Destined to Play, Feel, Fly Trilogy (40 page)

‘And that’s always worked for you?’

‘More or less, although sometimes it doesn’t. Take my brother, Adam, for example. We share a similar philosophy but a few years back he met this guy in Australia, at a conference on landscape ecosystems. It was only a brief liaison, but it was intense for both, and Adam really believed their meeting each other was something more than coincidental. The problem is that the guy — Robert — is married with children, and although they have kept in touch ever since, Robert just can’t see a way around his existing life and doesn’t want to hurt his family.’

Something ignites in my chest. ‘Your brother, he’s gay, isn’t he?’ I ask.

‘Has been as long as I’ve known him,’ Leo replies with a wink.

‘And this Robert? What does he do?’

‘I think he’s an arborist in Tasmania but he’s English. His wife’s Australian, I think.’ I am suddenly paralysed in disbelief, as he continues. ‘Anyway, Adam can’t seem to get him out of his mind and hasn’t been able to manage a relationship since. I keep telling him to let it go but it’s hard for some…’ He looks at me knowingly.

‘You don’t mean Robert Blake?’ I interrupt him.

‘Yes, I think that’s him, do you know him?’

‘I don’t believe it! This is incredible.’

‘What?’

‘Alexa Blake! She’s his wife.’

‘Your AB? The one I’ve been hearing about forever?’

‘Yes.’ I think my heart has stopped beating.

Leo looks astonished, but then shrugs and smiles. ‘Well, see, just as I was saying. Everything will happen when it is meant to happen and not before. Strange that we’ve never had this conversation,’ he ponders. ‘I suppose I don’t talk about my brother too much, but look at that — tonight he was on my mind and what a discovery. Who would have thought that your Alexa is married to the Robert my brother loves.’

I remember sitting there, shocked and immobile in front of Leo for quite some time. He sat quietly to let me absorb this information, knowing I was lost in deep thought. Eventually, without a word, he just patted my shoulder and went to bed. He is amazing like that. Because my brain was furiously covering every possible scenario as to how I could get Alexandra back into my life, front and centre.

There were a few things I was desperate to know:

Whether she loved him.

Whether he loved her.

Whether she still loved me.

And I was going to find out. One seemingly innocent conversation with Leo completely changed my life, filling me with hope. I could have kissed him. My existence centred on planning to get her back. Although, even then, in the back of my mind was the consideration that nothing happens by accident with Leo…

I bury my head in my hands at how such high hopes have turned into utter misery and despair. How could things have gone so desperately wrong? My life is meaningless without her. It is wrong that I am still alive and she is gone. I can’t live with the knowledge that my research has taken a mother from their children. Research that need not have occurred. A mother who was so very brave, loving and giving.

A lover who was trusting, divinely sensual, so intellectually and emotionally connected and so remarkably keen to explore the ‘psychological unknown’. It’s this pioneering streak in her that I was able to tap into during our weekend together, a streak that I’m sure she doesn’t understand is such a fundamental part of her psyche. Unlike many other women I know, she had an innate desire to unravel the complexities of the world, to experiment and understand the idealistic and intellectual discrepancies that exist. She honoured me with the privilege of unlocking the core of her sexuality, which she approached with a refreshingly revolutionary zeal. Her desire to overcome and face her fears head-on, enabled us to break right through previously unrecognised medical and scientific conventions…discoveries that I’ll never have the opportunity to discuss with her now and ones that, in hindsight, I desperately wish I’d never uncovered.

My level of distress at having to make this phone call is causing my throat to constrict as I prepare for the call. Robert. I dial the numbers, press call, and hold my breath until it goes straight through to his voicemail. I exhale in relief as I realise I’m just not ready to have this conversation and I’m certainly not going to leave such devastating news on a message. It will have to wait.

Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.

— Marie Curie

As I come to, my brain attempts to process the emotion of extreme fear but it is simply impossible. I remember Josef telling me to remain calm about fifty times and no doubt this is what he’s talking about. As soon as I remind myself of his words, I relax — strange, but true. I feel floppy and fantastic, just as they said I would. Still strapped to the stretcher but my face no longer covered, I am lifted onto something else and suddenly become aware of travelling along some form of conveyor belt. I’m actually going quite fast, essentially making it impossible for my eyes to focus on anything . I close them so I can’t see the swirl of motion. I’m grateful my stomach and bowel are effectively empty; at least I’m assuming they are, as this feels like a horizontal rollercoaster, but I have the sense I’m descending, travelling deeper beneath the ground. I slow down and eventually come to a complete stop. How on earth would anyone find this place? I’m immediately covered with a warm, soft duvet that feels crisp, like it has just been near a toasty fireplace and find myself drifting off into a very comfortable sleep.

‘Dr Blake, welcome. My name is Françoise. How are you feeling?’

I open my eyes to find myself staring at a friendly-faced woman who looks about thirty, wearing a white lab coat, with thick-rimmed glasses covering her piercing blue eyes, and her blonde hair pulled sharply back into a tight bun. She stares at me intently, notes something on the clipboard she’s holding, and then her face beams with a smile waiting expectantly for my answer.

I sit up and stare in wonder at the clinical environment surrounding me. There are two types of people: those in lab coats without a hair out of place, and those in silver suits that essentially cover every part of their body except for their face. In observing this latter group, I notice that I, too, am similarly attired. I wiggle my gloved fingers and covered toes and feel the top of my head. All covered in the same soft, fine, silver fibre, something like the material of those protectors we put against the windscreen of our cars to shield the dashboard from the heat and sun, but without quite as much shine. Truly bizarre.

‘Dr Blake?’

‘Oh, yes, I actually feel quite good.’ Surprisingly good, I add silently to myself. I feel refreshed and revived, not the least bit dozy. Better than I have in ages, I reluctantly have to admit.

‘That’s good news and exactly what we were hoping. As we only have you here for a short period of time I hope you don’t mind if we start off with our participant questionnaire?’ She raises her eyebrows as her smile continues to beam toward me.

‘Right. Questionnaire. Okay then.’ I glance toward the glass of water on the side table.

‘Of course, please, help yourself.’ She waits patiently until I have finished. ‘Great, let’s get started. If you could follow me to the interview room.’

As I move to follow her, I notice the strange suit hugs the contours of my body perfectly, almost like a second skin. We leave the glass-panelled room and walk down the corridor past more silver-suited and white-coated people who smile and nod as we pass, before entering a funky, colourful room that looks perfect for an office-friendly ‘coffee chat’. Have they all been to the European school of politeness, I wonder? It’s like I have woken up midway through a really weird dream, that’s how far from reality I’m feeling at this point. It’s utterly surreal. But, I suppose, what else would I expect from the drug company that is so close to releasing a new improved version of female Viagra to the world? I am absolutely fascinated.

For the next few hours Françoise ‘confidentially’ asks me everything about my sexuality which, at first, is rather disconcerting and quite confronting:

Describe your first memory of being sexually aroused.

Do erotic films/romantic movies increase your arousal?

Does intelligence increase your arousal?

Does a sense of humour increase your arousal?

Would you describe yourself as a good lover?

Do you act on your sexual desires?

Describe your sexual fantasies.

Do certain scents cause an increase in arousal?

Do certain voices cause an increase in arousal?

When do you most think of sex?

Do you have anal sex?

Does the way you dress have any impact on your arousal?

Is eye contact important to you?

Does anything in particular interfere with your arousal?

Do you masturbate — for how long? How often?

Is sexual variety important to you?

How important is trust in your sexual relations?

Does being submissive increase or decrease your arousal?

Does being dominant increase or decrease your arousal?

And the list goes on, asking about preferences for styles and positions, giving and receiving… After my initial shyness, I’m surprised how quickly I open up and comfortably answer her many questions. She’s obviously trained to make no judgements and I find the entire experience rather enlightening, particularly as I’m used to being the one asking the questions (well, up until recently, of course!). I think she must know more about me now than I ever knew about myself. Some answers I would classify as astounding for me to hear and they were
my
answers. Who would have thought that watching Penelope Pitstop being helpless and tied up in
Wacky Races
— a Hanna-Barbera cartoon series for goodness’ sake — could be a trigger for developing future sexual preferences in the bedroom, or outside the bedroom for that matter. Or all those games of ‘catch and kidnap’ we use to play as kids, having harmless fun, where I liked to be the captain of the team but always dreamt of someone being smart enough, or strong enough, to catch me. They rarely did, but the thrill of the chase was apparently firmly established as part of my developing psyche. And movies…a simple question engaged memories from decades ago of watching
Nine and a Half Weeks
that obviously had a profound impact on my fantasies and desires. Instead of feeling repulsed by John’s sexual domination over Elizabeth, I was completely turned on by it.

All these tiny experiences and feelings that created excitement and tension in childhood and my teenage years, add up to a sexual profile I’ve never acknowledged in myself. Jeez, maybe I’m more into the whole submissive–dominant behaviours than I imagined, although I do like to switch every so often. My god, it’s truly amazing, and a little embarrassing that I have never fully acknowledged these insights, given my profession. Even my original thesis took a dissociated perspective and concluded that such behaviours are merely part of the experimentation of growing up. But could these insights point to the emergence of a lifestyle preference, or maybe even an embedded part of my overall psyche?

I’d obviously blocked this out when I married Robert, or at least buried these thoughts somewhere. Security and motherhood seemingly superseded all other psychological priorities. There are so many things I have never thought about before such as how and why I might like certain aspects of sex more than other facets. Even more intriguing (and admittedly, gut wrenching) is how many of those aspects Jeremy provides me with to perfection. I must have been like a lamb to the slaughter for him — happily slaughtered, mind you. No, I still can’t bring myself to think like that, it’s just not true. It was more like the skilful delayering of an onion achieved through the use of a technical sharp scalpel. Reflecting on my responses to the questionnaire has reinforced to me more than ever that Jeremy has always understood more about my sexuality than I have myself. I allowed him to push my boundaries because, deep down, I wanted him to, I loved him pushing them — and it just so happened he knew exactly which ones to push. I feel my anger toward him, which built up when I was at the chateau, dissipating and I begin to acknowledge that I need to at least give him the time to explain himself and his actions. I must listen to what he has to say before I judge him too harshly. I was emotionally distraught, needing someone to blame for my abduction and he was my target. Mind you, he certainly has some explaining to do and I’m not letting him off the hook too easily. But why hasn’t he come to rescue me…and, more significantly, do I want him to save me just yet?

Dr Kinsey caused a storm in the US, and many other parts of the world, in the late 1940s and early 50s with his studies on the sexual behaviour of males and females. It’s incredible how such a significant part of our day-to-day lives can create such societal divides. Has anything much changed since then? It’s as if I have been transported into a high-tech, futuristic Kinsey Institute. I have to admit, I’m strangely excited that I’m taking part in all of this. It’s hard to believe I have landed in this innovative place and have the opportunity (am I really using that word to describe this?) to fully explore my sexuality — on my own terms — in this unique clinical environment. Without the influence of Jeremy and his alluring nature always resulting in me conceding complete power over me.

Due to the questionnaire, I have discovered that three factors trigger a high state of arousal in me: intelligence (which he oozes), playfulness (he’s the ultimate mastermind) and when I feel overpowered by someone I trust (all the time with Jeremy). And that’s without mentioning how incredibly sexy I find him. What hope did I have? He has had decades to perfect his sexual craft with a partner like me. Our recent weekend away together offered me the ultimate combination of each of these factors. Unbelievable! I can’t control the excited butterflies in my stomach as I acknowledge this reality, even though my mind reminds me that I still need to remain a little pissed off with him for keeping me in the dark about his results. Maybe Madame Jurilique was more insightful than I gave her credit for. Maybe I just might enjoy myself during my time here if I give myself permission to do so. I can’t help but wonder what comes next…

Now that Xsade knows almost as much, if not more, about my sexual history and behaviour as I do, I’m escorted by the charming and polite Françoise into another rather innocuous-looking room.

‘Dr Blake, we would now like to show you a short documentary to provide you with information on how we developed our purple pill for women. It will also help explain the experiments we would like you to undertake. Please make yourself comfortable; it will begin in a moment.’

‘Okay then. Thanks.’ My manners automatically kick in within this strangely professional environment as I settle into what looks to be a small, private viewing cinema. Seconds later, the lights dim and an explanation of the corporatisation of female sexual health and arousal begins. The film, interestingly, focuses on many of the preliminary drivers for orgasms and even mentions the issues around scientifically verifying female ejaculation.

Sam’s team of elite researchers were discussing this very thing when I met them all for lunch before my lecture in Sydney, which feels like an eternity ago. The film outlines the struggles scientists and doctors have experienced in attempting to both compartmentalise and standardise the female orgasm. It appears that Xsade has achieved greater success than many other organisations having gathered together a number of female volunteers willing to undergo testing in Xsade-owned clinical environments. I am clearly in one of those testing clinics now. I remember my rather disturbing mental image of women wearing white hospital gowns all lined up with their legs spread open. I shift uncomfortably as I realise that perhaps I wasn’t too far from the truth, but who would have imagined the outfits would be like the silver bullet I’m currently wearing?

In essence, the documentary highlights that Xsade prides itself on developing solutions to counteract Female Sexual (arousal) Disorder, with the main prize being Federal Drug Administration approval of the purple pill, because once it is approved in the US, many countries will consider the drug favourably, enabling the cascading effect of ultimate market domination.

Now this is interesting, as I have always been a firm believer that lack of desire in women is more psychologically grounded than physical, at least in the majority of cases. The substantial global success of Viagra — or, to give its proper name, sildenafil citrate — is due to its end result of increasing blood flow to genitals, providing a physical solution to a physical problem.

Xsade’s solutions to promote sexual function in females includes a variety of products - topical creams and pills derived from a variety of sources, which include male hormones produced by the adrenal gland, natural extracts from tree bark that stimulate the nervous system, and testosterone supplements. How on earth do they come up with these things? In various combinations and by using sensory therapy, some women reported having orgasms up to seventy percent stronger than placebo. Honestly?

It is finally beginning to dawn on me that I have, in fact, been sent by Madame Jurilique to an orgasm factory. I can’t help but smirk at the knowledge that a few of my close female friends — well, quite a few actually — would pay for an experience like this, rather than having to be paid. Are we so different from all those women in the 1900s who visited medical practitioners to cure their supposed ‘hysteria’? Technology solved that female disease forever with the invention of the vibrator. And admittedly, we’ve been buzzing ever since! Now, it seems, we need a purple pill to solve our arousal disorders, a condition that Xsade ensures me is widespread in the female population. I can’t help but be intrigued from both a psychological and professional perspective. The fact that they abducted me demonstrates just how far at least one pharmaceutical company will go to ensure their future profits and market share, but now I feel strangely committed to testing personally what they have come up so I can judge for myself.

Françoise returns to collect me as the documentary finishes and she informs me that I’m now going to meet the physician who will conduct my sensory testing. Given my background and expertise, how could I ever say no to that? We depart the private cinema and I am led into a room that looks like an expensive doctor’s clinic.

‘Dr Blake, my name is Dr Edwina Muir. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to our clinical research facility.’ She too has her hair pulled back, no make-up, and doesn’t appear threatening in any way. I’m not sure what I was expecting.