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“Are you okay?” she asks.“You look a little flustered. That was a hard stretch.”
I give her a reassuring nod. “Hard indeed.”
Christ.
Lolita grabs a tray and walks around the class. “Our practice helps unlock your inner desires. The next portion of our exercise will require you to write down something that’s keeping you from having the most rewarding intimate experiences of your life.”
“What?” Molly croaks, catching the attention of the class. She nervously tosses her own palm over her mouth, looking mortified.
“We all have blocks that prevent us from being our true selves, in the bedroom and out in the world. Sensuality is fluid, and it’s a part of our identities.” Lolita hands each of us a slip of paper and a pencil. “Until you address this hurdle with yourself, you’ll never be able to clearly communicate what you need to your partner.”
Molly blinks at her paper.
What’s she going to write?
What makes her feel good? What other books have her blushing?
Get it together, man.I need to write something down.
Alright. What’s keeping me from having rewarding intimacy? Incredible sex? Sensual hurdles?
The questions drip over me like a leaking tap, awakening the difficulty this particular topic always brings.
Let’s see. I haven’t had sex in years. Truthfully, I’m not sure I can even recall the last time I craved intimacy. After the incident in Boston, I did my fair share of dating in New York. I tried, I did, but I’d always end things before they got too serious.
My current situation isn’t any better. Fake marrying a woman so we can split her multimillion-dollar trust doesn’t exactly scream intimacy, lust, or sexual discovery.
I was never one for casual flings, so I’m drawing a blank. How is someone supposed to have good sex without a connection? Without trust?
I stare at the blank strip of paper. I’m as empty as it looks.
You’re not good enough.
Oh hell. I shake the thought out of my head. Years of therapy, healing, and repairing, and somehow, the crushing feeling of my infertility is confronting me again.
What has been keeping me from having a relationship?
I just stopped trying.
I gave up on love, let it gather dust behind a shut door in my mind.
I jot an answer down and fold the note in half. Regret shadows me. Lolita did say we get to keep these confessions to ourselves, right?
Molly drops her pencil on the mat, crumbling the small sheet of paper in her fist.
“Does everyone have something written down?” Ms. Deveaux asks. Everyone nods in response. “Perfect. Now, face your partners and share your confessions.”
For fuck’s sake. Molly presses her fist to her chest.
“We don’t have to do this,” I whisper. Even with the intrigue of finding out her answer eating away at me, I’d rather not share my note either.
“I see a lot of you are hesitating.” Lolita waves her hand. “In order to truly transform your relationship, you and your partner must learn to be unapologetically vulnerable. Why stop yourselves from having the best sex of your life simply because of your egos and fears?”
Our instructor could moonlight as a lawyer with arguments like those.
The room erupts in a wave of whispers. Couples take turns sharing their deepest secrets.
But Molly and I aren’t a real couple. We could just make something up.
