“WE’RE going to transfer you to another room to monitor the baby for a few more hours,” the ER nurse said. “Sometimes, there are delayed problems with this type of trauma.” John’s calm promptly deteriorated. She held a tiny plastic cup that contained two white tablets. “This is for your pain.”
I wasn’t brought up with religion, though my parents had strong catholic backgrounds, especially Dad. I had no fixed opinion on God and frankly, never gave it much thought, until my freshman year in high school, when I was invited to go to church with my first long-term boyfriend. I didn’t want to feel completely out of place among the crowd, so I taught myself the Lord’s Prayer; I haven’t repeated it in over 20 years, yet I still remember it today.
INTUITION warned me to restrain my uninhibited imagination, yet as I romanticized our marriage with my fondest memories, I was a defenseless hatchling at my mercy and couldn’t wait for John to come home to share my affection. In the meantime, Benny helped me submit my last assignment for the year after his midafternoon nap.
GARRET conceded. I felt proud having once not fallen victim to myself, though my triumph was bittersweet. He pushed the door open against our mutual wall then froze like a myotonic goat, while he watched Bethany waddle past Joe’s office toward reception. “Well…let me know if you change your mind,” he sighed to his feet and then sulked to his office. THUNK.
Richard Miller, my half-brother, was highly intelligent, physically fit, and attractive, yet he spent most of his 42 years tormented by a clash of psychological forces and negative influences. He had inherited our mother’s shyness, sensitivity, and insecurity, and his father’s predisposition to addictive, aggressive, and high-risk behavior.
I HAD never felt as desired by anyone as much as Garret, yet my pasty complexion and drab wardrobe suddenly made me feel plain and unappealing. Nonetheless, his affection had juiced me with insurmountable energy, and I immediately set out to overhaul my appearance.
ALTHOUGH I didn’t hear from Garret over the weekend, I knew I wasn’t the only one who lay awake Sunday evening. Sleep taunted my rest-deprived senses like a matador’s red cape to a tenacious bull on its thirtieth day of battle. Thoughts of Garret’s double-satisfaction guarantee, the most pleasurable way to accomplish the massage therapist’s advice, kept restorative slumber out of my reach for much of the night.
IT didn’t occur to me that Joe might have an ulterior agenda; my only concern was John’s perception. Had our roles been reversed, I certainly wouldn’t have allowed the room-sharing arrangement, so I presumed he’d feel the same, regardless of how old Joe was. “You really should’ve told me before now,” I said flatly. “I’m not prepared.”
Regardless if you outwardly admit it, once you hit puberty, sexual desire makes up a large part of your thoughts. According to a study authored by Dr. Terri D. Fisher, professor of psychology at The Ohio State University, men and women, between the ages of 18 and 25, think about sex as much as food and sleep. So, why is talking about sexual desire so hard, when it’s so easy to talk about dinner?