on a life of its own. The tiny nub between my legs swells under the vibrating rocket as I glide it over the aggravated flesh. Just when I think there’s nothing more, I hit the sweet spot and my legs clench around the plastic shaft, squeezing tightly, and I fall to a lovely place between pleasure and pain. I’m startled by the sound of my breathing, deep and ragged; and I rock to my side, riding out the waves cresting over my body.

Calm and spent
, I roll to the side and shut off the rocket; the soft noise comes to an abrupt end. Staring up at my ceiling, I feel the smile creep across my face. Another step forward.

Chapter 14

(Graham)

“How much longer do you think your school obligation will last?” Margaret asks. Against my better judgment, I agreed to come over to help her with a leak in the bathroom. A for real leak. When I got to the house, water and sopping wet towels covered the bathroom floor. Their house is old, over a hundred years. The metal pipe has finally rusted through. Margaret knows better than to fake something to get my attention; but all the same, I’m here and I’m giving her the attention she craves anyway.

“I’m not sure
, at least until the end of the semester.” I’m lying on my back, under the cabinet putting in the new pipe. I crane my neck looking for the wrench. Margaret picks it up and hands it to me. Her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder and ample cleavage spills from her shirt. Tight yoga pants define her legs and she’s painted her toes a sparkly purple. I’d be a liar if I said I’m not attracted to her. “Thanks.”

“You think you’ll be free by June 15
th
?”

I shift to my side, seeking leverage for the wrench. I twist it several times, tightening the pipe into place. “Probably. What for?”

“I need a date.”

I scoot out and lift an eyebrow. “For what?”

“Just tell me if you can go.”

“Maybe,” I say, wiping my hands on a cloth
. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to trick me into something?”

She shrugs and holds out her hand, helping me off the ground
. I lean against the bathroom sink. She’s standing close enough for me to smell her perfume. “Not a trick, I’m just holding my cards until you give me a solid answer.”

“Fair enough.”

She closes the remaining gap. “I’ve missed you.”

Normally
, I’d tell her I’d missed her too; but I haven’t, not other than the sex. My time has been filled with this experiment and Audrey; and it’s been nice to have a different focus. Instead of lying, I ask, “How have things been?”

“At home?”

“Yes.”

“Lonely,” she confesses.
Her fingers fidget with the buttons on my shirt. “Too many empty nights; more so now that you’re busy.”

I almost
tell her
I’m sorry
, but I don’t. I can’t be everything to Margaret. She’s not my responsibility. Her hands move downward, to the button on my jeans and she works so quick my cock is free before I realize it. She licks her lips and my dick lurches upward.

I close my hand around hers. “I can’t.”

“Let me suck you off,” she pouts; her lips fleshy and full.

“I can’t,” I say again
; I hope with more conviction but probably not. I move away and redress, tucking my painfully hard dick down my shorts. “Margaret, you need to find something that makes you happy.”

“You make me happy.”

“No,” I correct. “I give you amazing orgasms.”

She purrs deep in her throat. “Same thing.”

“It’s not.” I extract myself from her grasp and move out of the bathroom. “I can’t tell you what it is that you need, but other people can’t fill the void. Not me, not your husband.”

She pouts, too lazy to deal with the hard parts of her life. “June 15
th
?” she says, as I walk to the door.

“I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, baby,” she says, kissing me on the cheek. “For everything.” She tucks folded cash in my pants pocket, grazing close to my dick. It twitches in reply. Dammit.

Walking to my
Jeep, I can feel the warmth of her lips and the lingering scent of her perfume. I almost turn back. I almost cave because fucking Margaret is something I enjoy. Something I need.

I crank the car and peel out of the driveway faster than I should.
I have to get away from here, away from her. As much as I hate to admit it, Margaret fills a void for me, too.

Chapter 15

(Audrey)

Pretty bra, not suggestive, but not unattractive either? Check.

Semi-flat stomach? I take a deep breath, holding my shirt
up; I twist and turn in the mirror. It’s flat enough if I suck it in, which I plan to do.

Wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights, expression? Triple Check.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror gathering my courage to begin our first session shirtless while Graham waits outside. On the way over, I felt confident. I’d spent the weekend doing homework. Lots of it. I figured I’d immerse myself fully in the concept of exposure therapy. It couldn’t hurt, right? Dr. Markson hadn’t given me a limit. With each orgasm, I broke down a tiny bit of the wall I’d built around myself. I know I’m not afraid of an orgasm, but I am of what it can and should lead to. What happens when my partner wants and needs reciprocation? It had been easier just to push them off as long as possible.

Even so
, I never got past stimulating my clitoris. Once or twice, I hovered near my opening and the same sense of panic enveloped me each time. As frustrating as that was I also emerged with a sense of control and pride that I’d challenged myself.

I drop the shirt
hem and smooth it over my hips before exiting the bathroom. Graham’s sitting on a chair next to the couch reading over the instructions for today. “Hey,” I say, moving to stand next to him. He looks up.

“Hi. You ready?”

“Yep,” I say, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. He lifts an eyebrow so I guess I’m not very good at covering it up. “How do we want to do this?”

“I had an idea,” he says, lowering the lights and preparing the room. When he’s
finishes, he straddles the bench. “I can sit like this and you can sit in front of me. Or lie down with your head in my lap. Whatever makes you most comfortable.

I like this idea and agree,
moving to sit in front of him. My outer thighs straddle the bench, pressing against the warm insides of his legs. Quickly, before I lose my nerve, I lift my shirt over my head. Glancing backward, I see he’s keeping his word and is removing his shirt as well. I get an eyeful of a well-defined chest, muscular and naturally tan, the opposite of my pale, white-as-a-ghost complexion. Whatever he’s thinking, he hides it behind a mask of professionalism. I turn back around, and without a word, Graham begins his ministrations, gently caressing my skin. His movements and touch have been softer as the weeks progress. They have been less of a massage and more titillating. His hands ghost over my arms and around my stomach. Butterflies burst into action and tingling sensations flow across my nerve endings as he inches toward my breasts.

He barely touches them for several excruciating
minutes; instead circling my bra covered breasts slowly, moving closer and closer to my nipples with each pass. They’ve peaked at the center, hard and erect. It’s impossible not to be aroused. Isn’t that the point of exposing myself to sex so that I not only can handle penetration, but enjoy it as well? The thought overwhelms me mentally and physically; my whole body tenses in reaction.

“Take a deep breath,” he says,
whispering quietly in my ear. “Everything you’re feeling is natural. And every phase is one step closer to your goal.”

He coaxes me back and I lean
into his warm, solid body with my back against his chest. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect.”

Graham takes advantage of his new position, his hands gently exploring my chest. I close my eyes and continue to inhale and exhale slowly. My breasts rise and fall with each pass. He squeezes them together, cupping from underneath and then surprising me by grazing across my hardened nipples with the tips of his fingers.

Oh
.

Ohh.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I
gnore the feeling between my legs. Ignore the fire lit in my belly
. I chant these directions over and over because it’s not time and it’s not what I really want. Not yet. Not now.

The music
ends. Thank God. No really, I was close to embarrassing myself. Close to freaking out or maybe jumping him. I’m a bundle of nerves; and there’s no way Graham’s not aware of my warring emotions.

Lightning
fast, I pull my shirt over my head, covering my breasts and stomach. My nipples are still hard, pressing against the fabric. Graham’s sitting behind me, putting on his own shirt. Finally, without looking at him, I say, “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.” He’s so close I can feel his breath on my neck.

“I’m feeling a little awkward and stupid after that, so would it be okay if I just changed and left. No handshakes or small talk?”

“If that’s what makes you feel more comfortable, then yes.”

My shoulders relax. “Thank you.”

I’m fast in the bathroom. Changing, fi
xing my hair, calming my tits down. Whatever he’s doing on the other side of the door, he’s silent. Graham’s become a ghost and I feel somewhat stupid for making such a big deal. I guess it’s easier now that my shirt is on and his hands are off my body.

I
leave the bathroom and look for him to say goodbye. The room is empty, but I spot his keys on the table by the door. He hasn’t left. He’s just following my wishes. That makes me feel better than anything else does.