The Sex Surrogate(3)

By: Jessica Gadziala



I wasn't expecting miracles. Maybe just some small breakthroughs. Maybe just not... cringing when someone reached out to touch me. Maybe not feeling completely horrified at being naked in front of someone else. I wasn't expecting to walk out of the office being some kind of sex goddess. Just... normal. I just wanted to be normal.

So, if that meant I had to sleep with some sixty year old with fake teeth... so be it.

I took a deep breath, checking the time, then grabbed my purse and got out of my car. I was still too early, but I could take my time with the paperwork. Check out the office.

I shivered against the late Fall air, grabbing the office door and pulling it open. And I stepped into straight up elegance. There was no other way to describe the waiting area of this office. The wall straight ahead, behind the white reception desk, was painted black with the doctor's name emblazoned across it. The rest of the walls were covered in some sort of white, shiny, textured panels. The hard wood floors were pristine and dark stained. There were two captain's chairs upholstered in a aqua color in front of a low white coffee table with two books on top.

Neat, clean, expensive.

Those were the three words that came to mind immediately.

The woman behind the desk was in her mid or late forties with a kind round face with large brown eyes and her brown hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. She looked up when I walked in, a kind, non-judgmental smile on her face.

“Miss. Davis?” she asked, standing behind the massive desk that kept her body under her chest hidden from view.

“Y... yes,” I said, shaking my head slightly.

“Great timing,” she smiled, reaching around for, I assumed, my paperwork. “You'd be surprised how many people take 'come at least a half an hour early' to mean 'show up five minutes after your scheduled appointment time',” she laughed.

I walked up to the desk, swallowing past the sudden fist in my throat.

“Nervous?” she asked, leaning closer, like she wanted to keep it between the two of us, despite the office being empty except for her.

I knew she was just being professionally kind, but I felt a bit of the flurries in my stomach subside. “Only in the way that I am ready to turn and bolt out the door at any moment,” I admitted.

She smiled, producing a pile of papers on a white clipboard. “Then you picked the wrong shoes,” she said, her eyes bright. I felt a giggle rise up, shaking my head and looking at my feet, wrapped in beige boots with a three inch stiletto heel. “Don't worry,” she said, putting a hand on the paperwork, “everyone is always nervous. It's completely normal.”

I nodded. “So, I just... fill all these out?”

“Yep,” she said, pulling back, away from me. Back into professional mode. “Some are just basic medical questions. Mental health questions. And then the last few pages are an in-depth sexual questionnaire. You seal all of it into that manila folder in the back,” she said, flipping the pages. “No one but Dr. Hudson will be privy to that information.”

Thank god.

“Great,” I said, forcing a wobbly smile. “Thank you.”

I walked over to a chair, sitting down and trying to power through the pages before I got myself too wrapped up in the awkwardness of the situation. It was good to have something to focus on.

That was, until I got to the sex questionnaire.

It started off tame enough, asking about my upbringing. What (if anything) I was taught about sex. If I had ever caught adults engaged in sexual activities. If so, what? Then how many sexual partners I have had. What acts I had engaged in. What my comfort level was with each act on a scale of one to ten.

I figured I would put myself at a four for each, though I was pretty sure it was more like a one or two. A little fibbing never hurt anyone.

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