My name is Charlotte. I like to be called Charlie. I have Coppery Red hair. I have Sea Green eyes. My skin is pale as marble. I'm 21 years of age. I'm 4'6" short and nobody lets me forget it. I'm in the sun a lot because I'm a construction site supervisor, so I'm just your stereotypical freckly Catholic Irish Girl. But I refuse to be called a foreman.
My life was pretty much laid out for me by my parents. When I was 12, my Husband Daryan (pronounced Dah-Rye-En) and I became engaged. It was an arranged marriage. People within our ethnic group still did arranged marriages and we were the only kids with a close enough age. Daryan was two years older than me, but at the age of 16 with my parents' consent, I was marched down the aisle and given away without a word in edge-wise.
Daryan wasn't particularly attractive to me. He stood 6'1" freakishly tall, was almost as pale as me. Brown hair, brown eyes and no scruff on his face whatsoever. He kept himself clean shaven, and dressed up as though he owned a law firm. But in reality, he just managed the land development company I supervised for while his family owned it. He has everyone call him Ryan. But he told me he secretly likes to be called Rye.
I'll be blunt and honest. Our sex life was dead. He could barely look at me. We shared a bed and a home. We didn't interact enough to argue. He was just good at being my boss. We kissed each other on the cheek in public, especially around family. Things were great until our families both came together and demanded we make them into grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins.
They wanted us to have kids so much our ethnic community began sending all manner of ridiculous things ranging from fertility and family starting pamphlets to herbal supplements to increase our nonexistent sex drives. Then stupid Daryan had to open his mouth when he went to church without me because I was too busy moving a tractor without a permit!
Daryan had said it. We're both virgins. We don't touch each other. We don't talk. I have my friends and he has his. He goes for drinks and billiards. I have wine and poker with the girls at Sandra's house where I lie about all the wicked sex I have with my husband like every other lady there. He didn't know the last part though, that wasn't shared with family. Anyways, he opens his well-moisturized hairless lips about our celibate marriage and now I'm stuck in marriage counseling with him.
"What is it that turns you on?" Our therapist asked. His name was Dr. Kurtis Squire. He insisted we call him Kurt. He was good looking. Blonde, 5' exactly. Blonde short spiked hair. Informally dressed in punk clothes like tight jeans and a vest with band patches on. His eyes were blue.
You turn me on Kurt. I thought to myself. But I couldn't say it. Both Daryan and I sat silently for almost a minute pretending to think hard about it.
"Ok, ok not all at once please." Kurt laughed aloud. "Let's try something else. Why don't you two hold hands and look into each others eyes for as long as you can. Go on. Turn and face each other. You're in a love seat, after all." He laughed again. He had jokes for days.
We did as he asked. Daryan hadn't wanted to initiate. So I took his hands. We took a moment before we both felt comfortable looking into each others eyes. But we both looked away nervously too soon.
"Ok guys, you gotta give me something. This is gonna be tough if you two don't want to work on things. So I'm going to assign you some homework. Write down every night what you are grateful your partner did. Just one thing a night until our next session. Try holding hands a little. Be ready to tell me about your experience in 2 days for our next session."
I didn't want to. Daryan didn't want to. It didn't happen.
Session two was just as quick, just as much of a failure. But session three was different.
"Tell me, when you two fell in love. When did you decide to get married?" Kurt asked.
I was silent. Daryan spoke up nervously. "We're in an arranged marriage. Our parents decided when we were 12 and 14."
"I see. Unfortunately, I am not an arranged marriage specialist, but I know another therapist who is. If you give your church this card, have them call this guy up. He's your man for sure. He even accepts payment from institutions like your church. I wish I'd known that from the start. Yikes. I'm sorry I couldn't help you guys."
"It's fine." I began. "Thank you for your time anyways Kurt. See you around."
Daryan and I shook his hand and made way for our cars. Yes plural. We drove here separate from each other. What I did next. The thought made my hair stand on edge. I had to. I needed to.
I pretended to fumble about with my phone to set up some music until Daryan left. Then I waited for it. When Kurt locked his office door, I got out of my car.
"Hey.. Kurt." I stammered.
"Oh hey Charlotte. Having car trouble? Does Daryan need a hand?" He asked.
"Oh, uh, no. He drove off already." I explained.
"That bad, huh? Two cars one couple? I'm so sorry. Arranged marriages are a clientele whose difficulty is out of my league."
I took my chance.
"Am I out of your league?" I asked out of nowhere.
Kurt cleared his throat nervously.
"Oh! Um. I don't think I can have this conversation with you Charlotte. I'm sorry. It would be unprofessional if I spoke my honest opinion to a-"
"A client?" I finished his sentence for him.
"Yes, Charlotte. I'm sorry. You understand, right?" He said.
"I'm not your client anymore Kurt. Does that mean I can hear your honest opinion?" I put him on the spot.
"Well.." he began sounding troubled. "Charlotte, I think you're very pretty. You're too pretty. It isn't that you're out of my league. I'm in the little league and you're the nationals."
"F..fuck me please." I said nervously.
"Charlotte.. I can't do this." He said then looked away nervously.
I remembered all the juicy stories true or otherwise my friends and I shared on poker nights. I tried to put together the catchy phrases my girl friends and I shared so that I could convince him to do me hard. He's too cute. I can't let him get away.
"Hey. You have a love seat in there and it's not going unused another minute, ok?!" I demanded putting my arm in his way. My breast accidentally hit his elbow as I did so. I felt my face turn red. My heart raced. I had never been so forward in my clean vanilla life. What am I doing? No. No turning back. Maybe it's these fertility pills. But I need him inside me! I need to lose my virginity tonight, dammit!
"Charlotte.. you really mean this? It's just gonna be another problem for your next therapist to-"
I interrupted.
"Fuck my next therapist and fuck me, ok? It's not your problem anymore. I'm not your patient. Just come on!" I shouted loud enough for the office workers next door to hear. One office closed their blinds.
Kurt was silent and shook by my words.
I saw another opportunity and took it. I placed my hand on his chest and gently moved it down his arm to his keys. I moved his hand to the door and prayed the first key I made his fingers lift was right. Yes! The door unlocked. I opened the door.
