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She gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, that’s pretty good exposure therapy. I’m just not sure how I could re-create that in a short time.”
He cocked his head, watching her, and drummed his fingers on the back of the bench. “Mind if I get all shrinky on you for a second again?”
She took a big gulp of the wine, already feeling the tingly buzz working through her system. Maybe this is why he’d brought the wine. He had to counsel her like a client on day one. Wonderful. “Lay it on me, doc. Shrink me.”
“All right. Total honesty?”
She waved her hand in a bring-it-on motion.
“Usually when we feel embarrassed or awkward about what other people say regarding their sex lives, it’s because we’re carrying that natural shame about our own sexuality—the shame that society teaches us to have. Acknowledging theirs is like outwardly acknowledging that we’re sexual, too. That we have those kinds of thoughts, do those kinds of things.
“It’s why you reacted when Lawrence suggested you had a toy at home. Whether it was true or not, he was outing you as being sexual. We all know that it’s a part of being human, of course, but we walk around pretending that it’s this other outside thing that we’re not a part of. It’s why no one wants to hear their parents talk about sex. We like our heads to stay firmly in the sand.” His eyes traced over her face. “So when you blush, it’s because your head was yanked out of the sand and that veil was lifted. You saw that secret part of the person or they saw that part of you. Like when Lane told you what he did for a living. He said it and then he was naked in your head, sleeping with some stranger, right?”
She straightened. “No, I—”
“Come on. It’s a natural reaction. We’re visual creatures. Someone says, ‘I sleep with strangers for my job,’ your thoughts are going to go there. The key is not being scandalized by where your mind goes. Just let it happen and then let it roll off you.”
“But how do you do that?”
He shrugged. “Once you’re exposed to those images enough times or do some of those things yourself, it becomes old news. I’ve observed Lane’s sessions on occasion. I know what that kind of therapy looks like. I’ve researched the sex toys, so I wasn’t shocked by what Lawrence said.”
“I promise I will never be purchasing a porn star faux vagina.”
He smirked. “Well, no, probably not. But remember how scandalous and exciting everything seemed when you were young, before you had any experience under your belt? When I was in middle school, I remember having this intense reaction to seeing the girl who sat in front of me’s bra strap exposed. My face got hot. I got all sweaty and nervous.” He shook his head. “Man, I jerked off to that image of her for months.”
Marin rolled her lips together, biting down on the smile. “Must’ve been some bra strap.”
He grinned. “It was pink, and it was spectacular.”
The wine was taking effect, and she had to swallow down a laugh. “I once wrote a whole poem about the sliver of lower back this football player in high school used to expose when he bent down to get stuff out of his locker. It was so tan and muscular . . .”
He raised his cup. “Ha, see, exactly. But that tells you something. Now if you saw that, your eyes would just skim over it. You wouldn’t blush or feel awkward. It would just roll off you. So you need to figure out a way to see everyone as a sexual being without being embarrassed or affected by it. Just have it be a simple fact. A part of life. Everyone’s doing it.”
“A companion piece to Everyone Poops,” she joked.
“Yep. Everyone Fucks.”
His frankness set her off balance for a second, and she glanced away, focusing on the grass. He was wrong. Not everyone.
“It doesn’t have to be that hard.” He put his hand to his chest. “You’ve seen me naked, and we’re having this conversation without any awkwardness.”
She watched him out of the side of her eye. “Actually I never did, but I understand what you’re saying.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
She waved a hand. “You were behind—I was—never mind. Let’s not go there.”
I will not picture how he must’ve looked behind me that night. Will not picture open jeans shoved to hips and straining muscles. Will. Not.
She set aside the wine.
“Now you’re getting red.”
She groaned. “Stop pointing it out.”
He touched his shoulder. “Is my bra strap showing?”
“Shut the hell up,” she said, smiling despite herself. “It’s just embarrassing that the guy I’m now working with has seen me the way you have.”
