Monica closed her eyes to the taste of hot meat upon her tongue. Juices burst in her mouth. Spilt heat dribbled down her chin. The assault of flavor. She moaned.
Thank God for cheat day.
She stuffed a second bite of her burger in her mouth.
"Mind if I sit here?" The voice was warm and slightly amused.
Shit!
Monica's eyes snapped open.
Oh wow.
The naughty girl within her, so often tranquilized of late, peeked.
Tall. Mussed hair. A little rugged.
Fit.
Fit was the right word
. Something fluttered in her breast and her hot hunk I might want to fuck that meter turned green.
She gulped and her half chewed food formed a knot that scoured its way down her esophagus. She nearly dropped her cheeseburger in her haste to grab a napkin and scrubbed at the grease dribbling from her chin. Her skin flamed from more than just the sun beaming on her in the outdoor, Euroesk mall.
"Uh-" Monica whipped her head about. Her ponytail lashed her cheek. More than half the tables were empty. "-there's an empty table over there. By the fountain."
The man-boy smiled at her. "There's no beautiful, solo, unattached women over there."
On the bridge of her soul, Monica's jackass detector went off. Even so, a rose tide seared her flesh. She moved her hand under the table. Her thumb touched her heart finger.
The flash of warmth evaporated. There was no ring there and mourning widow black draped her spirit. The engagement had broken up six months prior. She dropped her gaze from the Adonis standing before her.
"I wasn't expecting -uh - company. I was just enjoying some down time." The sugar-sweet, nice-girl, seven-year-old at the helm of Monica's soul, squealed in alarm and she hastily flipped the romance novel beside her, face down.
The man's eyebrow arched. "Then by all means, read." He set down his tray upon the little, rickety courtyard table. "Until then, I'll keep you company. No harm, no foul."
Monica's jackass meter hit DEFCON 2. The fucker pulled up a chair. "I'm Rick." He extended a hand over the table. "Call me Rickie if you want. My friends do."
God, Rickie, take a hint!
Nice girl forced Monica to take his hand but her expression couldn't have possibly been inviting.
Go away!
But their hands met with an electron jolt that rocked nice girl back on her heels and erased Monica's glare. Warm, gentle, strong all registered in the ship's log, or, more accurately, in naughty girl's diary. The fluttering in her breast returned with a heavy wing-beat. "I-"
Oh God, don't make a fool of yourself Monica.
"-I'm Monica."
"Monica," he said. "Lovely name."
Monica's jackass meter eased up a bit.
He turned her hand over. Warm breath kissed her wrist. Moist heat touched her breast and the butterflies ignited, a cyclone of need sinking lower and lower. Fire moths swarmed in her very core and it melted.
Naughty girl, squeezed herself, like she was making love to her own curves, and Monica squirmed in her seat.
Holey shit.
She pulled her hand back slowly and put her hand under the table. She scrubbed her wrist against her jeans to buff out the hyper-aware flesh awakened there.
Rickie pretended not to notice. He sank back in his seat and began to eat. "So, a double-super-duper-bacon-burger. One heck of a mouthful."
"Uh, yeah?"
Where's this going?
"Just enjoy watching a girl enjoy her meat."
Fuck me!
Naughty girl clapped. "Your lucky day then. Most the time it's cucumbers and yogurt." She took a sip of her shake to stabilize her hands.
"Yeah, I suppose cucumbers don't make you orgasm quite the same."
Oh lord.
The jackass meter lit up again. Seven-year-old Monica panicked. "
What?
"
Did he really just say that?
"You heard me. I saw you. If that wasn't pleasure in its most exquisite form, I don't know what an orgasm is."
Nice girl, even-year-old wound herself up for one mother of a tantrum. Monica's gave Rickie the eye. "Then you clearly don't know what an
orgasm
is."
"
Really?
"
He held her glare. The left side of his lips bowed in a lopsided smile and stalled the impending witching-hour. Before nice girl could react, naughty girl jabbed a screwdriver into the autopilot. Sparks from her core shorted out Monica's thoughts.
Finally she managed, "Food can't make you orgasm."
"What if it could?" His smile broadened.
Monica's mind got lost in naughty girl's heavy breathing. Several heartbeats hammered by.
"Monica?"
She started. "Then we'd all die of extreme obesity."
He snorted and went back to his burger. "Too true. Too bad though. It'd be awesome if a cucumber could make you come. Then I'd ask you your number just so I could watch you eat every day."
"Okay,
okay
-" With her autopilot hacked, her jackass meter didn't know which way to go. She blushed. "-how'd we get on this-" She waved her hand. "-topic."
"What topic? Cucumbers? You brought them up."
"
No
!" Monica took a hasty glance about. "Sex. I was having a quiet lunch by myself and now I'm talking sex with a
complete
stranger."
"
Ouch
." Rickie frowned. "I introduced myself. I'm Rickie. You're Monica. Not strangers."
Doofis.
"
And?
"
He shrugged. "
Your
mind is in the gutter?"
"Wait.
What?
"
Oh God-
Naughty girl nodded vigorously. -
it's true!
"
My
mind? What about
your
mind?"
"Guilty, I suppose. But it's my job. What's you excuse?"
The jackass detector went all catawampus. Monica blinked; several times. "Your job?"
"Yeah-" He took another bite of his burger. "-I'm a sex therapist."
Her bullshit detector pinged. "A sex therapist?"
"Yeah."
"And just what do you do?"
Ok . . . ay, this is officially weird. I can't believe I'm asking this.
"Teach girls to orgasm?"
"Sometimes, not usually. Mostly its erectile dysfunction. Pre-ejaculation. Clinical frigidity. Couple's therapy. A lot of couple's therapy. Social barriers. Post traumatic sexual stress. Stuff like that.
"Sometimes it's necessary to help people, mostly men, get back their confidence after a bad breakup too."
"Social barriers?"
"You'd be surprised at how many women, and men, can't quite let go and enjoy themselves because of something they were taught at home, by their friends, at church, or school."
"Huh. So what do you do?" Naughty girl was panting and Monica squirmed her ass against her seat again. Her jackass detector and hot guy just fuck me already meter were not in agreement. Or maybe they were. Her ex sure had turned out to be quite an ass. "Do I even want to know?"
"Some problems require drugs. I can't do that. Know plenty of physicians that can prescribe them though. But-" He paused. "-for most it's simply a matter of practice."
Monica's voice climbed an octave. "
Practice?
" Naughty girl pranced about in her miss-matched succubus leathers and bridal lingerie.
"Yeah, practice makes perfect." Rickie picked up his shake.
"You
practice
with your-"
Holey fuck!
"-your patients."
Rickie snorted. Then coughed. He slammed his shake down. Tears leaked from his eyes. "Heavens-" He choked. "-no. I-" He wiped the tears from his eyes. "-talk them through their issues and try to convince them to practice. On their own. Or with their partner. Usually both. Sometimes, I'll coach someone in the art of self-pleasure. But no, I don't
practice
with them."
"Coach? Men too?" She couldn't see it. No man,
no straight man
, would want to be nude in front of this dude. They probably shrank away from him in bathroom stalls.
"In theory, yes. Never met one that needed coaching in that particular area though."
Heat blistered Monica's cheeks. "
So
- you see. . ."
Rickie rolled his eyes at her. "Yes, I've
seen
more than my share of young, old, fuck-me gorgeous and plain-Jane women in various states of undress. I've also seen them orgasm. Is there a problem with that?"
Yes. No!
Naughty girl started drooling.
Fuck, I don't know.
"It's just that it seems so-" Monica shrugged and looked away. She bit her lip.
"Beautiful? You're right it
is
beautiful."
Naughty girl wrapped her legs about a fire-pole bar that somehow materialized on the bridge of Monica's soul and ran her very center down the hard shaft. Monica shimmied in her seat.
Rickie picked up a fry and pointed it at her. "Let me show you. Let's do a little experiment."
"Uh, what kind of experiment?"
"One that only works on intelligent and hyper creative women."
"Uh, o-" A proximity alert went off. She was broadside to danger but the naughty girl grabbed the helm and ran Monica's straight at the hazard. Seven-year-old nice girl stared at naughty girl like she was possessed. Which, come to think of it, she probably was. "-kay. But what is the experiment?"
"I'm going to talk to you. You are going to try an' picture what I'm saying."
"I don't see-"
"Trust me. Just close your eyes, Monica."
