Doctor's Orders (8 page)

Wow! That was fun !

When I awoke in the morning, the boys had gone, and
I was curled up in my bed with Ellen. I could only vaguely remember
how that had happened. We had enjoyed one hell of a night. Sod Brad
and his prim and proper ways. He was gone forever, but that was
OK…there were plenty of other dicks in the sea, as we had
discovered last night. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to wake
up. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 8.00am. Something
had disturbed my Sunday morning sleep, but I wasn’t sure what it
was. Then I heard it again…it was the doorbell.

I pulled on a dressing gown and shuffled to the
front door. Peering through the window, I could see a delivery guy
with a long, thin box. I opened up and peered at him blearily.

‘Angel dVries?’ he asked.

I nodded and signed my name on his computer device,
then took the box and went inside. WTF? Who sends deliveries at
eight in the morning on a Sunday?

I found a pair of scissors in the kitchen and cut my
way into the box, expecting to find something I had bought from a
catalog and then forgotten about. Instead, I found ten red roses,
freshly cut and in perfect condition, plus a gift card. I picked up
the card and read it:

Dear Angel. These are just to say ‘sorry,’ and to
let you know I am thinking of you. Brad.

Well, blow me. What was I supposed to do now?

***

I sat in the kitchen
looking at my roses. I found a vase for them, put them in water and
placed them on the kitchen table. If you must know, I felt really
bad. And yes, you’re right…I deserved it.

But come on, I thought Brad was gone forever. After
all, why would a good-looking, highly successful man like him want
to waste time on someone like me? A one-night stand I could make
sense of…but it seems that’s not his kind of thing. So he had
politely left me to spend the evening alone – and I had spent the
night fucking two other guys. And then I get these roses. What does
that mean? He wants us to have a relationship? And if he does…how
do I feel about that? Don’t get me wrong, I was certainly attracted
to him. But did I really want a relationship with just one guy? Too
many questions, and not enough answers.

Ellen wandered into the kitchen looking a bit
sheepish and embarrassed. ‘Did I dream what happened last night?’
she asked hopefully.

I laughed a rather dirty laugh. ‘Hell no…it happened
all right. And you were awesome. We were both awesome…and so were
the guys.’

Ellen went red in the face, but then she started
giggling. ‘Gosh…we were naughty, weren’t we?’ She saw the roses on
the table. I handed her the note, and she read it out loud. She
gave me a confused look. ‘What’s this all about?’

I had some explaining to do. I told her all about
what had happened on Saturday, from my death-defying leap, through
to Brad’s sex-defying departure. Oh, yes…and the bit about picking
up strange men in a bar.

‘So what am I supposed to do now?’ I asked her, but
she didn’t have any better answers than me. Eventually, we decided
the best course of action was to wait and see what happened at the
office on Monday. For one thing, I realized I didn’t have any way
of contacting Brad except on his office phone number. So I didn’t
have much choice but to wait. It wasn’t much of a plan…but a plan,
nevertheless.

***

What happened in the
office on Monday was, well, quite a lot.

I arrived early, aiming to get in before Vanessa.
However, she was already there, and looked like she had been there
for hours. I knew she also put in an hour in the gym before getting
to work, so God knows what time she got up in the morning. I
reckoned it must be about 3.00am…that is, about the time when I am
usually getting off to sleep. I was dosed up on Starbucks, and
ready to rip into a busy week.

Vanessa called me into her office, and congratulated
me on the first draft of my article on Karen. ‘This is good stuff.
She is quite a character, isn’t she? She must have slept with more
men than you, me and the rest of the women in this office put
together.’

Ummm…probably not, actually…but I decided not to
pursue that line of inquiry. ‘Any news on Thomasin?’ I asked,
changing the subject. Thomasin was the other person I was supposed
to interview on sex addiction.

‘Yes, he will meet you for lunch today at one. Oh,
and Brad called…he wants you to go over to his office at four. But
he said it’s OK if you don’t want to…any idea what that means?’

I shook my head. ‘No idea, but four is fine with
me.’ But while I was talking, my brain was ticking over like crazy.
Was this business or pleasure, or both? It was office hours, so I
guessed business…but it could be awkward.

***

As it turned out,
lunch with Thomasin was more awkward. He was a nice enough guy…but
it was clear that he was far from over his sex addiction issues.
That is to say, he started hitting on me as soon as I arrived in
the restaurant, and didn’t let up. Ordinarily, of course, this
would be like a match made in heaven. I mean, he was an ex male
model, for heaven’s sake, and still in very good shape. On
practically any other day, we would have skipped the meal, booked a
room somewhere and got down to business.

But for the first time ever in my adult life, dick
wasn’t the first thing on my mind. You can laugh if you want, but I
was really torn. One part of me wanted to get inside Thomasin’s
pants, but another part of me wanted to be a good girl,
anticipating something more (I didn’t know what exactly…but
something) from my meeting with Brad in the afternoon. Somehow, I
thought a lunchtime fuck might spoil the romance later, if you get
my drift. Yes, I know all this is fucked up, but this is what was
going through my head.

To be honest, Thomasin didn’t have much of a story
to tell. He was just a horny guy, and because he has natural good
looks, he didn’t have much trouble getting girls between the
sheets. At least, I assumed it was his looks that were the
attraction. He didn’t seem to have much going on between his ears.
I spent an hour listening to him brag about his various conquests,
and it all seemed rather sad and pointless. Just a string of sexual
encounters and one-night stands, with no mention of love or
romance. With a shock, I realized this was
my
life, too.
Just an empty series of encounters with people who would never see
me again, and who wouldn’t recognize me if they did.

Was this really what I wanted for the rest of my
life? When I was in my final years, and looking back on my life –
like that old lady in the Titanic movie – what would I see?
Memories of happy family life, love and shared happiness? Or just
vague memories of all the dicks I had worked my way through. It
certainly gave me pause for thought. It’s one thing to have fun and
sow your wild oats when you are in your twenties, but did I still
want to be doing this when I was in my thirties? Or forties? When
would I stop?

Eventually, I could stand Thomasin’s bragging no
longer. I made my excuses as soon as was polite, and headed back to
the office. I could see that he was frustrated at having one get
away. But never mind, I was sure he wouldn’t find it hard to pick
up another floozie to hump. There are plenty of girls like me
around.

Before going back to the office, I made a detour
home and changed my clothes. I ditched the short skirt, and found
something that reached closer to my knees. I tied my hair back in a
more serious and professional way, and I toned down my make-up too.
I checked myself in the mirror and felt better. Less of the
available tramp, and more of the sophisticated business woman.

Come on, Angel,
I thought.
You can do
this.

***

I arrived at Brad’s
office early – probably a little
too
early. The building was
one of those dark-glassed office blocks that tower over Sydney,
stretching up about 60 stories. The reception area was vast and
elaborate, with a marble floor and statues of what I took to be
Greek mythical heroes. The statue next to the reception desk was a
full-size one of a fierce looking warrior who packed a fearsome
punch in the loincloth department. Very impressive.

I was still staring at his package when I heard a
cough, and realized the receptionist was trying to attract my
attention. I blushed a little and signed in, getting a badge
labeled Visitor in return for my signature. I strutted over to the
elevators, and pressed the button. While I waited, I read the names
of all the companies listed on the tenant’s board. Most of them
were big corporates – international banks and IT companies. You
clearly needed to have money to get space in this building.
Eventually the elevator arrived, and I accelerated up to the 58th
floor at a rather scary speed.

It seemed that Brad’s company occupied the whole of
this floor, and when the elevator doors opened, I could almost
taste the money. The floor was deep in lush red carpet that must
have cost a fortune, and the whole feel of the place was….well,
expensive. Brad was no ordinary doctor – it seemed he was running
an empire. I had expected nice offices, but I certainly hadn’t
anticipated anything like this. There was another reception desk
for me to check in at, but this time there were no formalities. As
soon as I gave my name, the pretty brunette receptionist greeted me
as if I was a long-lost friend, and told me Brad would be ready in
a moment. I took a seat in the waiting area, and was amazed to
discover that the magazines on the table were all current issues –
not a 2009 issue of Reader’s Digest in sight. Very different to
visiting my dentist.

I had picked up the latest edition of Cosmopolitan,
and was just getting into a juicy article on ‘Seven Sex Positions
You Have Never Tried Before’ (as if!) when I heard Brad’s silky
voice beside me.

‘Doing a little more research on our topic, I see,’
he said, with a cheeky grin on his face.

‘Oh, er no…I was just browsing,’ I said, slamming
the magazine closed and trying not to turn as red as a
beetroot.

Brad laughed and beckoned me to follow him, pausing
only to ask the receptionist to bring us coffee. I followed his
broad shoulders down a corridor that was also lined in the same
plush, red carpet. At the end, double doors opened into a stunning
office. It was big, but not ostentatiously huge, and the furniture
was good quality, but not over the top. What made it truly
stunning, though, was the view. The whole of one wall was pure
glass, with a vista that looked out across the center of Sydney to
the harbour. Not a bad view to have from your desk – the bridge,
the opera house and all the beauty of Sydney beyond.

Brad invited me to sit with him in an informal
seating area adjacent to his desk – just four comfortable chairs
and a low table. The pretty brunette arrived with the coffee a
moment later, and I couldn’t help wondering if Brad had had sex
with her. From the way she looked at him, I bet she would have been
up for it. But she would probably have to join the queue with
everyone else. Including me. I wondered about the possibility of a
threesome…me, her and Brad…right there in his expensive office.
After all, she had a cute ass that I wouldn’t mind checking out
more closely. I liked the idea, but I kept it to myself. When she
had gone, I thanked Brad for the roses, and he accepted my thanks
graciously, but then it was straight down to business.

‘I read the first draft of the articles that you
sent this morning,’ he said. ‘We have some great material to work
with in there. I suggest that I add my comments as a professional
advisor, then we can put together a really useful and informative
package of material.’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘What did you make of Thomasin and
Ellen? Would you say they qualify as sex addicts?’

‘Good question…and one that is hard to answer. There
is a fine line between what is normal and what is not normal in
terms of sexual behavior. In fact, you can question whether the
word ‘normal’ applies at all. If the person in question is
comfortable with their behavior, then who are we to call them
addicts? I certainly wouldn’t call either of these two extreme in
their lifestyle choice.’

Then I had an idea, and I knew it was a bad one
before I had even opened my mouth. But my mouth has a mind of its
own, and I heard the words coming out anyway.

‘As I told you before, I have a friend – or rather a
friend of a friend – who might well qualify in the extreme
department. She just loves sex, and gets as much of it as she can.
She puts these two in the shade. She won’t want to be involved in
this article, but I am sure you would find her interesting. We
could tell her story.’

I’m sure you’ve worked out that there wasn’t any
such friend – I was talking about myself. But of course, I didn’t
want Brad to know that. He looked at me quizzically. ‘I see. So how
does she behave – what do you call extreme, exactly?’

‘Well, for example, she told me that one night, she
picked up two English rugby players in a bar, took them home and
had sex with both of them. And it’s not the first time she has done
something like that. I guess you might call her a man eater.’

‘Interesting.’ Brad leaned back in his chair and
took a sip of coffee. ‘She is probably seeking validation.’

Validation? No, I was just seeking dick. Where did
validation come into it?

‘And she finds this kind of casual sex
satisfying?’

‘She certainly isn’t complaining,’ I said, ‘She just
wants to make the most of life while she is still young. She says
that life is too short to get stuck with just one guy, and you
should have fun with as many of the fish in the sea as you
can.’

‘Does she practice safe sex?’

‘Always,’ I said, telling the truth for once. I may
not have mentioned it before, but I always ensure that my gifts are
wrapped before I start enjoying them, if you get my drift. I want
to have fun, but I want to stay healthy, too.