Page 27 of Look, Don't Touch

“Sleep comes hard when our bodies are in fight-or-flight mode. I worry that your perpetual workout routine reinforces that autonomic reaction and keeps your resting stress level elevated.”

“Exercise is healthy.”

“Many things are healthy in moderation. Water, the thing we need most in life, can kill us, and I don’t mean by drowning. If we drink too much water, it can cause sodium levels to drop. When sodium is too low, water moves into cells and causes them to swell. Have you ever tried meditation?”

“Can it kill me too?” It’s hard to tell if he’s being snippy or funny because I can’t see his face.

“Quadruple.”

“Quadruple?” There’s a hint of amusement in his hazy voice.

“Yep, that’s what I’m charging you now.”

“You’re a terrible bluff. I received your bill and didn’t see an upcharge for my demeanor or your first name use fee.”

He isn’t wrong. I never gamble. I’m a terrible bluffer. “Meditation has been shown to decrease pain, anxiety, blood pressure, insomnia. When practiced, it allows your mind to quiet. It allows you to focus on the here and now. It ties you to your body. It can increase your self-awareness, creativity, and tolerance. I’d like to teach you how to meditate.”

“Isn’t it just sitting still and being quiet?”

“Not just. It’s quieting your mind. Focusing your thoughts. Connecting to your body. Your breath. Your pulse. It’s being present and letting everything else fall away.” I push a piece of hair back that’s slipped from my low ponytail. “Meditation can be done while moving. Yoga, Qi gong, and Tai chi are examples. There’s breath meditation. Guided. Mantra. Transcendental. It comes in many forms. The only requirement is willingness. You can let me know when you’re willing to start.”

He says nothing, and I let us sit in silence for more than a minute. I take the time to connect with my breath. I push it out into my diaphragm and exhale gently. Maybe he does the same. There’s no way to know. My pulse slows, and my shoulders relax.

Then I shift gears. “What do you fantasize about?”

“A woman…in a blindfold.”

My heart gallops through my chest. My stomach bucks. My body is a stampeding herd and no part of me knows in which direction we’re going. I’m suddenly burning up. I tug at my sleeves, fold my hands together in my lap, and stare at the pulse thumping in my wrists.

I am me. He is him. My hang-ups are not his. Focus on the task at hand.

“Why?” The steadiness of my voice surprises me.

“It’s safer that way.”

Don’t I know it?

“For the woman or you?”

“Me. She’s safe, no matter what.”

I have to retreat from this topic and fast. It’s not an uncommon sexual expression. Bondage. Domination. Submission. They’re popular for a reason. It allows control in a life we feel is never in hand. It allows freedom in a world with so many borders and rules. More than a dozen sex clubs are in a ten-mile radius of us at this very moment, and each is filled with people who express their anger, joy, sadness, and desires through kink. Nothing is wrong with that. I’ve dealt with clients with every fetish under the sun. But the blindfold is my particular hot button. I need to process this knowledge away from him to be able to continue professionally.

“Tell me about the first time you realized physical touch wasn’t for you.”

He clears his throat. “Not yet.”

I nod. “Thank you for leaving the possibility open for the future. Tell me about the first time you wanted someone to touch you.”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe a coworker caught your attention?” I press. “Someone walking down the street? A model at Fashion Week?”

“I have no interest in models.” He states it as though they’re not stunning creatures.

“Then a bank teller or a courier? Or a mom pushing a stroller through the park?”

“Why was my same answer to your previous question hopeful and accepted, and this one is not?” He’s getting irritated with me and my questions.

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