Page 3 of The Plus One Pact

It's not great.

But that does narrow my image of her. The sort of good girl who always came home with straight As, never asked inappropriate questions, didn't even think about having sex until college, and assumed she'd figure it all out once she fell in love.

Only the pieces didn't come together, the way they did in the movies.

The kisses felt good, even if they weren't quite fireworks. The flirting too. All that stuff she'd done in high school, as a good high school girl, the making out you do at parties—

She probably had that down.

Once the clothes came off, and issues like condoms and pelvic floor muscles and lubrication came up—

That's when it got complicated.

But first things first.

"Masturbation." That always comes first, no pun intended. "Do you prefer to call it something else, Jane?" I smooth my blue blouse. Then my charcoal slacks. When people learn I'm a sex therapist, they expect me to show up in sheer mesh, not a neutral pantsuit. You'd think the show Sex Education would have given them a mental image. Not that I can compete with the icy-cool beauty of Gillian Anderson. I'm a little more, well, Southern California. My skin is tanner, my hair is a sandy shade of light brown, my skin is freckled. I’m pretty enough, but I’m certainly not drop dead gorgeous.

"Well, I don't even… where would I even start?" Jane sucks in a shallow breath. "With my hands or a toy or what?

Maybe she does listen. She has some idea of what I'm going to recommend. At the end of the day, most people need the same thing:

They need someone to listen to their problem, to hear their feelings, to reassure them they're normal. They need someone to say you can do this; it's going to be okay.

That's the easy part.

The hard work is on them.

They have to get in touch with their desires, overcome their inhibitions enough to share those desires with a partner, try to connect with another human being.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" I try a different term. A softer one.

"A few times," she admits.

"How did it feel?"

"Good. But weird. My mom always said it was a sin, you know?"

Yes. It's a common issue. Thankfully, my parents spared me that one. They were more apt to just Not Talk About Sex. It was another think I assumed I'd be good at, because, of course, I'd be good at everything I did. That's common for all of us Orange County girls.

We're good at school, sports, and whatever musical instrument we decided to play in elementary school (a mandatory part of the curriculum). We'll be good at this too.

"Do you believe that?" I ask her.

"No. But it still comes into my head, you know?" she asks.

I do. "Tell me about the good part," I say. "What about it was good?"

"Well, I felt, you know…" She lets out a shallow breath. "Turned on."

"How did you touch yourself?"

"Can we say that on the air?" she asks.

This time, my laugh is big and hearty. We're not "on air" in the traditional sense. This isn't radio. Sex and the OC is one of the biggest human sexuality podcasts in the country.

And since it's entirety within my control, I get to stay anonymous.

"Yes, we can say whatever we want," I say. "You don't have to share details, Jane. It's not about which finger you used, or where. It's about how it felt to put your hands on your skin."