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Audrey for the first time took me by surprise. What is my first impression? She’s attractive, gorgeous would be closer to the truth with long, red hair and extremely pale skin. Freckles cover her nose; her eyes are a brilliant green. They also carry a tinge of sadness, even when she smiles. I can’t help but notice she carries herself with a defiant air. If I met her on the street (or on the elevator), I would never assume she had a crippling anxiety disorder.
    She left our first session joking about my magic fingers. I take it as a good sign that, at the very least, she’ll come back for our next appointment. I’m documenting these things from our session at the small kitchen table when I hear a sharp knock on the apartment door.
    “Come in,” I say, assuming it’s Dr. Markson. She’s the only person who knows I’m here.
    “How did it go?” she asks, walking past me to the refrigerator and removing a bottle of water. “Want one?” I nod and she places a bottle on the table in front of me.
    “I think it went well,” I say , unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. “She’s nervous but willing enough.”
    “No major panic attacks?”
    I shake my head. “No. It’s more like she’s unconsciously protective. Arms crossed. Muscles tense. Jaw set. By the end of our time, she had relaxed substantially.”
    “Excellent. Make sure you write all that down.”
    I gesture to the laptop. “I’m already working on it.”
    “How about you? Any problems?”
    “No. I feel confident that we can work through this.”
    “Me , too,” she says. “If you stick to the program, you’ll be fine. Veer off and things may get ugly. We can’t afford to let that happen.”
    I think of Audrey’s sad eyes. “No, we can’t.”
    She stands and leans her hands on the back of the chair. Silver rings flash on her knuckles. “If you need anything let me know. If you feel unprepared or need additional training or assistance, I’m available. Don’t forget that.”
    “Thank you.” Dr. Markson is a fantastic therapist. She’s also my mentor and I’m lucky she’s given me the opportunity to assist on such a groundbreaking experiment. Countless other graduates would kill for a spot on this team. I would never jeopardize her work. “I won’t. Moreover, you can trust me. I have high hopes for this experiment.”
    She smiles, taking her bottle and going out through the back entrance, leaving me to my thoughts and notes.

Chapter 7 (Audrey)
    To my surprise, the instructions for Wednesday and Friday are the same. Massage. Outside the clothing. No skin touching. Twenty minutes. With the routine set, I’m able to relax a little faster each day. Graham follows the rules with strict precision and, increasingly, I have no concerns that he’ll go beyond the parameters. We’ve never touched, skin to skin, other than our handshake on the first day. Obviously, this is intentional and part of the therapy. I can appreciate the concept. It works.
    Graham is incredibly patient and careful. No sudden moves  and no veering from the script. Once he snagged my hair and he apologized softly in my ear. In our short time together, he’s made me feel comfortable and safe. I struggle on a daily basis with those two things. Am I ready to have sex? Do I feel safe? Do I trust the person I’m with? In this room, I’m beginning to feel protected, like I’m wrapped in squishy bubble wrap. Because of this, I think I may be ready for him to go to the next level, touching my neck or arms. I would let him do that. He’s earned my trust.
    It doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome and funny.
    “How were the magic fingers today?” he asks once the music has ended.
    “Fantastic.”
    “Good.” He wiggles them in the air. “I aim to please.”
    “Are you a trained masseuse? Because really, you’re very good at it. I feel very relaxed. And spoiled.”
    “I’ve taken some classes to prepare for working with Dr. Markson.”
    “Oh, right,” I say, recalling