Audrey Exposed (2 page)

“If you’re interested in working with us, I’d love for you to come back tomorrow
so I can show you how our project works. Once you have all the information, we can move forward with treatment,” she says. “That is, if you choose to.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Audrey, I’m not going to pressure you, but I really do think I can help you.”

I agree to set up an appointment for the next day, even though there’s no chance in hell I’m coming back.

*

“Of course, you’re going back,” says Reese.

“No. I’m not. No.”

“Why not? Give me one good reason.”

I turn my head away. “Because it’s embarrassing. Humiliating.”

“You’re scared.”

“Shitless.”

“Well then, that’s all the more reason to do it.”

“You’re so infuriating,” I tell her, trying to catch up
as we jog on one of the trails weaving through the woods, near campus.

“Because I’m right.” We finish the last half mile in silence other than our
panting breaths. I stop at the end of the trail, and bend over, hands on my knees. Reese stops next to me and asks, “So what are you going to do?”

I roll my eyes.
“I’ll un-cancel my cancelled appointment.”

“Why?”

I sigh and stare at the sky. “Because you’re right.”

Reese wraps her sweaty arms around my shoulders and says, “You’ve got this.”

“No, I don’t, but what other choice do I have?” I hop back on the trail and run as fast as I can, until the needs of my body overtake the fear in my brain.

Chapter 3

(Graham)

Sweat drips between us,
sticky and slick. Breathy moans come with each thrust and I tighten my grip on her hips, bracing both of us.

Margaret’s bent over the footboard
, hands gripping the curved, wooden rail. If I turn to the right, I can see our bodies silhouetted in the massive full-length mirror leaning artistically against the bedroom wall. I catch her eye in the reflection and she smiles, arching her back. Her tits look fantastic from this angle and her ass feels firm under my hands. And her pussy? Wet and warm. So very, very warm.

She lifts her butt
just a little higher and I run my fingers down her back. “That’s it, baby,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re so tight.” The cliché term does the trick and she cries out, her body clenching tight around me. I break my rhythm, gripping the rail with my own hands and pound in twice more before one long, final thrust.

“That was spectacular,” Margaret says, hanging over the edge of the bed. I help her stand and kiss her neck before pulling out. Delicately, I remove the condom, trapping the jizz inside. “Graham, don’t forget…” she starts, still panting. Red marks from my hands are visible on her upper arms. I caress the flaming skin.

“I won’t.” I take the condom to the bathroom and wrap it in toilet paper. The plastic baggie waits on the granite countertop next to the arr
ay of men’s hair and facial products. I zip up the condom and pick up the shaving cream, taking a whiff. “Ugh,” I mutter, wrinkling my nose. Smells like shit.

I le
ave the baggie on the counter. Margaret’s a total neat freak. God forbid semen get on the countertop. I know part of this is to make sure her husband doesn’t discover it, but I’m not disposing of it. That’s for her to take care of.

Wrapped in a black silk robe, Margaret meets me outside the bathroom door with my boxers and T-shirt. “Thanks,”
she says, running her hand down my chest. My cock twitches
. Not now, dude
, I think. She’ll want to go again and I have a meeting this afternoon. “I needed that. James has been gone every night this week. A girl gets a little lonely.”

I tug on m
y boxers and shirt, before searching for the rest of my clothes. “You can always call me, you know that.”

Her eyes grow hazy
, and shit, there’s the affection that’s nice but troublesome. She shakes it loose and says, “Too bad you’re fifteen years younger and I’m married.”

I work my feet into my shoes and bend over to tie the laces
. Margaret’s hand is in my hair and her touch is so gentle, so caring. How her douche of a husband is pushing this aside is beyond me. I stand and pull her into my arms. “Me being younger and you being married is what makes this work,” I tell her. I feel her fingers push into my pocket and she gives me a quick kiss on the lips.

I wait until I’m two blocks away from her house to pull the cash out of my pocket. My standard fee is a hundred but there’s usually an extra twenty. I spre
ad the bills on the front seat and shift the car into gear. I guess that’s what you get for being spectacular.

*

Margaret and I only had missionary sex for the first three months. She felt fat, she told me, insecure. Lying on her back made her stomach flat. I couldn’t tell the difference; but it’s my job to make her feel desirable, so I complied with her wishes for a while until I distracted her and taught her how to enjoy herself.

My mother always said
, “Graham Ward, you could charm the rattle off a snake.” That may have been the weed talking. Or the LSD. Either way it was the truth.

I grew up on a farm in West Texas. Well, part farm, part commune.
My mother had a mind of her own and left home as a teenager never to go back. For lack of better term, I’d describe her as a free spirit. I was raised, surrounded by flat lands, half-naked men and women, and an endless supply of organic food, weed and hallucinogens. The kids ran wild. I don’t think I wore shoes until I was in the first grade. Our boundaries had fuzzy edges. Nothing gross but with a free spirited environment, sex came naturally, especially to someone with charm and an easy smile. I had both. By thirteen, I’d perfected a grin that made my teachers love me, my friend’s mothers adore me, and the girls chase me.

At fifteen
, I coaxed the panties off a seventeen-year-old senior. I’d never felt anything so perfect and sweet. At seventeen, I started fucking my next-door neighbor. She was thirty-two.

That experience turned
my life upside down.

Before Aileen, my neighbor, I
thought screwing around in the back of pickup trucks and behind the 7-Eleven was sexy. All that changed when I got a taste of a real woman. I learned fast that teenage girls were fun, but their mothers rocked my world. They taught me the secrets of their bodies; the need for foreplay, how to find a clitoris, and what makes a woman feel special.

That knowledge
made me different from the others. With a little instruction and a lot of desire, I gained an uncanny knack for reading people, particularly women, and I learned early how to give them what they needed; and in return, I got what I wanted. Back then, it was a hormonally fueled, stream of never ending sex. Later it turned into something else.

By college
, I’d worked my ability to read a woman into a profitable business. I learned even more and found a sincere interest in sex and the mind, gaining a degree in psychology with a focus on sex therapy. My current plan is to evolve my experience into a successful future. When Dr. Markson called me early this morning, I knew I was one step closer to making that happen.

“
Graham, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Come in.”

I follow her
through the door and into her office. She slips off her sandals and points to the tray of tea. I make myself a cup, adding an extra scoop of sugar, to keep myself awake. Being with Margaret is physically demanding.

“How are you?”

“Good,” I say. “Busy.”

We sit across from one another and the only sound in the room,
other than the trickling from the fountain she has near the window, is the stirring of her spoon. The hippie feel of the office is equal parts comforting and stifling. I’d left that part of me back in Texas, with my Birkenstocks and dreadlocks.

“Your course work should be slowing down a little.”

“It has.” School isn’t keeping me busy. My work schedule’s busting my balls. Margret, April, Janelle… “I’m trying to narrow down my final paper.”

“Still leaning toward sex therapy?”

I’d joined the psychology graduate program at Duke, specifically to work with Dr. Markson. She’s a renowned scholar in the field. My success with women has led me to the point of studying them in an effort to assist them with their sex lives. The professor’s groundbreaking studies make her the perfect mentor. “Yes, specifically, the exposure concept we talked about. I’ve been using some of the techniques with my clients. So far, everyone has been very receptive.”

Her eyes take on an excited glint.
“What if I told you I have found a perfect study subject?”

“Did you
?” I ask, barely able to contain my own excitement. “Who? When?”

“She
has been referred to me by a medical colleague. I think she may be the exact candidate we’ve both been looking for. She has no history of abuse, trauma, or physical problems. She has acute anxiety and fear of penetration.”

“No abuse?
”

“None that she can recall.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I believe that she does not recall any abuse or trauma. Are her recollections accurate? I don’t know.”

“And she’s willing to use the exposure therapy?”

“
She hasn’t committed, but I think she’s very interested. She wants to change her life; but she’s held up by the anxiety. From her descriptions, it’s crippling.”

I lean forward and place my elbows on my knees.
“How do we proceed from here?”

“She’s coming back tomorrow to learn mo
re about the program. I need to know, immediately, if you’re prepared to work with her if she agrees.” I nod, happy to do whatever necessary. She takes a sip of tea and eyes me over the cup. “You’ll have to notify your clients.”

“I’
ll tell them right away,” I say, not mentioning this would be easier said than done. Several, including Margaret, are not going to take this well.

“You’ll have to be firm with this,
Graham; no sexual contact outside the study for her safety and yours.”

“I understand. I’ve been preparing for this for a while.” I haven’t taken any new clients and have spent the last six months
saving money. Dr. Markson said she could secure a small stipend, but I’ll have to live off my savings.

“Just think,” she says
with a smile. “In a year, you and I will be published for groundbreaking work in psychology.”

This type of study is a career maker. It will launch mine and solidify hers. As much a
s I love fucking women and the work I’ve carved out for myself, I’ve always known it would have to end if I wanted to pursue a career in psychology. “As long as my name stays out of the paper as a participant.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Finding an appropriate facilitator for an experiment like this is a challenge.
I was lucky to find you, despite your questionable work life.” I don’t take her words as a slight. She’s right. Going from an escort to a participant in a reputable sex study is a strange life change. I’m willing to do what it takes.

I give Dr. Markson the smile, the one I perfected fifteen years ago
, and say, “I’m the one that’s lucky. I think this experiment will be a great success.”

Chapter
4

(Audrey)

One
benefit of student teaching is not having to stay too late at school. Having taken the long route to a teaching degree, I’m finally set to graduate at the end of the semester. Who knew when I was setting up my course work that I would need my afternoons free to figure out how to have sex?

 
Before I go into the office building, I sit in the car, one last time going over the questionnaire Dr. Markson gave me. The questions aren’t difficult, just a little invasive. One symptom of the anxiety that I don’t enjoy is discussing my personal life with others. I can gossip or easily talk about pop culture, school, or politics. However, digging into my life? I’m afraid I’ll slip up and reveal my own secrets.

Are you religious?

Have you suffered sexual abuse?

Did your family have strict
or lax boundaries regarding sex as you were growing up?

The questions went
on and on, almost a hundred. By the time I finished, I no longer could tell if I answered like a crazy person or not. They’ll have to figure that out on their own. Stuffing the papers in my purse, I get out of the car and ride the elevator to the eighth floor. This time Dr. Markson greets me a moment after I enter the waiting room and ushers me into her office.

“I’m so glad you came back
, Audrey,” she says. “How are you feeling today?”

“Okay, I guess
, a little more nervous than yesterday.”

“Why is that?”

“I guess I’m one step closer to committing myself to this.”

“Well,” she says with a smile. “Let’s get it over with. Follow me.”

She walks to the opposite side of the room and stands by a door I hadn’t noticed the day before. She brushes her thick, gray hair out of her eyes and says, “I rent out the entire eighth floor of this building. I have the office you’ve just seen and a study lab for my students and other various projects. This room has been set up exclusively for this experiment.” She pushes open the door and reveals what looks like a tastefully decorated studio apartment. This is a little smaller than my own. It has a kitchen, a living area, and dining area that includes a small round table with two chairs. The living area contains a love seat and couch, both covered in deep red fabric. A cream-colored throw rests carefully over the back of the love seat. I glance around and notice that across the room is a luxuriously made bed with a handsome, dark cherry frame.

“I um...” I say
, trying to absorb what’s going on. “I’m confused.”

Dr. Markson chuckles
. “Come in and let me explain.”

I step into
the apartment and sit on the love seat. Dr. Markson arranges herself on the couch across from me. “Let me explain the idea behind what I want to do and how I want to help you.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to keep my eyes on her and away from the bed. What the hell is that doing here?

“Exposure therapy is when we expose the subject to their fear in small, manageable doses. For example, if a client has a fear of dogs, we would start by looking at photos of dogs and then viewing dogs from a distance behind a fence. Then, maybe, go see dogs at the park. All of this incrementally until the patient is ready to actually come face to face with a dog and pet it.”

“So I’m the patient and the dog is sex?”

“Exactly. As I told you in our first meeting, most past experiments with sexual anxiety have been treated with medication or cognitive therapy. Those have their place; but for someone like you, a person with an absolute fear of penetration, with no physical problems, I believe exposure therapy may work better than anything else.”

I cross my legs in discomfort and try to i
gnore the way my heart races in my chest.

“I think that if we place you in an environment with strict parameters that we control together
then we can cure you of your anxiety.”

“What do you mean
by
control together
?”

“
To put it bluntly, I want to expose your vagina to a penis.” My eyes pop wide open and my heart tries to jump out of my chest. “Eventually,” she adds. “Not immediately, of course, but eventually.”

“Where do you
plan on getting the penis? Whose penis are you talking about? I don’t really understand what you’re saying.”

“Audrey
, you will come to this apartment three times a week and meet with an approved associate of mine. Someone I have chosen specifically to work with you. This person has been trained for this experiment and your needs. He will work according to the rules and parameters I have set according to the phases of the experiment.” She stands and walks across the room and opens the refrigerator door. From inside, she pulls out two bottles of water and hands one to me. I break the seal and take a long drink. “Phase one, for example, will be a massage with clothes on, just on the shoulders. The next time you come, it would be a foot massage. As you become comfortable with each level, you will move to the next phase of exposure.”

“Until I’m ready to have actual sex.”

“Yes, penetration.”

“With a guy I don’t know.”

“Well, by that point you will know him fairly well.”

“What if we don’t get along?” I say, as though I’m actually considering this crazy plan. Which I’m not
… because it’s crazy.

“If you’re truly uncomfortable at any time
, we can reassess the situation.”

I study Dr. Markson
while trying to figure out if I’m being punked, which would be really mean and terrible; and I would totally have to have therapy to recover from. Her eyes are clear and her expression seems genuine. I’m sure she’s not tricking me, but I ask anyway. “Are you for real with this? You want me to have a sexual relationship with a man I don’t know?”

“Yes, although like I said, by the time you have sex with
him, you will have known him for quite some time. He is someone I have chosen carefully, out of a pool of candidates. He’s clean of sexually transmitted diseases. He’s intelligent and well groomed. He understands the foundation of the experiment and he is very willing to follow all of my guidelines. Everything that transpires between the two of you will be confidential between you, him, and me.” She pauses and says, “Audrey, you’ll be safe with him.”

I take a deep breath at the word safe. Because isn’t that one of my issues? Fear and trust? “
Wow, that’s….can I think it over?”

“Of course. I would like to know in the next
twenty-four hours though, so I can get everything together. I will need to make the scheduling work for everyone and finalize the paperwork.”

“Okay,” I say. My mind is going a million directions and my stomach hurts
a lot; but again, I feel the tiny twinge of something deep in my chest that makes me know I’ll at least consider this woman’s crazy offer. That feeling, which is just as scary as the others, is hope.

*

“You’re actually doing this?” Reese looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. She waves over the waiter and motions for another margarita.

“You’re the one that told me to!”

“I had no idea you were going to have sex with a stranger,” she argues. “That’s really…wow. Just wow. What if he’s gross? Like smells bad?”

“Dr. Markson said he was specifically chosen. I mean, I’m not expecting
Channing Tatum to walk through the door, but I don’t think it will be Seth Rogan either.”

Reese laughs and moves our empty glasses aside so the waiter can replace them with full glasses
, one salt, one not. I’m the not. “Okay, sure; but really, you’re willing to lose your virginity to some guy you don’t know?”

“The alternative hasn’t worked out so great.”

“True,” she says, grimacing. “Maybe it will be easier with no strings attached.”

“Maybe
; I mean, I’ll have to get to that point anyway. I have to pass phases or trials or something.”

“Like watching porn
?”

“C
ould be. She mentioned massage and becoming comfortable with my body.” The wave of nausea that has been lingering over me all afternoon rolls over me like a tsunami. “I feel really hopeless and this may be my only chance to finally deal with this once and for all.”

“It sounds unconventional
; but then again, so is your problem.” Reese taps her finger on the table for several beats. “Okay, I think you should do it.”

“You do?”

“Why not? This guy could be totally hot; and he’s obviously trained in the art of sex; so maybe in the process you’ll get, like, a couple good orgasms and learn a couple things.”

I cover my face with my hands. “Oh
, God, that sounds like a nightmare.”

She scoffs before tipping her drink back and taking a huge gulp. She
licks the salt off her lips. “Whatever, girl. Let me know if you want to share him because with Alex working the late shift, I could use a nightmare like that.”