"Yes you can."
"No … I can't feel anything. I just feel gross and weird and ashamed." Her voice started to shake as if she were on the verge of tears.
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to refrain from acting on the thoughts in my head, but I couldn't help it. "Do you trust me?" I asked her, biting out the words past the voices of reason that were begging me to stop. I ignored them and pushed forward, knowing this next step would be vital to her acceptance of herself. I watched her nod her head nervously. "I'm going to take you somewhere and show you what I mean. I need you to be open with me, okay? I need you to tell me what you're feeling and when. Can you do that for me?"
"You can't touch me," she frantically said, running her words together.
"Do you trust me?" I asked again, only this time it was slower, calmer, and said in a way to reassure her.
"I mean, yes … I trust you. But you can't touch me. Please … "
"Fine, I won't touch you, but you will have to do what I say. You will have to listen to what I'm telling you and follow my directions explicitly. I just have to take you somewhere that's a little bit easier to work in than this car. Do you understand?"
"Are you going to look at me?"
Her anxiety was evident in her voice, and hearing it caused my chest to constrict. The things she had been through as a child set real fear in her. It wasn't an imagined fear; it wasn't made up or false in her mind. It was very real, the same way monsters in dark closets are real for young children.
"No, Ivy. I won't look at you," I said with certainty.
"I don't know if I can do this … "
I grabbed her hand and held it in her lap, waiting until her eyes met mine in the darkness. "Listen to me, Ivy. The woman that was with me on the dance floor inside, the one that kissed me and pressed her body against mine … that woman can do this. That woman can find pleasure and comfort in what I'm going to have you do. I know she's in there. Find her and hold on." I gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it and putting the car in gear.
I drove as fast as I could to my office. I knew she was curious as to why I was taking her there, but she never asked any questions. In fact, she never said anything. The only noise in the car was the faint music playing through the speakers. Normally, I would have found it too quiet, but I couldn't think of anything other than Ivy and what we were going to do.
I was tiptoeing on the ethical line, teetering on both sides. We had been drinking and it was technically after business hours, even though in my line of work there was no such thing. It wasn't a scheduled and planned exercise and I hadn't discussed it with her before taking her there. But at the same time, I wasn't doing this for me … I was doing it for her. At least that's what I repeated to myself about a hundred times during the drive there.
Once we were inside, I walked her to the back room. It was about half the size of my office but only held a large massage table in the middle. Ivy looked at it timidly with her shoulders curled into herself. I knew I needed to explain, but I couldn't stop staring at her.
"What is this, and what are we going to do?" Her voice came out breathless and made her words sound like short pants.
"This is where I move things to the next step."
Her eyes widened on her face, looking large and scared. "Like sex?"
"I have sex in this room, yes. But that's not what we are going to be doing tonight. I have patients that have difficulties achieving orgasms, and in order to help them, I give them a massage to allow their bodies and minds to relax. That was what I had intend to do with you."
"You said you wouldn't touch me," she argued in a whisper.
"And I won't. All I'm going to do is instruct you."
"You said you wouldn't look at me."
"Ivy, you don't have to take your underwear off and I have a sheet in case you want to cover with that. I don't have to see what you're doing to direct you. I can tell by the color of your skin, the way you're breathing, and the movements in your body if you're doing it right. You said you trusted me. I won't do anything you don't want me to."
She nodded in defeat. I should have taken that as a sign and drove her home. Hell, I should have taken the entire night as a sign and ended after my panic attack, but I didn't. Instead, I ignored all voices of reason, turned a blind eye to all of the signs, and brought her to the only bed I could have sex on, knowing that's what had been on my mind all week.
I pulled a pillow and blanket from a small cabinet in the corner and handed it to her before walking out to give her some privacy. I told her I would give her three minutes to get comfortable and relax. I knew she wouldn't do either, but at least I had given her a timeframe as to when I would come back in.
I knocked once and then opened the door. Ivy was lying on the table with her knees bent in the air, the sheet pulled up over her chest, and her hands covering her face. I could see she was still wearing her shirt, but her black leggings were folded on the small table in the corner. I grew hard just imagining what she looked like beneath that white sheet.
I dimmed the lights enough to calm her down, but not too much so that I couldn't see her and walked to stand behind her head. The table was low so I knelt down to bring my face closer to hers. Her breathing was labored and her body was shaking; I knew she was scared and all I wanted to do was comfort her.
"Hey," I whispered, resting my chin next to her head and placing a hand on her arm. "Talk to me. Tell me what you're feeling."
She released a long breath through pursed lips and let her arms fall to her sides, keeping her eyes trained on the ceiling tiles. "I don't know what I'm feeling. My head is spinning and I think I might throw up."
I let out a small laugh and then heard Ivy imitate it. "What do you wash your hair with?"
Her face turned to the side in order to see me. "Umm … Pantene. Why?"
"It smells good. Do you use shampoo and conditioner, or the two-in-one?"
Laughter danced in her eyes and a smirk played on her lips. "Shampoo and conditioner."
I ran my index finger along her bottom lip. "Do you wash it every night?"
"I know what you're doing, Cade."
"You have no idea what I'm doing, Ivy."
"You're trying to distract me," she said with a tone full of humor.
"How do you know I'm not trying to distract myself?"
Her smile fell as she studied my eyes. "Why would you need to do that?"
"Because of where you are. Because of what I'm about to have you do. And because it's going to take everything in me to not take over and do it myself. Because since the club, all I've been able to think about is kissing you, feeling you, touching you. But you won't let me touch you. And now I have to watch your eyes glaze over and your skin turn pink, and settle with the fact that it's not me doing that to you."
"Why do you want to touch me?"
I had her full attention by that point, but I needed a minute to compose myself before answering. "It's not about touching you, Ivy. It's about what touching you will do to you. It's about the pleasure you'll get from it … and I want to be the one to give that to you."
"What if I get scared?"
"Then you tell me."
"And you'll stop?"
My heart rate sped up, causing my head to swim and leaving me dizzy. She was giving me permission to touch her. I hadn't expected her to relent that soon, give in that fast. But I wasn't about to argue with her. "I won't ever do more than you're comfortable with or more than I think you can handle. Don't forget, you're leading this … I'm merely following your directions, both verbal and nonverbal."
"Wait." She paused, breathing quickly. "What all are you going to be touching?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like … you're going to touch me there, right?" she asked as her eyes gestured down her body and I nodded. "But where down there? What all are you going to do to me?"
Ah! I understood what she was asking me. "Ivy, all I'm going to do is touch you. I'm not going to put any part of my body inside of you. Understand? I won't even go beneath your underwear; is that all right? If I stay on top of your underwear?"
A deep sigh escaped her. "Yes … that's fine."
I stood and moved to her side, sitting on the edge of the table next to her. With my hands on her kneecaps, I slowly slid her legs down until they were flat on the padded mattress. Her eyes closed tightly as she tried to calm herself; I could see the deep struggle within her. An overwhelming sense to calm her took hold and I began to lightly run my fingertips along the edges of her face, moving random strands of hair out of the way. I ran my finger up one cheek, over her forehead, down the center of her nose, and over her lips before repeating the step on the other side. Once I finished outlining her face, I trailed my finger lightly down her neck, over her collarbone, down one side of her arm and coming back up the other before crossing her chest to trace her other arm. Then I took my hand and gently ran it down the center of her chest, pausing at her cleavage where her shirt covered.