Page 41 of The Plus One Pact

"These were gifts from my mother." I motion to the framed prints on the wall. An artist who paints with bold shapes and primary colors. "She said his lines remind her of me."

"I see it." Ivy studies the painting the way my mother does, as if she finds meaning in every brush stroke. There's a softness to her face.

When she turns to me, I feel it. The intensity of her gaze. The same desire to understand.

But she doesn't seem to know where to start either. At least not with our arrangement.

"Sasha has note cards," I say. "To quiz you on my biographical details."

"Note cards." Ivy takes a seat on the couch and crosses her legs at her ankles. "I haven't used those since grad school."

"When did you finish grad school?" I sit next to her. My knee brushes hers. The denim of my jeans against the soft material of her slacks. Some modern fabric designed to stretch as it looks professional.

I wanted to show up casual, as if I was really meeting my girlfriend, but I feel under-dressed next to her. Naked.

I need the suit. It's a suit of armor. It keeps me anonymous. No one notices a man in a suit. Not even when he’s a twenty-one-year-old brown kid from Garden Grove, who's far too young, and broke, to drink at a hotel bar in Laguna Beach with a woman in her 50s.

Sure, I was broke, not poor—Mama would have helped if I asked—but I wanted to make it on my own. I did. Even if I used the suit she bought me for my high school graduation.

It worked on my first call.

It works now. Though, now, I have a different suit. One built for broader shoulders.

I'm too used to deception. But this isn't about me. It's about forming a real fake bond with Ivy.

"About four years ago," she says. "But it all blurs together. I saw patients as part of my training. Then I tried to establish a private practice for a while."

"Tried?" Does that mean she failed?

"I suppose I did," she says. "I had, um, have enough regular clients to make a living. I try to avoid couples, so I see a lot of solo women. Mostly straight cis-women, though not entirely."

There’s something deeper here, but I don’t ask. Because it’s not the time. Or maybe because I’m afraid to ask. “How do you help those women?”

"Say I have a client, Jenny, who can’t come. I start with basic education. A lot of women feel insecure because they have inaccurate perceptions. Because they've watched too many movies or TV shows where couples come simultaneously. Or they've grown up with mainstream porn. Or guys who learned about sex from mainstream porn."

It's a familiar problem. "I've seen the same thing."

"You would know better than I would, I guess." Her cheeks flush. "Say I have a client, Jenny, who can't come. I create space for her to share her experience. To examine her expectations. Because, even when I tell her, that's normal, that a lot of women can't come from penetration, she won't quite believe me. She'll agree. She'll understand. But she won't understand."

"I know what you mean," I say.

"Some of it is that. Just taking time to get used to this new idea. Just having someone you can trust tell you, 'hey, you're normal.' And sometimes it is that easy. She lets go of her expectation, she comes from a good dickin', and she's able to touch herself or use toys or ask her partner to go down on her."

"A happy ending," I say.

"Yes." She laughs. "The happy ending. But it's usually more complicated if Jenny is ready to see me. No one wants to see a sex therapist. It's usually a last resort. A sign of failure. For some reason, we all think we're supposed to be fantastic lovers without any training or practice."

That is true. I’ve seen it over and over with clients.

"I have to make room for her to integrate all that. That's usually a few sessions. Then there's the shame. She feels like something is wrong with her. Like she's a failure. And she gets in her head. That anxiety makes it hard to relax, which makes it impossible to come."

Sasha steps into the living room with a tray of tea. A pot, three cups, honey, almond milk. She looks to me and raises a brow in a sort of positive inquiry. She can tell it's going well.

I guess it is.

This is where I excel. Listening. Work.

But we can work with that.