Coins

I'd never been one for throwing coins in fountains for good luck, but today as I faced my first appointment with a hypnotist, I felt I needed it. I wasn't there because I wanted to loose weight or quit gambling or stop smoking. I had been frigid for the last year, which was surprising because up to last January, I had been the owner of a healthy sex life.

The demise of my hormonal splendor began with Marco. He was the younger man I was head over heals, mad dog in love with. We had sex in every conceivable position and in places I’d never thought of like elevators, dressing rooms and a church confessional. Then we broke up because he said sex with me was too boring. I was too willing and slutty. He wanted someone with morals.

After Marco, the second blow to my fragile ego came when I dated an older man named Rex, who had a penchant for steak houses, single malt whiskey, cigars and doggy style sex. He left me because he finally admitted he was a homosexual and sex with me was boring.

My pride wounded beyond belief, I turned to my vibrator and shower massage for consolation. I wanted to feel my oats, but the more I thought about Marco and Rex, the more I began to think they were right. I was too slutty and boring. My orgasms became increasingly shallow, quick bursts of nothingness between my legs. They just didn’t feel good anymore. I stopped having them completely. A cold spot grew in my belly whenever I thought of sex. And I knew what it was called. Frigid.

Tossing the quarter into the fountain in front of the office building, I watched the sunlight reflecting off the surface as it sank to the bottom with the others. A cool breeze came up behind me. I pulled my coat tighter and hurried inside.

The hypnotist was a mole of a man. He was short and wore glasses, and he kept rubbing his palms as if they were sweaty. As I looked at him, I wondered if at any point in his life had he been attractive. Did anyone ever fancy him? I liked to think that I could find one interesting feature in any person. But he was making it really hard. His eyebrows were bushy, his hair unruly. I noticed the hairs on his ears and winced.

He had been recommended by my neighbor, Tony, but seated in front of Dr. Ricardo, I felt like a cliché, an unmarried woman in her thirties coming to a doctor because she had a sex problem. But I had already read every self help book on sex and self esteem I could find, and I had been to various workshops on topics such as repressed memories, thinking maybe some tragic kindergarten experience on the playground had made me want to date such losers and why I would listen to them. None of it had helped me. I was at my wit's end. That was why I had come here. I glanced around the doctor's office, noticing some of his books were on ancient mysticism and the occult.

“So I just can’t get the little man in the boat to stand up anymore,” I explained. “I’ve even rented pornos and fallen asleep in front of the television.”

Dr. Ricardo raised his eyebrows and scribbled something on his pad. I noticed his fingers. They were broad and manly. Not hairy at all.

“When was the last time you had intercourse?” he asked.

“A year ago,” I said.

“What about an orgasm?” he asked.

He looked up at me from his pad. His thick lenses concealed his eyes. They were sleepy dark and mysterious. I didn’t know if he knew it, but he was giving me the same upward glance that Marco used to give me from between my legs when he was carpet munching. I felt a chill and rubbed my arms.

“A year,” I said.

“Do you find yourself attracted to anyone? A coworker? A friend?”

I shook my head.

“The last thing I got excited about was a sale on kitty litter at the pet store,” I said.

“So you find sex unrewarding?" he asked.

"Something like that," I said.

"What I would like to do is some creative imagery to go along with your hypnoses," he said.

When the session was over, I paid the receptionist and left. Disappointed, I stepped outside and glanced at the fountain. What luck had my quarter brought me? I felt no different. All I could remember about the session was the initial conversation and then snatches about him telling me to use the imagery of a toll booth or a parking meter in relationship to sex. Every time I had sex, I was supposed to imagine someone putting money in my meter and I would be rewarded.

Good grief, I thought. I had just paid $75.00 for that.

That night I had Tony over for dinner. As well as being my best friend, he had once been my restaurant manager when I had been the world’s worst waitress. Tony was a closet spiritual surfer. He awed the world with his six pack abs and impeccable suits, but deep down inside he was a mush ball who called 900 psychics and collected tarot cards.

Over our plates of spaghetti and garlic bread, he asked me about the appointment.

I shrugged.

"I don't feel any differently," I said.

"Did he use creative imagery?" he asked. "My sister swears by him. He told her to imagine smoking money, and she had quit smoking within a week."

"Oh boy, he did," I said.

I slumped in my chair.

"I'm never going to get over being frigid."

"Yes, you will," said Tony. "Just listen to the doctor and you will be fine."

He kissed me on the forehead and said he had to get going.

That night, I kept dreaming about coins and parking meters until I woke up the next morning. The last thing I wanted to see was loose change, so I skipped my black coffee from the donut shop on my way to work. I walked down the sidewalk, feeling curiously empty, when I spotted a dime on the pavement.

As I passed it, a sense of heat came over me as if someone had whispered something sexy in my ear. I glanced back. I wanted that dime. It became everything to me in that moment. But it wasn't enough that I reach down and get it. As if someone had hit a gear into automatic, I pulled up my skirt, slipped down my pantyhose and underwear, and I crouched over the dime.

It wasn't an easy trick, but the moment I took the dime inside me, intense pleasure exploded. My limbs tingled. My ears rang.

"Oh my," said a woman who had stopped to stare at me.

The alarm in her voice snapped me back to reality. Horrified, I fixed my clothes and fled.

By the time I made it to the bathroom at work, I was out of breath. Gulping for air, I locked myself in the stall and searched for the dime. It was no where to be found.

"Holy shit," I said.

I went to the sink where I washed my hands. My face was flushed along with my chest, just like I did when I had an orgasm. Splashing cold water on my face, I swallowed the lump in my throat and went to my desk.

I didn't get much work done that day. I kept wondering why had I done something like that, and where had the coin gone. Never in my life had I exposed myself like that, not even in the woman's locker room at the health club. I thought about calling Tony or Dr. Ricardo, but what would I tell them? I wouldn't believe it if someone told me something like that. Maybe I could tell the doctor I had bad dreams, and he could undo any suggestions he had put in my head.

Picking up the phone, I called his office. Voice mail answered. I left a message with my home phone number.

That night I curled up on my sofa, watching television. I still hadn't heard from the doctor's office. When I called again, I got an answering service. I tried Tony's number, but he wasn't home either. Letting out a deep sigh, I buried my toes under the blanket and took another spoonful of chocolate ice cream, the cure all for stressful days and dateless nights.

Down the hall, someone started pounding on the washing machine. It was followed by loud cursing.

Not again, I thought, turning up the volume on the television set. The pounding got louder. This could go on all night. I threw off the blanket and went to the laundry room.

My neighbor, Mr. Manara, was jamming the coin slot and kicking the machine at the same time. I reached in front of him and jiggled the slot to the side. The quarters slid in. The water kicked on.

"Thank you," Mr. Manara said. "That machine always aggravates me."

"Me too," I said.

I noticed a quarter he had dropped on the floor. He turned to put his basket near the dryer. I clamped my foot over the coin. The moment he left, I pulled down my pajamas. Feeling dizzy, I rubbed myself on the coin, experiencing that same intense jolt of ecstasy as it slid inside me.

I heard someone clear his throat behind me.

Mr. Manara was staring me.

"Thank you," he said.

At first I didn't know what he meant, but the way he was looking at my legs made me blush. I pulled up my pajamas and got out of there.

In the morning, I went straight to Dr. Ricardo's office. I was going to tell him everything, no matter what he thought. He had done this to me.

His office was locked. There were no hours posted on his door. In the lobby, I tried the security desk. The pimply faced guard didn't have a clue. I called the answering service only to be told he might be at ten a.m. I had two hours. Not wanting to miss him, I sat in a chair by his door and waited. I thought about the second coin that had disappeared. After I had gotten into my apartment, I had felt for the quarter. It was gone like the dime.

At 10:30 a.m., Dr. Ricardo still hadn't shown. I called the answering service again, only to be given the run around. I asked for the name of an associate who might do his referrals. He didn't have one.

Discouraged, I left the building, wondering what should I do next, when I glanced at the fountain. I walked over to it and looked at the coins.

"A lot of good you did me," I said to the quarter I had thrown in the day before.

As I looked at all the money in the fountain, the strange feeling came over me again. This time it was worse. I wanted those coins. I kicked off my shoes, hiked up my skirt and climbed into the fountain. The water was cold as I wiggled out of my underwear and dipped beneath the surface. If one coin had given me the orgasm of a life time, than several at time had me under a spell of ecstasy. I felt delirious. Up and down, I moved, water dripping from my thighs, my skin burning hot despite the water.

I heard people's voices around me. The next thing, a pair of rough hands was dragging me out of the fountain. Dropping to my knees on the pavement, I felt the fog in my head beginning to clear. I was looking into the face of a policeman.

Three hours later I was released at the police station with a violation for indecent exposure and a court date the following week. My clothes were still damp. My underwear was missing along with my panty hose. Presumably they were still in the water. I had tried to explain to the officer what was happening, but he had looked at me as if I were crazy, so I kept my mouth shut and waited to be let go.

At my apartment, I tried calling Tony. He still wasn't home. I poured myself a stiff whiskey and took a long bath, letting the hot water ease away the knots in my shoulders. Stress, I told myself. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

By my third whiskey, my vision was a little blurry. I tried to call Tony again. His roommate picked up the phone.

"Thank God," I said. "I need to find Tony." "The last time I talked to him, he said he was going to the Silver Dollar."

I groaned.

"Not that place," I said.

"He should be there. You want me to take a message."

I started to tell him to have Tony call me when he got home, but I realized that could take hours. I didn't want to wait any longer. If Tony had recommended Dr. Ricardo to me, then maybe he knew another way to get a hold of him.

I got off the phone, put on some clothes and walked to the Silver Dollar three blocks away. Once on a lark, Tony had bet me five dollars that I wouldn't walk into the strip joint. I had gone in to prove him wrong. It wasn't much of a place. The floors were dirty and the women weren't much to look at, but Tony said he loved the allure of a stripper, no matter where or when.

Tonight was amateur night judging by the sign I saw when I paid my cover charge and stepped inside the bar. The place was in full swing with loud rock music, glaring lights, naked women cavorting on brass poles, and the stench of smoke, booze and sweat. I spotted Tony on the other side of the stage with a group of his friends. I tried to work my way over there, but the place was packed so tight. No one would budge. Some of the men were looking at me as if I were on the menu.

Give me a break, I thought and glanced at the stage where a stripper had a man flat on his back. Her thighs were straddled over his head. He held a silver dollar in between his lips, and she dropped herself on his face and came up with the silver dollar gone.

"Holy cow," I said.

I hadn't thought about the money here, and a nervous pit dropped in my belly. All around me on the tables were the silver dollars the guys were used for tips. The club went wild as the stripper on the stage fished out the coin. With some of the guys now standing as they watched, I made my way toward Tony, but the stripper bounded off the stage in front of me. She tripped on an overturn chair and knocked into me, sending me and silver dollars scattering across the floor.

As I tried to get up, I kept brushing against coins. My ears started to buzz. My mouth went dry. I held a silver dollar up to my face. It wavered in and out of view. My temperature raised. Someone was helping me to my feet, but I was trying to pull down my pants. Everything seemed to spin, and then I was on the stage, by myself, naked from the waist down. I was unbuttoning my top.

A bouncer let a man on the stage.

"Can you do it, sweetheart?" the man asked as he lay on his back, a silver dollar between his lips.

I poised over him and snatched it so quick he didn't have time to blink. It made the fountain seem like a kid's candy. One after another, I took silver dollars from men's mouths, all those coins hitting the jackpot. I thought I would die in ecstasy. Tony's face appeared before mine.

"Good grief, it is you," he said.

He scooped me off the stage.

"She's my friend," he told the bouncer as he hastily assembled my clothes and took me from the club.

Inside his car, my head was starting to clear. My panties were in a knot. Squirming around on the seat, I straightened them.

Tony glanced at me.

"What on earth got into you?" he asked.

"Dr. Ricardo," I said. "Ever since I saw him, I've been acting strange. I've flashed people. I've taken a dip in a fountain, gotten arrested and now this."

"What are you talking about?"

I told Tony everything, even about the coins disappearing inside me.

"Even for me, Dr. Ricardo is a very strange man," Tony said. "All I know is that he helped my sister quit smoking by making her imagine she was smoking a hundred-dollar bill instead of a cigarette. All that money going up in smoke. She quit."

"Well, I haven't quit smoking," I said. "I'm taking coins in like a jukebox and exposing myself to boot."

Tony paused.

"But look at it this way, at least you're no longer frigid."

"I haven't even had sex. How would I know?"

"You didn't see yourself on that stage."

I gave him a look.

"Let's go see my sister," he said. "Maybe she has another phone number for him."

To my relief, his sister did have a home number and an address because it had been Dr. Ricardo's mother who had recommended him to her. Thanking his sister, Tony and I drove over there. His home was a two-story white house set in the middle of suburbia. There was a light on in the rear of the house, but no one answered the door.

Feeling as if my heart was in my throat, I followed Tony around the house to the lit window. It was a den. No one was in there. I started to say "Let's go," but Tony let out a gasp and pointed inside the house. I turned to look. At first I just saw the imposing desk and chair, but then I distinguished other shapes in the room. There were skulls stuck with feathers, a hollow tree stump covered with beads, and modern medical instruments wrapped with elaborate fetishes. I peered in closer, my face pressed to the glass. There were more books on the occult and mystics on a nearby shelf.

I got a chill.

"I'm screwed," I said.

I backed away from the window.

"No way can I compete with some sort of witch doctor."

Concerned, Tony looked at me and led me back to the car.

We didn't speak as he drove. I looked out the window as I watched the streets and tried to think.

When we reached the city, Tony spoke.

"Maybe Dr. Ricardo is some sort of nut, but I read once that no one does anything under hypnoses that they don't want to do," he said.

"But I'm not under hypnoses when I'm doing these things."

"Aren't you? Isn't it every time you see coins that you lose control."

"Something like that."

"So what am I supposed to do, avoid loose change for the rest of my life."

"No," Tony said. "But try to understand this is part of you as well as Dr. Ricardo's suggestions. Look at how wild you've been. Maybe you've just been in denial about what you truly want."

I sighed.

"If only it were that easy," I said.

"It is," Tony replied.

Rubbing my hand on my belly, I thought about how liberated I had felt in those moments when I had taken the coins. What if I had been holding back? What if that were why I was finding sex so unrewarding because deep down I wanted more? I'd always thought of myself as woman who did nothing bad or wrong or kinky. What if I were a bad girl, just waiting to get out?

Tony parked the car at our complex and walked me to my door. Giving me a kiss on the forehead, he told me we would find Dr. Ricardo tomorrow and get this straightened out.

I watched him walk away and let myself inside my apartment. It was cold. Turning on the heat, I glanced at the cookie jar where I kept quarters for laundry. What would it hurt to try one more quarter?

I unzipped my pants, let them fall down with my underwear, and I slid the quarter in between my legs, waiting for the intense pleasure. A breeze crossed the room. I looked up and saw one of my windows was opened. A shadow crossed the wall, and I heard a step from the bedroom. I startled, the quarter dropping to the floor.

Emerging from the shadows, Dr. Ricardo looked at my naked skin. In his hand, he held what looked like it was a portable vacuum cleaner. I realized it was a modified machine they used for parking meters. A fetish was wrapped around the hose. To my surprise, my thighs flushed with heat at the sight of it. I held my breath. I was liquefying. I felt as if I could barely stand.

He took off his glasses. His eyes were like dark caramel sending me into a syrupy spin. I imagined his fingers opening my thighs, sliding the hose deep inside me, the fetish brushing my skin, making my little man in the boat stand up and shout.

I let out my breath, my body in orbit. I had found it. My sexually at full freaking heat, heart pounding, out of body bliss. Screw Marco and Rex. I wasn’t boring or slutty. I was amazing.

It was then I knew I wanted it. All the coins vacuumed out of me. All the new coins I could find. Slowly, I unbuttoned my blouse and strolled into the bedroom.