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It’s funny, I’m a porn star. Through and through. I love my job. I love porn. But it wasn't until I got with Cohen that I truly understood some of the kinks I’ve acted out for years.
The first time I heard of cockwarming I thought it was more about torture and edging. And yeah, I would say both of us were pretty tortured last night. But the truth is? It’s about intimacy. There’s something bonding about trying new things together, things that involve giving your most private part of yourself to exploration.
Now I know, cockwarming is so much more than showmanship for a porn orgasm.
It’s real. It’s about edging and connection, teasing and bonding.
I really do find what I do at Crave to be so much more enriching now that I know what it translates to in a healthy relationship. Taking these ideas and concepts from scenes and carrying them over, giving them a twist to make them ours, shaping them so they work for us, it’s pretty amazing. I believe in healthy pornography even more now that I have Cohen in my life.
We’re healing together, and I don’t think we’d be able to do it so intimately and beautifully without knowing and believing in exploration of kink so well.
“Scarlett,” Dr. Evans smiles, propping her office door open by her hip. A pencil peeks up from the top of her coiffed hair, and her pink lipstick is wearing already, telling me she’s either hit the coffee hard or had a challenging few sessions before me. For her sake, I hope it’s the first thing. “Come on in,” she smiles, stepping back, making way for me.
I slip past her, and take a seat in my favorite chair. Now I notice… this is the only chair. Dr. Evans sits across from me, adjusting the pad and pencil in her lap as she smiles.
“You only have one chair, I just noticed. Does that mean you never treat couples?”
She surveys the room the way only therapists do, where they look at their own surroundings as if they’ve never explored them, her gaze traveling back to me full of questions. “I guess you’re right, I’ve only made the space comfortable for one, haven’t I?”
I blink at her. “You just rearranged what I said,” I tell her, because I do like to give her a hard time here and there. And she’s the type of therapist that plays along, and that makes me like her even more. It’s comfortable, and that’s one of the main things you have to have with someone if you’re going to be honest: comfort.
She laughs. “Well, to answer your question, no, I don’t treat couples.” She scribbles something more for her than me, I can tell by the way it’s off in the corner of her notepad. “Why? Were you hoping to have a session with Cohen?”
“He has his own therapist,” I say immediately, because the thought of Cohen coming here, in my private healing space, I don’t know. He and I do our healing together, but this space with Dr. Evans is my clandestine corner. “But I did want to talk about Cohen.”
She writes something else, this time, in the center of the page. “Let’s talk.”
I chew the inside of my cheek and look down at my clothes.
I’m wearing black jeans, and they’re new. Cohen saw me browsing online and when I was taking a bath, he ordered what I’d left languishing in my cart. When they arrived he told me, “You left nearly everything behind when you started over. It’s not frivolous to replace them. There’s nothing wrong with self care, Scar.”
Paired with my jeans are new sneakers, and a fun, flowy silk blouse. My hair, which Cohen brushed out for me this morning as I ate breakfast, is down and even curled. I’m wearing makeup. And I have earrings in. I thought those holes closed up until I reached for a pair of diamond studs, one of the only things of value I managed to take from my old place.
“I feel so… ready with him, you know?” I ask, though I know better because Dr. Evans doesn’t answer questions that way. Therapists never really give you answers, they more so guide you to the stream. You have to teach yourself to drink. I rephrase my question into a statement she can work with. “When I’m with him, I don’t think about anything but the future. I want to plan. I get excited. I see the life I thought I’d have before, only now it’s not blurry. It’s clear. Every detail. Every smile. I see it with him.”
“That’s good. I’m happy to hear you two are moving on together positively.”
I chew the inside of my mouth again, finding it a little sore and somewhat raw. “We haven’t had sex yet. But I have been able to orgasm again, and that’s new, you know? I couldn’t for the longest time, my brain was just... Shut off to the experience. But he’s awakened that part of me.”
“But you’re waiting for sex?” She asks, her tone flat, leaving me antsy.
“I actually wanted to talk to you first.” I let out a breath to gather my thoughts, taking a moment. Glancing around her office, I see a gold plated clock ticking away, completely unaware of the stress it bears. Time. Timing is everything. My eyes come back to her. “I feel ready, but I just don’t want to try it too soon and like, have my body shut down or something. Because I know if it happens, it won’t be because of him. It will just be because of past trauma.”
She nods as she scribbles on her notepad. With her focus on the long stretches of cursive across her paper she asks, “Have you felt those anxieties on set lately? The ones you shared with me before?” I know what she’s asking. I’d said before I felt like a cheat on set, because I’d been faking orgasms.
I shake my head, honestly. “I haven’t. Even when Pete calls, I have no anxiety. I just feel… fatigue.”
She lifts her gaze, leveling concern my way. “Pete isstillcalling?”
I nod. “Yeah. But it’s becoming more and more sporadic.” I really do believe we’re on the cusp of a breakthrough, and that he will return to the shadows where he belongs.
Dr. Evans crosses her legs at the ankle, dropping an elbow to the arm rest, hand cradling her chin. “If your anxiety is under control, and you’ve felt good with Cohen, what’s your real fear? Is your real fear that once you’re having sex, you’ll lose the progress you’ve made? Or is there something else?”
Well fuck. Heat scatters across my skin as sweat pools in my armpits and slips down my spine. “I mean, I don’t want to think I’m ready then have underwhelming sex,” I say, knowing how bullshit the words are as I speak them, and Dr. Evans knows, too. She remains silent, waiting for what she knows is bound to come.
The actual truth.
My eyes grow moist and warm. “What if he realizes he doesn’t want me, either? Just like Pete?” My bottom lip trembles with the sour, bitter, ugly truth. “He loved me once, I know he did. And then… he didn’t.”
