I wake up and head to 7th Avenue South. Here, I will hopefully find the answer to my sexual dissatisfaction. My parents were never religious, so I wasn't made to be ashamed of touching myself, but I was always learning about the human body as a subject. When the urge hit me, I always got caught up in the physical makeup of the vagina and how the brain controlled so much of how it responded to stimulation. If that isn't a buzz kill, I don't know what is. If I ever felt a pang of excitement, I repressed it, knowing that it would lead to the need for more and I wasn't going to open that Pandora's box. I needed to stay focused on my academics. And so I did, until now. These urges aren't going away. Pandora's box has been opened, and its contents won't shut up.
Today, I am going to relieve the pressure valve that is building inside of me so I can work alongside Bodhi Wells and not find myself unconsciously grinding on his leg during surgery. I swear I will at this point, if something doesn't give.
I head into a shop called The Toy Box. Not that kind of toy box. As I peruse the aisles, I'm amazed at the selection of toys, books, costumes, accessories, manuals, DVDs, lotions, jewelry, CD,s, and even furniture. Looks like a hammock, but it's slightly different. There are maybe two or three other customers in here and even though we all know where we are and what we are here to buy, I'm still feeling a little embarrassed.
In front of me is a shelf with How To books. I stare at the How To Pleasure Me book with a picture of a woman, her eyes closed, kneeling on a bed and wearing lingerie. She isn't touching herself, but she is either about to or she already has. Whatever the scenario, she looks like she's floating in a dream. Give me some of that, I think, reaching for the book.
"Need help with anything specific?" I hear a voice behind me ask.
I spin around and instinctively try to hide the book from the heavily-tattooed, leather-clad, pierced clerk standing behind me.
"You don't have to hide it. It's all sex and porn. You're not fooling anyone. Not in here anyway," she continues on.
I toss it back on the shelf, "Right."
We stare at each other for a split second. Her red lips curve up on the edges and she does a quick eye brow raise.
"Follow me."
She spins in her tall black boots and shakes her ass all the way across the store, as I obediently follow her.
"Here we go. The Wall," she announces to me.
I stare at The Wall. It is covered from floor to ceiling in every toy and attachment any sexually savvy man or woman could ever want.
"Wow," I hear the word drop out of my mouth.
"Good response. I can work with this. Let's see," she says, staring at me, looking me up and down. She backs up and gestures for me to turn. I do. She's good. I stop and look at her waiting for her assessment. Please, tell me what I need. And she does.
"She's looking for speed, but really what she needs is to be cuddled. She needs something that gives her control, but then surprises her so she can let loose and have an actual orgasmâif she's ever had one at all. Not the one she's faked so many times that she now believes is an orgasm, but the real one that sends her into oblivion and pushes her so far past her neurotic, self-imposed limits that she wakes up exhausted. Her body is limp, satisfied, pulsing, and too tired to change the wet-soaked sheets, leaving her vulnerable to the possibility of contracting pneumonia, but more importantly leaving her vulnerable to her own emotions. Am I right?"
"I'm sure you are," I say, already nodding in agreement with whatever she is about to prescribe for me.
"That's what I thought," she says, matter-of-factly. "I happen to know my way around a tight pussy. And so does this little gal." She grabs a vibrator from the drawer and holds it up, like a promotion model at a car show. "May I introduce you to the Seductress. She has seven speeds and a surface so soft and smooth you'll consider marrying her. That is until your batteries die out, reminding you that she's just a toy. But if you need to wake up your libido or find your libido that lies asleep, buried beneath all that stress and responsibility, the Seductress will go deep, kiss her gently, caress her, and pull her to the surface so that she may give her mouth-to-mouth, breathing air once again, or perhaps for the first time, into that part of you that is yearning and begging for some god-damned well-deserved pleasure."
When her speech ends, I realize that she has guided me to the cash register, wrapped the vibrator in tissue paper, and placed it in a pink-and-black bag.
"Let's ring you up." Her long black fingernails tap the counter as I fumble through my wallet for my Amex. I hand over my credit card without any knowledge of what I am being charged. Max it out for all I care. I'm not lacking money. I'm lacking "what she's having".
As I walk to the hospital with my little pink-and-black bag in tow, I feel a little skip in my step. I notice that I'm getting some attention from the men I'm passing. Maybe I'm giving off what I'm feeling for the first time: grown up. I'm a woman who is taking charge of her orgasm and heading to work, just like all the other women I'm brushing shoulders with right now. I imagine myself in a flash mob of women professionals all moving in unison together. Dancing down the crowded Manhattan sidewalk to the tune of Aretha and Annie singing, "Sisters are doing for themselves."
I spin through the entrance of Mercy Medical and jump on the elevator that opens as I approach. I ride it up five flights and skip off of it and head to my office. I drop off my bag of "happiness" and boogie down the hallway to the silent tune in my head. I enter the O.R. where Bodhi is already waiting with a 3D print-out of a brain for one of many practice runs. This is where we become four hands and one mind. He looks up at me, surprised.
"I wasn't sure you'd show."
He can't be serious. This is my job.
"I wasn't sure you would," I say, tossing his thoughtless insult back at him.
"Touché," he sighs out.
"OK, then, let's get started."
We take a collective breath and look each other in the eyes. And then, just like that, I see him as my surgical partner. Every second of our previous interactions melt away and our minds meld as one. Our hands begin moving and soon hit a rhythm that feels like water flowing. Without talking, two hours pass and we finish our exercise successfully.
I place my laser on the table and smile at him, "Alright, thanks." And I head for the door.
"Kate?"
I stop and turn to him, "Yes?"
He's smiling.
"Great work."
"Yeah, you too."
Out the O.R. door I go. I retrieve my bag and hurry out of the hospital. The first cab I see pulls over without my having to hail it. I jump in and close my eyes. I am good at my job. I am focused again. I haven't even used my Seductress and she is working for me. She's my placebo. Who knew?
I get home. Lacy is gone. I go straight to my bedroom and close the door. I pull out the Seductress and set her on my bed. I stare her for an entire half hour. Finally, I decide it is time.
Rummaging through my drawers, I find a pair of slinky underwear and a matching bra, things Lacy made me buy on our shopping extravaganza. I open my bedroom window and pull the curtains, which billow in the light breeze. I light the three candles on my dresser that have never been lit before and pull the Seductress from her box. She is safe and secure inside a plastic bullet-proof package. I try to tear it, but it's too hard. I tip-toe into my living room. "Lacy?" No answer. I find my scissors and go back to my room. I lock the door behind me this time. I cut open the Seductress from her cocoon. I turn her on. Nothing. Right, I need batteries. I open my door. "Lacy?" Nothing. I search my entire apartment for batteries. None. I nearly give up when I see the tray of remote controls on the coffee table.
I empty the remote controls and head back into my bedroom. I lock the door again. I stare at the Seductress and load her with life. Problem is, I'm not in the mood anymore. Music, I think. I need music. I surf through my iPod and find nothing remotely worth masturbating to. I find plenty of Sara Bareilles, Colbie Caillat, Katy Perry, Mozart, Chopin, Sarah McLachlan, and Michael Jackson. All are good for going on a walk through the park with my vibrator, and grabbing a coffee with my vibrator, but having sex with my vibrator? No, I need Bruno Mars, James Blake, Marvin Gaye, Barry White, or Prince for sex with my vibrator. So, I load up my IPod and play Bruno first. I turn him up to a volume that is louder than my mind and louder than the honking cars outside. If I'm going to go there, I'm going to go there with the Seductress on my crotch and Bruno in my head.
The Seductress has seven speeds, so I start out slow. I figure I can go with my gut here and see what feels good. OK, at first blush very uncomfortable. I need to relax. I turn it off and just put it where it goes. I imagine Bodhi. Then I think that might be a bad idea. So, I imagine Bruno Mars. Now I feel like I'm with a stranger. That's no good. I need someone familiar. I change the music to my stand by, Frank Sinatra. He's sexy and romantic. I try to let my brain go where it wants but I wind up in the O.R. with the entire surgical team watching me masturbate, which makes sense because I only listen to Frank Sinatra in the O.R. but it's a little too uncomfortable for me at this stage of the game. I change the music again. Prince gives me the beat I need and I feel like I can "go there". This is good. I close my eyes and I'm immediately transported to the Serengeti with a bucket of water and a very hot, very thirsty Bodhi. I approach him.
"What I'd do for a sip of water," Bodhi says, his lips smooth and full, and not the least bit dehydrated.
I reach up and pour the water over his head. He takes the bucket from me and pours the water on me. We are wet. We are so, so, very wet. I begin to let go and turn on the Seductress. Now we're talking. I don't know how long I have been in there, but I can't stop. It is as if ten years or more of sexual repression is being unearthed and set free. I have one orgasm after another. Prince fades into Marvin Gaye. Marvin Gaye fades into James Blake. James Blake fades into Barry White. It goes on and on and so do I. When I wake up, the sun is shining through my window and my room smells like . . . sex. I didn't know that could happen by yourself, but apparently, given the proper circumstance and license to go for it, you can turn sex with yourself into an all-night affair.
As I stumble out of my room and into my living room, I feel different. This is the first morning I can remember feeling calm. Sure, I have a busy day ahead, but that is nothing to worry about because my body is relaxed. I am like water moving through space.
"Oh, good morning sunshine," Lacy sings from the kitchen. "How did you sleep, or should I say . . . "
"What the hell is Mark doing here?" I ask her, my calm interior finding the familiar rigidity I thought I'd magically shed last night.
"He," Mark stresses, "came by last night to study up on our upcoming surgery of a lifetime, but you were busy with . . . and so Lacy and I got to talking and we lost track of time."
He looks past me toward my open bedroom door.
"Who are you looking for?"
"No one. I better go or I'll be late for work."
He slurps down the last of his coffee and shoves half a cinnamon roll into his mouth.
"I had fun," Lacy chirps, grabbing his hand as he walks past her.
Mark stops. He looks down at her hand in his, "Yeah, me too."
Gross. This has to end, now. I clear my throat.
"OK, Mark, you can go." He doesn't move. "Now!"
As he makes his way out the door, I grab myself a cup of joe and sit at the counter. In front of me is a tall stack of Playbills. I look up and watch Lacy as she closes the door behind Mark. What is she up to?
"So, what midterms are you studying for? Maybe I can help."
"Maybe, you can," she says, shoving the Playbills into her back pack. "But only if you tell me why Bodhi is hiding in your room."
"Bodhi? Bodhi's not in my room."
Lacy runs toward my door and enters my bedroom. Oh no! I jump up and run after her, "Stop!"
But it's too late. I rush in to find Lacy standing in my disaster of a room. The Seductress is lying on my bed looking worse for wear and there are batteries scattered about. I do what any sane woman does in this situation. I get on my hands and knees and gather as many batteries as I can.
"Shut up," I murmur under my breath like a crazy woman. "I don't want to hear it."
"I wasn't going to say anything, except that you might want to invest in a charger. Better for the environment at the rate you're going."
"Ha, ha." I grab the Seductress and toss it at her.
Lacy instinctively catches it and tosses it between her hands like a hot potato, "Why'd you do that?"
"Get rid of it. Throw it into the East River. It's like crack! Please, if you love me!"
I hurry out of the room and toss the batteries into the trash, knowing full well that I'm not supposed to throw away batteries, but damn it, I'm having a moment here!
Taking a deep breath, I calm myself as Lacy walks through the living room carrying my vibrator like a smoking gun. She opens the trash can and drops it inside.
"So, no Bodhi?"
"Nope."
"Gotcha," she says, washing her hands. Then she heads to the guest room and closes the door.
I shower and get dressed for work. I place my black headband on my head and stare at my reflection in the mirrorâat my face and into my eyes. I am not freaking out. I'm still calm. The valve has been released. My little sister knows I diddled last nightâall night. Mark believes I had sex with Bodhi last nightâall night. And guess what? I'm not crying in a corner consumed by self-imposed shame and regret. Whatever happened in my room yesterday stays with me, because only the Seductress and I know what went on last night, and she's dead. But me? I'm alive, and I'm just getting started.