Chapter 9 - Valerie
It’s Sunday, and I wake up and practically jump out of bed. My package should be arriving today, since I paid for the overnight delivery. I try to keep the thought out of my mind. When I think about my new toy I think about Doctor O’Neill, and that’s not a road I want to go down. Yesterday was too embarrassing, I’m not used to not being in control of my emotions or my body that way.
I get up and make myself a cup of coffee. I need to distract myself. I know I’ll have at least thirty to forty email to catch up on. Saturdays are big viewing days and are usually one of the busiest days of the week. Taking the day off yesterday was nice, as eventful and stressful as it was, but I need to use today to catch up on work otherwise Monday will be a nightmare.
I fire up my laptop and open my emails. Sure enough, I have 42 unread emails. I start at the bottom, working my way up chronologically. I click on the first email and my eyes glaze over immediately as I glance at a reminder that the fridges at the office are emptied weekly on Friday evenings. I quickly click the delete button as my thoughts flick to yesterday.
To Doctor O’Neill.
He was so manly, so raw. I remember the way the cloth from his shirt brushed against my skin when he put the stethoscope on my back. It was like fire trailing in a line down my spine. I wanted to feel his hands, feel the warmth of his skin against mine. I wanted to know what his body looked like under those clothes.
I shake my head. No. He’s my new doctor, I absolutely cannot be having these thoughts. He was nothing but professional for the entire consultation. It was me who was a puddle of desire. He heard my heart hammering in my chest and saw my cheeks blushing whenever I looked at him.
He could probably read me like a book, and was probably laughing at me right now. The orgasm-less girl who can’t control herself around an attractive man.
I get up and pace across my kitchen. I’m not usually like this. When I sell a million-dollar house to some big shot, I’m never intimidated by them. I can close any deal. I’ve had countless rich, attractive men try their luck with me but I’m always unfazed. My colleagues have gone as far as to call me a shark!
I don’t understand why this was different, why I had so little control over myself. Maybe it was because he caught me at my most vulnerable, but he’s my doctor, for crying out loud. If I can’t tell him what’s wrong with my then who would I talk to?! It doesn’t matter that his eyelashes perfectly frame his eyes and he has this dark, brooding look about him. Every time he looked at me I just wanted to press my lips against his and see what he tasted like.
I go back to my computer. When I throw myself in my work I can get anything out of my mind. I click on an email with an interesting subject line: “Leads you might be interested in.” It’s from another agent I get along well with. I open the email up and read through quickly. There are a few attached photos of a beautiful SoHo loft, not yet on the market. If it goes on the market it’ll be gone within two or three days, judging by the photos and the location.
He says if I know of any buyers, the sale is mine. I check the address listed in the email and grab my car keys. I always do a drive-by of any property, just to be sure there aren’t any glaring problems. It would probably be faster to take the subway, but I know a drive will distract me.
I hop in my car and head towards the address. It’s such a beautiful part of Manhattan and I always love when I get to sell there. I drive through the busy streets and wind my way through the city.
As usual, it’s abuzz with life. I make it to the address and see a beautiful old building that’s been restored to perfection. I park up across the street and check my phone. Apparently the place is a huge loft with one bedroom, worth upwards of 3 million.
I have a walk around the block to see some of the amenities nearby. I’m happy to see shops, restaurants, galleries, a school all within walking distance. I spend thirty minutes wandering around, getting to know the area so I can sell it when the time comes. I always like to be prepared, but if I’m honest this thing will sell itself.
I stop in at a coffee shop on the opposite corner from the building and order a latte. I take a sip as I step outside. It’s good. Just another little perk of coming back here to sell this place. Satisfied, I jump back in my car and head towards home.
I can feel the excitement of an impending sale. This is what I’m good at. I love the hum of a sale and the rush I get from closing a deal. This property is in a gorgeous location, perfect for a number of the rich young professionals I deal with. I have a buyer in mind already, and I can’t wait to show it. I feel like myself again as I drive back home, composing my response to my colleague in my head as I drive.
I practically run up the stairs to my tiny apartment and almost trip over the box placed at the front door.
I look down, confused for a second until the last 24 hours come rushing back to me. I pick up the small box and am surprised at how light it is.
It’s my new toy, or “aid” as the doctor called it.
I think of Doctor O’Neill, and how he’d looked at me right before sticking the tongue depressor in my mouth. The heat between my legs erupts all of a sudden at the thought of his dark eyes drilling into me. All of a sudden the clarity of my drive is gone and I’m nervous again. I hate this feeling.
I won’t let myself be dragged down like this! I square my shoulders and walk into my apartment, closing the door behind me. I am a confident, successful young woman and I can do this. Most women have vibrators and most women have orgasms! I tear open the brown packing box and look at the sleek packaging for my new vibrator. It’s black with silver indented lettering on it.
“Girl’s Best Friend”
The top of the box lifts off and my heart beats a bit faster. It’s smoother than I imagined, almost soft when I lift it out. It’s about six inches long with a plastic white handle. The rest of it is a bright pink colour. It doesn’t look like the other vibrators I’ve seen, it’s a lot less intimidating. I press one of the buttons and it starts vibrating in my hand. I panic, pressing another button to make it stop.
I giggle and press the button again, three times this time to see how hard the vibrations get. They travel up my arm and down my core until I can almost feel them in my centre. I drop my bag and head to my bedroom, ready to see if it really is a Girl’s Best Friend.