After throwing the last of my clothes into my bag, I change into jeans, a black T-shirt, and a light jacket, then head out. Living in Queens, it’s just a five-minute walk to Rego Park Station, a 30-minute subway ride to Grand Central, and a short stroll to the restaurant. Lauren lives on Roosevelt Island but works nearby, so it’s convenient for both of us.
On the train, my mind drifts back to the day I met Lauren three years ago. I had been in therapy for about a year, emerging from a cloud of depression I’d been trapped in since my late teens. At nineteen, I stood up to my father, and he kicked me out.
I refuse to call him Dad; to me, he’s merely a sperm donor. My mom and younger twin brothers had been my real family. My father’s church and political ambitions always took priority, and I didn’t fit into his version of a perfect family. I suppressed thepain and fully embraced who I was. By twenty-eight, all that buried anger erupted, and I knew I needed help before I self-destructed.
I’d gotten into porn for all the wrong reasons. Rebellion, defiance, and a desire to escape my overly sheltered upbringing; it wasn’t a conscious career choice, just something that felt right at the time.
That day in the therapist’s lobby, Lauren appeared—a professional, polished middle-aged woman in a black pantsuit with her hair in a bun. She smiled and sat across from me, scrolling on her phone. I was early for my appointment, and I assumed she was as well.
“So, what are you in for?” she asked, startling me.
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You know, why are you seeing a shrink?” she asked, nodding towards the closed doors of the offices. In one breath, she said, “I’m here to resolve my underlying narcissistic father issues, combined with religious trauma, and a late-in-life sexual awakening, which has left my husband of twenty years feeling a mix of confusion and elation since my libido kicked into overdrive during perimenopause. You?”
“Wow!” I said, taken aback. “I wouldn’t expect someone so…put together to be so candid.” I assumed she was an uptight conservative with a stick up her ass.
She laughed. “Oh, sorry, these things just spill out of me sometimes. No pressure to answer if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m not uncomfortable, and I surprisingly relate. I have similar issues, minus the confused spouse, though I embraced my sexuality much earlier, and I’ve been living it out to its fullest.”
She smiled, and her eyes sparkled. “I’d love to hear more about that.”
But before we could continue, one of the office doors opened, and a woman I’d seen a few times before called for her.
Before she walked away, she said, “I’m Lauren, by the way. Maybe we’ll see each other later, after we put ourselves through the emotional wringer for the next hour.”
I shook her hand. “I’m Aiden. Yeah, maybe we will.”
After our appointments, we grabbed coffee and talked for three hours, connecting over our shared experiences of growing up with conservative Christian upbringings and narcissistic fathers who put themselves before their families.
I hadn’t had that kind of friendship in years, where I could just be myself. She shared about her own sexual awakening, which started from reading smutty romance novels.
Having gotten lost in my memories, I barely remember getting here as I approach the restaurant. I spot Lauren standing outside eagerly waiting for me. The moment she sees me, her eyes light up, and she wraps me in one of her trademark hugs—long, tight, and heartfelt.
“It’s so great to see you,” she says as she finally pulls back. “It’s been way too long.”
We haven’t met in person for months. Video calls help, but they can’t replace this. Lauren is the kind of friend you can go ages without seeing and still pick up right where you left off.
We head inside and we’re seated in the upstairs dining area. She orders a glass of white wine, and I grab a beer and an appetizer, while the waiter leaves us to look over the menu.
I noticed she’s been beaming more than usual since we walked in the door. “So, what’s got you smiling like that?”
Her eyes mist over. “Garrett and Emily told us they’re pregnant. I’m going to be a grandma.”
“That’s great! I’m so excited for you. When’s the baby due?” I ask, ready to hear all the details.
“Early November. Emily has her first doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” she replies. “I’ll probably have to call her directly to get the details. If I leave it up to my son, he’ll tell me it went great, and that’s all I’ll get.”
“Sorry, we boys aren’t always good at that stuff,” I admit, knowing full well Lauren has to pry information out of me most of the time.
The waiter takes our order, pausing our conversation for a moment. After he leaves, she shifts the focus to me.
“What’s going on with you? How’s school?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine.
“Going good. I’ve got four more weeks of classes before I’m finished. I love school, but I’m ready to be done. And, I quit studio work.”
“Finally! How did Jerry take it?”
