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Bedroom Therapy
By Rebecca York Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
Copyright © 2004 Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
All right reserved. ISBN: 0-373-79121-6
Chapter One
Dear Esther,
I have a problem that I can't talk about with anyone I know. My husband is in the navy and he's on a three-month cruise. Sometimes I get so lonely I don't know what to do. And sometimes I get so hot for him it pushes me over the edge. I mean, I have to make myself come. It feels good when I do it and I always imagine my husband's making love to me. But afterward I feel so guilty. What should I do?
Sincerely, Lonely and Hot in Norfolk
* * *
Amanda O'Neal put down the letter she'd been reading and ran a hand through her shoulder-length blond hair. Standing up, she paced over to the window of her office and gazed out at a motorboat speeding up the Choptank River with a man and a woman in it, laughing and enjoying the bright summer afternoon.
A pang of envy shot through her. They were outside on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in early summer, having a good time, and she was cooped up in her little rented house in St. Stephens, reading sexually explicit letters.
She glanced back at the laptop computer on her desk, then down at her pale skin. She could take her laptop out on the patio and get some tan on her legs while she worked.
The prospect was tempting, but she knew in her heart that she'd just be adding one more distraction.
Her gaze flicked to the letter she'd put down. It was one of a stack that the postman had delivered this week - all in plain gray canvas sacks. Should she answer Lonely and Hot in Norfolk or tackle a different question?
She tried a few phrases aloud, thinking about her own father and mother. "Probably your parents drummed it into you that masturbation was evil. Or was it society that taught you it was unhealthy? Not so long ago, they used to tell kids that touching yourself 'down there' would make hair grow on your palms," she said, then grimaced.
Talking to herself was a bad habit she'd gotten into while writing her scholarly papers - reciting key phrases to make sure they didn't sound too stiff.
She glanced back toward the letter lying on her desk. Should she talk about masturbation in the animal kingdom? No, that was going a little too far, she decided. And so was the sentence about hairy hands.
But she was going to be honest and to the point in her answer. She wanted to help that woman who had poured out her heart to Esther Scott.
Of course, there really was nobody named Esther Scott, the woman whose pseudonym appeared at the top of the widely read sexual advice column in Vanessa, one of the country's leading women's magazines. There'd never been a real Esther Scott.
Until last month, the much-talked-about column had been written by a distinguished sexual therapist named Esther Knight. Because she had wanted to keep the identity of her patients confidential, she had picked a pen name when she'd started writing articles and then the column.
Unfortunately, Esther was dead, the victim of a hit-and-run accident. The editor of Vanessa, Beth Cantro, was an old college friend of Amanda's. And when she'd needed a fast replacement to author the column that received hundreds of letters each month, she'd turned to Amanda.
"But I see Vanessa on every newsstand," Amanda had protested. "Women from their early twenties to their fifties read your magazine. You've got a reputation to uphold. How can you use somebody who's never done this before?"
"Well, because we do have that reputation - now. When Vanessa Summers put two million of her personal fortune into the first issue, she didn't know it was going to be such a hit. But we've got the right mix of sex, fashion, food, entertainment, sex, decorating, hair and makeup advice, the diet of the month, sex, meaty articles on women's issues, sex, relationships."
Amanda had laughed. "Okay, I get the picture."
"I know how you feel, actually," Beth admitted. "When Vanessa retired to her Montana ranch with her new husband and picked me to replace her, I felt like I couldn't fill her shoes. But I found out I have excellent editorial judgment. You can do it, I'm positive. Basically, this job just requires the same skills you've learned teaching your graduate seminars in human sexuality," Beth had argued.
"It's a lot more public forum than a graduate seminar. What's the circulation of your magazine?"
"A couple million."
Amanda groaned.
"I'm not trying to scare you off. I'm trying to convince you that taking the job makes sense. It will be good practice for that book you keep telling me you want to write. You worked for Esther when you were a graduate student. That gives you a leg up. And I want a Ph.D. for this job - to give the answers authority."
"Yeah. Right," Amanda muttered aloud as she began pacing again back across the office then plopped down in the desk chair.
During an afternoon of arm-twisting and wine coolers on the patio, she'd accepted Beth's offer - partly because she was on a leave of absence from the psychology department of Harmons College, and she couldn't use the excuse of a full teaching schedule. Plus, the money was excellent.
Now the deadline for her first column was looming, and she wondered if she'd been crazy to take the job.
Flexing her fingers, she poised them over the computer keyboard. The trouble was, giving sexual advice was such a big responsibility. But she knew her subject, she thought as she opened a file and started typing. And she knew how to make women feel good about themselves and their sexuality. At least, that had been true of her students.
Dear Lonely and Hot,
Stop feeling guilty. Masturbation is a perfectly normal sexual outlet. You love your husband; but he's away, and there's nothing wrong with taking care of your sexual needs. Whenever a woman is without a partner, self-pleasuring is an excellent alternative to making love with a man. And, plus, it's a good way for a woman to learn more about her own sexual responses. If she finds out what she likes when she's alone, she can better express her likes and dislikes to her sexual partner.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Bedroom Therapy by Rebecca York Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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