The Virgin Gift - Lauren Blakely Page 0,2

communication in my early twenties. I was unsure of my own desires. I didn’t know what I needed in bed, and in love, and in life. And then I learned how to speak about my desires.”

“How?” The word hung in the air, a desperate plea. “What did it for you?”

She moved in closer, like she was about to impart the kind of secret passed down through generations, protected by a secret society. “Aphrodite. She changed my life.”

“The ancient Greek goddess? Have you been visiting Mount Olympus?” I asked with a light laugh.

She answered with a chuckle, but shook her head. “Please. You don’t have to go beyond these four walls to visit with her. And she is a modern-day goddess. A goddess of sensuality. I’ll introduce you to her.”

I blinked, trying to figure out if my client was talking in code or truly believed she could speak with mythological figures. But I was intrigued enough to keep going. “How would I find Aphrodite?”

“Do you have a smartphone?”

I laughed and couldn’t resist rolling my eyes. “No,” I teased as I reached for the mobile device in my jeans pocket. “Of course I do.”

“And do you have a podcast app?” Evangeline asked, and the puzzle pieces started to slide into place. She wasn’t in touch with ancient Greek gods and goddesses, but rather the world of podcasts. I was down with that.

“Yes. I love science podcasts and how stuff works podcasts,” I said, brightening as I thought of my collection of “Geeks R Us” podcasts, as my friend Lily playfully referred to my listening addiction.

“File this under how stuff works, then,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes as she tapped on the screen, then showed me the artwork for Ask Aphrodite. Ah, that made sense. “I swear you won’t regret it. Aphrodite changed my life. I learned how to ask for what I want in bed. And Marco gives it to me. Now, thanks to her, I know what it’s like to feel incredible, to have a lover take me to the edge of desire.” She sighed seductively as if remembering that feeling. “To the edge and beyond.” Then she collected herself. “You know what that’s like. That kind of O.”

She said it absently, offhand, even, as she turned around and picked up her clothes.

I smiled and gave a quiet “Yes.”

But the truth was, I knew nothing of the sort.

When they left, I shut the door, a heaviness in my chest from telling another half-truth.

I didn’t lie all day long. Some days no one asked about me. But questions from clients arose more often than not, peppered with knowing glances and sisters-in-sensual-arms winks. And I wanted to stop telling little white lies in my studio. I wanted to have one full, honest conversation with a client when she’d ask about sex, or desire, or longing.

Color me a contradiction.

I was the boudoir photographer who’d never been naked with a man before.

The more I shot, the more I wanted to know what the couples in my photos were feeling.

Wait. Correction: the more I needed to know.

2

Nina

With Marco and Evangeline banging in the elevator or screwing in the car, I popped in my AirPods and toggled over to my podcast app to learn the inner workings of black holes, then attached my camera to my computer to download the photos.

But as the host explained that a black hole is a region in space where the force of gravity is so strong that light can’t escape, a notion published by scientist David Finkelstein in the 1950s, I hit stop.

I couldn’t listen anymore.

My virginity was a black hole.

And I needed to escape from it.

And the longer the pull of gravity worked on my V card, the harder it would be to give it up.

And, in turn, to fully connect with my clients. To relate to them as a woman in the know. And then, once I was on that other secret side of knowledge, the images of their pleasure wouldn’t tease me as I worked.

But there was more at play, of course. I wanted what they were having . . . because.

Because pleasure was its own motivation.

And I’d never experienced true pleasure from another person.

It was time.

Time to fully connect with my own desires—desires that had lived only in my mind.

Communication. That was what I needed. The few times I was involved with a man long enough that I thought it might lead to sex, I’d never known exactly how to bring up the nagging