Page 52 of Demitri

“Well, doctor, I feel a little fucked up in the head about it all.”

“So… normal.”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “Basically.”

“I agree with her on this one. That man is in love with you and just wants to protect you and ensure your happiness. If anyone is going to bring your orgasm back, it’s him.”

“I know,” I whisper. “That doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Nothing worth it is ever easy. You need to talk to him.”

“You need to talk to your boss.”

“Ahh, yes, the deflection part of the conversation.”

“Doesn’t make it untrue.”

“I know, Mia. I know. But you also know I can’t. You’re out here trying to have an orgasm because you want more sex, and the thought of having it at all freaks me out. Could you imagine James in that situation? Not only would I lose any chance I might ever have with him. I’d lose my job, and I can’t do that.”

“You’re right. God, I hope one day you find the thing you need to help you.”

“I hope you aren’t pinning all of your hopes on a man, Mia. You know as well as I do how that works out.”

“I know. And I promise you, I’m not. I want this. But I choose him to explore the option with.”

“Then you have to talk to him.”

“I have to talk to him.”

“Yes. Now get off the phone with me and go tell that man you want him to help you find your orgasm. And Mia, I hope you’re a multiple orgasm squirter.”

“Oh, my God,” I yelp, laughing “Gracie!”

“What?” She softly laughs with me. “I read about them.”

“One day, we’ll both be recipients of multiple orgasms.”

“If only. Now stop stalling and go talk to the man.”

“Yes,Mom.”

I guess it’s time to ask Demitri to help me find my missing orgasm.

CHAPTER TWENTY

DEMITRI

I’m puttingthe finishing touches on lunch when Mia gets home. Grilled cheese and tomato soup with a side of pickles. It’s feel-good food. Comfort. And sometimes she needs that when she gets home. These are the days I also try to stay out of her way. There are times she wants to talk about what was discussed, and other times she will disappear into her room for a few hours, resurfacing only after she’s processed what she needed.

Today, she appears in the kitchen in her socked feet, and I know she’s been crying, but that doesn’t really tell me anything.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, offering her a plate with a sandwich on it.

“I am, actually.” She gives me a small smile. “Thank you.”

She takes her seat at the table while I prepare our soup. Carrying everything to the table, I sit and pass her a bowl. We’ve started eating the cheesy good stuff, but Mia seems off.

“Everything alright?” I finally ask.

---