John Locke - The Love You Crave

“And what is the goal for today?”

“We’ll introduce the smallest device today, and introduce it repeatedly, until we’re completely comfortable. Tomorrow we’ll continue working with it. Eventually, we’ll work our way up to the larger sizes.”

“I notice you’re saying ‘we.’”

“Yes, of course. I’m your doctor. We’re achieving this goal together.”

“Your part sounds awfully damn easy.”

“In what way?”

“You get paid two hundred dollars an hour to watch me play with myself.”

Dr. Scott frowns.

Maybe says, “I assume you intend to watch?”

“As we’ve discussed numerous times, I’m not a voyeur. I need to observe what happens to you physically in order to judge your reaction emotionally. We don’t have to do this today, if you’d rather not. But if not now, when?”

They go back and forth like this for ten minutes before Dr. Scott brings her two gowns.

“What’s the second one for?” she asks.

“To place beneath you on the recliner.”

“Do I have to take my top off?”

“No. I’ll leave the room while you get undressed.”

“Just turn your head.”

He does.

As she disrobes from the waist down, she says, “This is bullshit.”

“How so?”

“There’s no benefit to the gown. The whole point is for you to stare at my vagina while I try to insert the yellow dildo.”

Maybe first heard of vaginismus six months ago, when she finally sat down with her OBGYN for a heart-to-heart. It took her another six weeks to get up the courage to talk to a specialist about it. According to Dr. Scott, vaginismus is a reflex of the PC muscle that causes the vagina to suddenly tense, making any type of vaginal penetration painful or impossible. It’s a condition that prevents Maybe from having any type of vaginal penetration, including inserting a tampon, receiving a gynecological exam, and of course, having sexual intercourse. Nothing enters the V.

Wasn’t always that way.

That’s what makes it so frustrating. Two years ago Maybe had no problems with this. She was able to use tampons, receive proper exams, enjoy sex a time or two-was in all respects going through life happy as a bearded clam. But then something happened. Something psychological, according to Maybe’s OBGYN.

Dr. Scott spent six weeks testing that theory, during which time Maybe has made exactly no progress on her own while playing the home version of the game. Now it’s time to test the physiological response in a clinical atmosphere. According to Dr. Scott, Maybe isn’t shutting her vaginal doors on purpose. The vaginismic affect is similar to the way your eyes involuntarily close when you sneeze, or when an object comes flying toward them. The degree of pain varies from one patient to the next when penetration is attempted, but Maybe’s pain is intolerable.

“You can turn around now,” she tells him.

He turns and scoots his chair closer and takes a position directly in front of her.

Maybe says, “What, no table and stirrups?”

“In my experience, the recliner is comfortable, and far less clinical. Our objective is to improve your everyday life, not condition you solely to accept gynecological examinations.”

Maybe takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and slowly lifts her gown. She remains that way for half a minute, feeling the tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. She slowly separates her legs until her ankles are three feet apart. She opens her eyes and sees Dr. Scott staring at her private area.

Which causes her tears to flow twice as hard.

He hands her the yellow dildo.

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me?” Maybe says.

“I do.” he says.

“ Do you?”

Present Day… Donovan Creed.

“This better be good,” Callie says, when I show her the device that had been resting comfortably behind Gwen’s boob two hours ago.

Gwen doesn’t look at me before speaking. We’ve already made a pact. She’ll assume full responsibility for the surgery if I don’t tell Callie what happened between us in the hallway.

“Donovan took me to meet Dr. P.,” Gwen says, “and he did a scan.”

“Dr. Pee?” Callie says, looking at me.

“Dr. Petrovsky,” I say. “The surgeon who reconstructed my face.”

She looks at Gwen. “And that didn’t concern you?”

Gwen giggles. “Donovan is gorgeous. You’ve said so yourself!”

I look at Callie. “You said that?”

“She’s delusional. Must be the pain meds.” To Gwen she said, “I thought we had an understanding about the boob job.”

“You said I needed to do it. You just told me not to let Donovan bully me into it. And he didn’t. When Dr. P. saw the scan, he said it would only take ten minutes to remove.”

“And aesthetically?”

She looks at me.

I shrug. “How would I know?”

She looks back at Gwen. “Show me.”

“Well, there’s a bandage, but Dr. P. said in twelve weeks you won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Twelve weeks?”

Callie looks at me.

“The recovery is only two weeks,” I say. “Gwen’s referring to the scar.”

“Under my boob,” Gwen says. Then winks. “Don’t worry, sugar snatch. It’ll be fine.”

“Sugar snatch?” I say.

Callie’s eyes blaze. “I ought to kill you both.”

“Why me?” I say.

“For going behind my back on this.”

“Why her?”

“For her big, fucking mouth.”

Gwen’s face falls. “I’m sorry,” Gwen says.

“You should be. I wouldn’t repeat anything you say to me in private. Nor would I cheapen our relationship by revealing our pet names. You don’t deserve me. Move into some attic with him, if that’s all our relationship means to you.”

Gwen starts crying.

Callie watches her a minute, then looks at me. She shakes her head. “Females.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” I say. Then add, “Don’t be too hard on her. This procedure didn’t just save my life. It might’ve saved Gwen’s, too.”

Callie’s anger fades the slightest bit. “What do you mean?”

“According to Dr. P., an object like this, placed where it was, receiving electronic signals-could have had a lethal effect on Gwen’s heart. Not to mention it significantly increased her chances of developing breast cancer.”

Callie says, “I wish Phyllis Willis was still alive.”

“What would you do to her?”

“Very bad things.”

She looks at Gwen and sighs. “Men are so much easier.”

“Especially us gorgeous ones,” I say.

Callie gives me a look I’ve seen before. Staring into her eyes, I can literally see the light draining out of them. All emotion has left her face. She’s completely detached. It’s amazing how the most beautiful creature in the world can look so devoid of human warmth. This is Callie’s death face. It’s how she looks when people are about to die.

When she speaks, her tone is flat. “The day our friendship ends?” she says.

“I know.”

“Say it.”

“Our friendship ends the day I call you sugar snatch.”

She holds my gaze a full minute. It’s such an uncomfortable minute, I finally say, “I’ll never even think those words again.”

“Yes you will. You’ll think them every time you see me for the rest of our lives.” She looks at Gwen. “Thanks to you.”

Gwen puts her lower lip out, like a child who’s been caught telling a family secret.

Callie looks back at me. “But you won’t say those words out loud.”

“I won’t.”

“Ever.”

“Ever.”

One Week Earlier… Maybe Taylor.

The man who likes to be called Daddy said Professor Jonah Toth could be found teaching civics at Viceroy College in Charleston, South Carolina. Maybe didn’t ask why Daddy wanted him dead. You’re not supposed to ask, he’d told her months ago, shortly after they began their unusual telephone friendship. That was fine with Maybe. It wouldn’t help to be sidetracked by questions or doubt. She would trust Daddy, kill the man, and move forward, toward bigger and more important assignments. Lucrative ones.