I smile. “I do actually.” I nod to accentuate my point. “I like the difference in their body to ours. We are soft. They are hard. We are smooth. They are rough. You know, the whole Yin and Yang thing. It’s the differences that turn me on.”
“Ugh, all of the guys I’m with manscape and if they haven’t I comment that I want them hairless before I see them again.” Bridget and I are both shocked, our eyes wide.
“You actually say that?”
“Yes, of course, wouldn’t you?” We both shake our heads.
“No, god, no.”
“Girls, have I taught you nothing. Ask for what you want. Men are stupid. They will do what we ask.”
Bridget scrunches her nose up in disgust at Abbie. “The guy I’m going out with is a lot of things. He may be an adulterer and a prick, but stupid isn’t one of them and Tash is so damn picky.” They both turn their attention to me. “When was the last guy you were actually with?” Bridget glares at me.
“What’s with the Spanish inquisition?” I roll my eyes.
Abbie chimes in, “Yes, she’s right. Are you on the forty–hour man famine?”
I smile, “No one really gets me hot. All the guys I meet are just so…average.” I hunch my shoulders.
“Oh no,” Abbie scowls toward the counter.
“What?” I ask as I sip my coffee.
“It’s tunnel cunt.” I can’t help it-I spit my coffee all over Bridget.
“Oh fuck, Tash, watch out.” She starts to wipe the coffee from her top, as I am in a fit of giggles.
“Who in the hell is tunnel cunt?” Bridget laughs. “And how in hell did the poor girl get that god–awful name?”
“See that blonde at the counter?” We all lean in, “She’s an ex–stripper and she has her eyes on James.” James is Abbie’s flat–mate who she worships.
“How do you know she has a tunnel cunt? Actually, what is its definition?” Abbie and I are in fits of giggles.
“Shut up you two.” Abbie scowls. “This isn’t funny.”
“How do you know she’s tuning James?”
“He told me.”
“Oh,” I answer as I nod.
“Does he like her?” Bridget asks as she continues to watch her.
“He said not, but I’m keeping my eyes on her just in case.”
We all nod. “Good idea,” I mutter. We all watch as TC our new girl on the radar passes our table.
“Ok, anyway, where were we?”
“Oh I know and I don’t like to pick up for the sake of it, you both know I’m not like that.”
Abbie shakes her head in disgust.”You’re missing out. One day you are going to be forty–five, married and bored as hell and you’ll look back to these years and think I wish I had slept with all those hunks that were hot for me when I had the chance, and my body was smoking hot. You know the well dries up and turns into cellulite.”
I smile at her. “It’s ok Abbs, I’m pretty sure you’re fucking enough for the three of us.”
She scrunches up her napkin and throws it at me and we all giggle.
“Ok back to you Bridget. I think we need to set a trap.” I smile as I call the waitress over to reorder more coffees.
“Ohh I do like your wicked mind.” She purrs.
“Now let me think,” as I rub my chin.
The movie screen plays a rerun.
“Natasha, make love to me. I need this connection with you.” His lips linger over mine tenderly. “It won’t hurt as much this time baby. It’s getting easier isn’t it?” His open mouth runs down the length of my neck.
Buzz. “Natasha, your ten o’clock is here.”
I rein in my now pounding heart. “Ok thanks Marg,” I buzz her. What the hell. Christ, how can he still affect me this much after seven years apart? I drop my glasses and put my face into my hands on my desk. With my left hand I rub my face in disgust. I literally still have a physical effect from my memories of this man. Why can’t I stop thinking about him? My heart rate, my breathing. I’m wet for fuck’s sake. Good god! With disgust I head to the bathroom, shaking my head. Five minutes later I stare into the mirror in my office bathroom and blow out a deep breath. I look like crap. I wash my face and repull my shoulder–length chocolate hair back into a ponytail. I am in my green scrubs, a mandatory uniform at SSAC, which stands for Sydney Sexual Awareness Clinic. Our boss feels it desexualizes us. If we are all wearing hospital scrubs we look more professional, more clinical. I have to agree. I actually look sexless. I could be male or female and you wouldn’t be able to tell. I don’t wear any makeup to work as a twenty–five–year–old, perhaps semi–attractive female. I try to play down my looks. My patients are damaged, beautiful but damaged. They all have a problem relating to sex or sexualisation. They don’t need a psychologist throwing her sexuality and seemingly normal life in their face. What a joke. The irony is I’m just as damaged as them. Some days I feel like I should be the one on the black leather recliner chair telling them my problems, venting my insecurities. Today being a prime example. I take a deep breath and talk out loud to myself, like a total head case. You’re just unsettled because he’s coming back. I take a deep steadying breath. He’s long forgotten you Natasha, it’s time you forget him. With a resigned shake of my head, I mutter into the mirror. I wish.