Page 91 of Wistful Whispers
“Sure. I’m struck by how little we understand about the neural mechanisms underlying female sexual function.” I decide to lay it all out there. “Especially given the studies indicating specific brain regions—like the medial frontal gyrus, inferior frontal gyrus, putamen, and entorhinal cortex—play roles in sexual desire and arousal. There’s still so much uncharted territory to explore.”
Dr. Madison’s gaze sharpens. “You’re referring to the fMRI study on HSDD?”
“For one,” I reply, leaning forward. “In that particular study, women with hypoactive sexual desire disorder were shown to exhibit different activation patterns compared to those without the condition. Understanding these differences could be pivotal in developing targeted treatments.”
She lifts her chin, contemplating. “Do you believe neurosurgical interventions could play a role in addressing these dysfunctions?”
“Well, it’s certainly a possibility worth exploring,” I say earnestly. “If I can pinpoint the neural circuits involved, there might be ways to modulate them, either surgically or through neuromodulation techniques.”
Dr. Madison’s lips curve into a thoughtful smile. “Ambition has never been your shortcoming.” Then her brow furrows. “Let me ask again. Why now? Don’t give me the poetic answer—give me the practical one.”
“Um…” I brace myself. “Despite my situation with Caldwell, I’d rather make something of this moment than sit around waiting for someone to decide my future.”
She hums. “What about the stairwells?”
“Excuse me?” I freeze, mortified.
“You’ve got a reputation,” she says plainly. “You’re smart. Talented. Too smooth for your own good. Plenty of extracurriculars, from what I’ve heard.”
My face flushes. I tamp it down because this is serious to me, so I hold her gaze. “I’m not going to lie. I’ve had consensual sexual encounters with a handful of women at the hospital. Nurses and other residents mostly. I can explain. It’s not what it probably seems like.”
Dr. Madison says nothing—just watches me. Calm. Neutral. A little too quiet.
“It started during med school,” I go on, shifting again in the uncomfortable cafeteria chair as I explain what happened with Tara and Priya. “When I started my residency, there was a nurse I worked with who was smart, competent and older than me by a few years. We were on overnights together, and one night, we were standing outside the on-call room waiting for a consult when she kissed me. Told me she’d heard about my ‘research’ and wanted to participate.”
My lips twitch with the memory—how nervous I’d been, how electrified. “We slipped into the stairwell. I used a couple of techniques I’d mastered. Let's just say they worked well. Afterward she told me no man had ever paid attention to her body like I had.”
She purses her lips. I keep going. At this point, I might as well.
“She wanted to keep meeting. Once, sometimes twice a week. Same spot, same rhythm. I thought we were building something—this connection, you know?” I think back to when it was happening. “After a month or so, she told me the truth. She had a boyfriend and saw a future with him, and wanted to have a secret relationship. Obviously, I ended it.”
I glance down. “She told her friends about me, though. Loose-lipped bragging, I guess. Suddenly, I started getting approached. Women who were curious. Frustrated. Looking for something private, easy, safe. I had more offers than I could keep up with—I never initiated any of this.”
“How come you felt compelled to saying yes?” Madison grimaces, not exactly unkindly. More like…pointed.
“Um.” I look away for a second. “You have to understand, I was lonely. It was an outlet—a pleasurable one. For me it was clinical. Each woman was different. How they responded. What made them unravel. I was careful—consensual, clear about boundaries, always…”
I trail off, eyes flicking up to meet hers. I sound like a tool. “Look, I didn’t realize the reputation I was building. Or the nicknames I was given. I didn’t understand or even imagine the women would be confused about my own intentions. Or, how this shit could follow me. Looking back, it was a little fucked up.”
Dr. Madison leans back slightly. “Well yes, if you were experimenting with the staff.”
“God…”Fuck. She's right. I nod again. “I should have had better judgment. With the exception of one incident last year, I stopped over two years ago. It started to feel hollow.”
She stares at me, probably in shock.
“For what it’s worth, and this may come as a surprise—I was actually a virgin until a few months ago. All of the encounters were…essentially masturbation. Now, I have a serious girlfriend. I see a future with her.” I breathe out heavily. “She’s the lawyer who represented Miranda’s parents.”
Dr. Madison presses her fingertips together. “Seamus, this is quite a lot to digest.”
“I get it.” I try to keep my tone calm and open. “I’m not trying to spin it. You deserve the truth.”
She studies me. “Marcella Delgado represented the Blacks.”
“Yeah.”
“Now you’re telling me the two of you are romantically involved.”
“Recently,” I clarify. “Nothing happened while we were on opposite sides. She convinced me to tell the truth…for Miranda. We were there when they took her off life support and then…”
