Audrey Exposed (9 page)

Chapter 21

(Audrey)

He called at nine. Too early for a boo
ty call. Too late for a date. Dylan and I sit across from one another in our favorite diner, in our favorite booth, eating our favorite foods. Greasy cheeseburgers, steak fries, and milkshakes. It’s so lame that it’s hip. At least that’s what I assume from the dozens of hipsters, mostly undergrads or townies, at the surrounding tables, sporting beards, flannel, and stocking caps. The table next to us is loud, talking about music and a cross-country trip they’re going on for spring break. A girl with purple hair kisses a boy whose hand has disappeared at the top of her thigh. Easy. They look sexy and content. I envy them.

Dragging my attention away, I ask,
“Do you remember that time we came here after the Naked Kat show and those guys were fighting out front?”

“The night you decided to break up the fight?”
A familiar annoyance flares in his eyes. He’d been so pissed when I tried to intervene.

“Yes! Everyone was just standing around watching.”

“You could have gotten your ass kicked.”

“I didn’t though,” I say, trying to remember the details. I was drunk that night and fighting just seemed so dumb. “You were very worried.”

“I was.”

He pins me with a hard look. I know why. I do remember one other thing about the night. Dragging Dylan to the restaurant bathroom
, high on adrenaline and tequila, and making out with him on the filthy counter top. I can still recall how his hands gripped my hips, trying to keep me from falling.

To cut the tension,
I stick my French fry in the small cup of mustard on Dylan’s plate. “Hey!” he shouts, snatching my wrist. “No sharing.”

“What? You aren’t eating that.” I play dumb.

“No food sharing. That’s your rule, not mine.”

I nibble on the fry
, and say, “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we should reconsider that rule.”

Dylan shoots me a wary look, but his lips are curled in a smile. “I’m open to discussion.
You know, about all the ways you’ve been wrong.”

Dumping him
, that was wrong. I miss him. However, do I miss him because I have a safety net with my obligation to the experiment? I can’t have sex with him, even if I wanted to. But flirting is fun. Easy. Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe all this, the flirting and going down memory lane is coming from a confidence boost due to the therapy.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I say. It’s the best I can do.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” he says, groping for my hand under the table. He finds it and clenches it tight. Reese never experiences this side of Dylan or if she has, she can’t get past her mistrust. “Once a cheater, always a cheater,” I can hear her argue. But Dylan never cheated on me. What he found with me was better and I’m a fool to let that go.

“I’m getting
better.”

“I can tell
,” he sighs, and with his free hand, he rubs his forehead. “I told you I’d be here when you’re done with the program. I’m not going to say sex isn’t a big deal for me. It is. I want to have sex with you. Badly.” He grins. “But it’s not going to kill me to wait for a while longer.””

He holds out his cup of mustard
, an offer of peace, and I dip four fries into it. His words bolster my confidence even further. I have something to fight for. Something to push me harder because even though he says otherwise, I know he won’t wait forever.

I shove the fries in
my mouth and say, “So…Jessica’s wedding. Any interest?”

“At the beach?” he asks, head tilted.
Yeah, he’s interested.

“It’s in June and I thought y
ou could go as my date.” I want to tell him that by then I may be done with the experiment. That I may be ready to make love to him, but I’m terrified I’ll jinx myself, so I don’t. “Reese and Alex will be there. All the guys. It should be fun.”

He’s staring at me
as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Does my invitation mean more? Maybe. I want to tell him but I can’t. Not yet. I just smile, flirty and nice. “So?”

“Yeah,” he says, with his own teasing grin. “I’ll come.”

I swipe another fry and smile at the man across the table, happy in the here and now.

*

Everything over the last week sparks an idea. The combination of Dr. Markson, Graham, and Dylan motivates me to plot and plan for my next session.  Something I’m intent on bringing up the minute I leave the apartment bathroom. Any second now. As soon as I gather the courage, that is.

I swing open the door just as
Graham is about to knock. His hand hangs midair and his eyes move swiftly from my face to my chest back to my face.

“Hot pink,” h
e blurts, eyes roaming. He replaces his shocked look with a heart-stopping grin. “I mean, hi.”

I can’t help but laugh. Yes, my underwear is hot pink, with neon green trim. It’s gaudy, but fun
. That’s all I’m trying to do, lighten the mood before I make a fool of myself.

I took so long in the bathroom that he’s already lit the candles and started t
he music. The curtains are closed like last time, leaving the room shrouded in a comfortable darkness. I walk to the bench and ask, “Can we talk about something?”

“Of course.”

He removes his shirt on the way to the bench and damn he’s fit. Like six pack fit, lovely biceps, rock-solid chest kind of fit. His boxer briefs are black this time, the cotton molding nicely against his ass and thighs. I notice his hair has grown a little since we first met, curling at the nape of his neck and over the tips of his ears.

“I
, sort of, feel like I’m in my bathing suit. At least, that’s what I tell myself anyway.”

“
Good comparison, at least in context,” he says. I snort at the idea of anyone understanding the context of all this and he smiles back. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“No,” I say, then pause trying to figure out how to approach this. “I wanted to talk about you.”

He tilts his head and tiny lines appear around his eyes. “Me? How so?”

“I really enjoy
ed our last session. It was nice to feel in control. Powerful.”

“That’s great.”

“I’m wondering if we can do more of what we did last time. Exploring your body, as well as mine. And by body I mean…uh, you know, your thing…” I wrinkle my nose. “What should I call it?”

“Hmm… my penis?”

I
make another face and shake my head. “No, too technical.”

“Dick? Cock? Member? Hammer?
Schlong?” He’s laughing harder with each suggestion. “My baby?”

“Oh
, my God.” His laughter is contagious. “Your baby. Only a guy would say that.”

“What? What’s so wrong with that?
It
is
like a baby. You have to be gentle with it, but it’s stronger than you’d expect. Soft and hard at the same time. Sticky, needy, and demanding, but also requires a lot of rest time. And it loves boobs.”

“You’re crazy.”

He shrugs. “Whatever works best for you, nothing you say will offend me.”

I try the different names, rolling them around on my tongue
, but I keep going back to the most ridiculous one. The silliness makes me feel lighter, less like a porn star or a proctologist; nevertheless, it’s too weird so I decide on something basic. “So I want to expose myself to
Him.
Not you know, near my parts. Not yet. But just so we’re comfortable with one another.” I don’t give him a chance to say anything because I need to get everything out. “I just…penises are like a fucking trigger for me. When I see one, my vagina shrinks and the walls go up, like a fortress. I start to think about what the ultimate goal is; and the closer I get to one, the more the guy wants to go further. So normally, I just avoid them. They’re just so…stabby. And they have expectations.”

He nods. “
So you want to get comfortable with
him
, before we move forward.”

“Yes, and I’ll do it dress
ed, or not dressed. Whatever you and Dr. Markson suggest. Two exposures, one stone.”

He looks around
, and says, “I think we may need to move somewhere else. Not sure sitting up is going to be the best position. Want to move to the couch?”

“Um,” I glance around. “Can we move to the bed?”

“Really?”

“
We may as well make the move while the focus isn’t on me.”

We move to the bed and it’s not as frightening as I’d suspected. In fact, it’s very comfortable.
I run my fingers over the soft comforter and flip the hem to find the sewn-on tag. Egyptian cotton.

“Is this okay
?” Graham asks, positioning himself with his back against the thick, blue pillows. “Want me to do anything in particular?”

“Lie there?”
And stay completely still, I want to add, but keep that neurosis to myself.

He leans back and waits while I move closer. I have no idea where to
start. Over or under the boxers? Suddenly, the last couple of weeks of massage therapy flash in my mind; and I understand how difficult some of the choices Graham had to make must have been.

“Don’t over think it,”
he says, noticing my hesitation. “Remember you’re in control. Do what feels natural.”

I eye the lump
under his boxers. Not exactly hard but not flaccid either. How could it be with so much discussion about it going on? I pull his cock out in one swift motion and glance up at Graham. The look on his face is passive, but his eyes monitoring my every move. The only sign of any discomfort comes from his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Do you have to watch?”

“I think I do
; otherwise, we’ve moved beyond therapy and you’re just giving me a hand job.”

“I suppose it is a fine line.”

“Very.”

Graham
’s…
He
, lies against his boxers, pink and taut. Tentatively, I touch the tip and find it’s remarkably soft. Like velvet. “See, not so scary,” he says.

“Not yet.”
I frown but run my fingers over the top, through the clear ooze seeping from the tip. He shivers. I wipe the residue on the comforter. “I’m not a big fan of fluids.”

“Nature’s lube
, don’t knock it. It comes in handy.”

I do as he says
; and again, He pulses and grows; not fully, but enough for me to get a good idea of his size. He’s large, bigger than Dylan. I push aside thoughts of what it will feel like inside; how, surely, it will hurt.

Panic flares, tight in my chest.
Breathe
, I tell myself. Not now. Now is for exploration; not freaking out.

“What should I do?” I ask.

“Whatever you’d like; you’re in charge of this.”

“Can I make you come?”

He swallows and glances at the ceiling. “Is that what you want? How would that make you feel?”

I consider the question
, and say, “Yes, that’s what I want. I think it would make me feel empowered.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’d be making you feel good which is nice.”

“Me
, feeling good is definitely not the point of all this.”

“No, I guess not
, but it’s nice for this to not be all about me for once, you know? I just want to see how I’ll feel when it’s over. Can I try?”

He stares at me hard for a minute
; and I’m afraid he’s going to reject me, and a different kind of stress flares up. I bite my lip and look away. I don’t want to cry in front of him. Not about this. He touches my arm. “Let’s do this, but get a towel from inside that drawer, just in case.”

I don’t want to ask why
there are towels next to the bed, but I find a medium-sized hand towel. There’s also a bottle of lube. I hold it up and say, “Want this too?”

“It’s up to you.”

I take out the towel but put back the lube. “Ready?” I ask, mostly to myself.

He nods and I lif
t him with my hands. He’s still excited and that emboldens me, so I stroke him gently bringing further life to his cock. The clear ooze spills from the small slit on top and I smear it around, as Graham told me before. His eyes are open but hooded; his chest rises and falls with even breaths. I move my hand up and down the shaft, watching it grow from soft and pink, to a hard, blistering red.

“Does that feel good?”

“Uh, yes. Very good.”

“Anything I should be doing?”

“No, uh, you’re fine.”

Reese says she likes to tug on a guy
’s balls and I reach underneath and pull gently. Graham’s eyes pop open and a low rumble comes from his chest. “Bad or good?” I ask, unsure if I’ve broken him.

“Fantastic
.” His chin juts in the air.