Our phone conversation went too far, too fast, and I asked her if she liked anal sex.
Sometimes I wonder if it had been that odd clairvoyance I’d received after Girl Zero that made me ask, or if I were just being my normal, aggressively sexual self, looking out for number one – Rex, of course, although he never appreciates it, the prima donna.
She freaked out, immediately screaming at me, how dare I ask her that? She went on that she had been anally raped as a six year old and it had traumatized her so much that it led her to her career – psychiatrist.
I knew it. Shrinks are in it to heal themselves.
I also knew that the anal-no-fly-zone thing was fatal with me, so I reluctantly let her go for a while. But she kept showing up in my searches. So I called her back.
She had no memory of having spoken to me before. Carefully, not wanting her to spaz again, I asked what led her to her career as a psychiatrist, and she gave me some meaningless explanation about a mentor in her life.
Wow, her memory was erased of the conversation that could kill us. Was that heaven sent?
I plowed ahead and made a date. She lived a bit too far distant for me, but we found a nice pub, had a great time and went to her place. I followed her little Lexus sports car to a very fancy, large townhouse, decorated to the nines.
It was strange being in her bed, naked with her, on a first date. It got stranger when she insisted on showing me how she liked to use her vibrator on herself, and even more so when she confessed she had trained her small dog to give her oral sex. I declined her invitation to experience that firsthand.
I went home the next morning, thinking she was pretty cool despite the oddities of her sexuality. And then I started getting frantic calls about her being confronted at work about missing drugs and drug use. In one, she said they were leveling criminal charges against her, kicking her out of her partnership and attempting to strip her of her medical license. And the crowning blow, she added the word “again.” This had all happened to her once before, and she had beat the rap, and now they were coming back for her. She sounded guilty-as-charged to me.
Before things could get worse, I programmed her “ring tone” to be silent. One of her voice mails accused me of infecting her with a sexually transmitted disease.
At that, I freaked out and hightailed it to my doctor’s office, where I was given a clean bill of health.
I called up Drug Addict Psychiatrist Girl to tell her that, but I got voice mail.
I told her that the likely cause of her vaginal irritation was her dog’s tongue, then hung up.
Jesus, that could have ended much worse.
That night I left her the final voice mail I was folding laundry on my bed when Rex strolled in, smoking a cigar.
You can’t smoke in here, I said. Landlord’s rules. Plus it’ll get a stale smoke smell in here. He put it out, but he gave me that “you’re a pussy” look. Fuck him, I thought, he’d picked this woman and she’d been awful.
He must have read my mind. He plopped down and started folding laundry with me. “I didn’t pick her, you picked her, I just liked the choice until she said that thing about not liking anal.”
What, I said, she’s supposed to come back from being molested in the ass?
Oh come on, he sneered. Who said that really happened? She was a lying, manipulating drug addict. She probably made all that up. She didn’t mention it the second time we talked to her. And by the way, you went ahead with a date knowing she’d had a memory blackout about our first conversation? A conversation, let me remind you, that was so emotional to her that she screamed at us. People don’t forget emotional conversations. I can’t believe I have to tell you this. I’m supposed to be the one looking for sex only, and you’re supposed to be the analytical one. This time, I had the reason and you had the hardon.
He was right, I thought. Perhaps I had taught Rex analysis and he had taught me emotion. Or perhaps Rex and I were merging again, into one person.
Nah, that couldn’t be right!
Stop folding laundry, I commanded. You suck at it.
I took his cigar, brushed the old ash off the end, and relit it, the mellow smoke filling the room.
Rex grinned at me.
I guess we were friends again, at long last.