Epilogue
Ivy
“Where do you find those guests?” A woman in thick glasses and high heels asks.
She’s an up-and-coming podcaster who looks at sex from the perspective of someone raised in a conservative environment.
She’s done great work unpacking shame. Even though I know the sound of her voice intimately, and I can see the thumbnail she uses to advertise her podcast in my mind, I can’t remember her name.
It's been too long a day. I’ve met too many people. This is one of the downsides of being out there in the world as Ivy Vaughn. Since people know who I am, they invite me to events. It’s a good way to meet future guests, other hosts, possible sponsors, but it’s exhausting too.
Despite the official Meet and Greet entering its final hour, the hotel ballroom is crowded with people in semi-formal attire. Really, everyone is far better looking, and better dressed, than I expect from the audio-only medium.
Not that anyone compares to the man on my arm.
The podcaster notices that too. She tries to keep her eyes on me, but she keeps looking to Romeo, studying the way his suit fits his frame perfectly, noting the smile in his eyes.
“The woman, what is her name?” She asks.
“The Mistress of Pain? She’s a hoot. And the man, Cassanova isn’t it?
I know you’ll never tell me, but maybe I can get a few hints from your…
” This time, she allows herself to look at Romeo.
After all, she is addressing him. Leaving him space to explain why he’s on my arm.
He smiles, reveling in her curiosity. Is he my partner or producer or something else entirely? All of the above, maybe.
I always worry, because of his work experience, he’ll resent the idea he’s a trophy boyfriend, but he never does. He knows I’m here for more than his good looks and, ahem, skill. He knows I’m here because he’s sweet and funny and honest.
“No, I don’t know Cassanova,” he says to her. “But I like to imagine him as an Italian poet.”
I bite my tongue so I won’t laugh. He’s teasing the poor girl, and she has no idea. After all, Cassanova is the son of an Italian poet. And he’s got enough skill with words and romance to make an opera-writer weep with envy.
“You think?” she asks. “I always see him as a blond for some reason.” She looks to me. “Is that closer?”
I shrug as if I have no idea what the man looks like.
“Come on,” she says. “He records in the studio with you.”
“Does he?” I play dumb.
“He’s handsome,” Romeo says. “She’s told me that much.”
She nods along, hanging on every word, no doubt envisioning one of Cassanova’s epic tales.
After my episodes with Sasha, I invited Romeo onto the show. As an anonymous sex worker, with a slightly-deeper, digitally altered voice, just in case.. The alias was his idea.
I never said, yes, this is the guy I described in the “How Doctor O Got her Groove Back” episodes, but I never said he wasn’t either. I’m good with the truth, with the people in my life who I trust, but with my listeners, I have firmer boundaries these days.
I only share what really happens to me, how I really feel, yes, but it’s always on my terms too. Only what I want to share. Some details, I keep to myself.
My experience with Cassanova, was mine.
The fact that he was my boyfriend—who’s often mentioned on the show as Mr. O—was also my information.
Of course, Romeo-as-Cassanova was a hit from his first episode.
Women called in mass to get advice from a professional.
Men listened for his stories. Somehow, he never twisted his tales into Penthouse letters.
Even when he talked about the older woman who hired him for a threesome, he never came across as a pervert or a cad.
Only a curious, open-minded man who genuinely loves bringing people pleasure.
The episodes were such a hit I made him a regular guest. Once a month, Casanova shows up with a story and takes calls. He single-handedly tripled our male listenership. Men love his racy tidbits, and they feel more comfortable taking advice from a former professional.
That’s right. Romeo is no longer Romeo Bonito, at least not officially.
His mom opted for ease of division of assets and gifted him his inheritance early, after his brother’s wedding.
And between getting Coffee y Amore up and running and returning to school to finally obtain his business degree, he’s busy.
Of course, Rome would never admit he’s back in school to prove he can do it to his brother, but, well, that’s between them.
I’m happy he’s happy. The business is doing well.
They’ve got three stores and they’re always crowded.
It’s too early to say if they’ll take over the West coast or fold from stiff competition.
Either way, I can tell he loves the journey.
He loves working with Daniel. And he absolutely adores all the challenges of running a small business.
The fact he can do it openly is a bonus.
He's always generous with his time, even though he’s busy. He’s good at this relationship thing, and not just for a first timer. He’s good, period.
After we made up, we decided to date more normally. One meetup a week. Talking only. No sex.
That lasted for an entire two weeks, then we were tangled up in the sheets all weekend. But I still held firm on keeping my independence. I’d only see him twice a week. I stayed busy with my friends and hobbies and work.
After a few months, he offered me space in his place. A toothbrush, toiletries, a drawer for clothes. I took a few more to really settle. Then a year to fully invite him into my room.
Now, it’s been two years, and he has a key, and I often get home to see him on the couch. We talk about moving in together one day. Or officially making him Mr. O. One day. Not yet. But one day.
Oddly enough, it was far easier to invite him into my professional world. That made sense. There was an obvious logic. It was scary too, but not the same way. At work, I hold the cards. It’s my podcast. I’m the expert.
At home, I’m on equal footing. I like the feel of it, but it’s scary too.
“I wonder if he’s here?” Romeo’s teasing pulls me to the moment. He is prodding the poor girl. Though I’m sure this is mostly for my benefit. He looks around the space dramatically, stopping on a tall blonde man in jeans and a t-shirt. “It could be him. What do you think?”
The woman nods with gusto. “He is cute.” But the blond guy doesn’t hold her attention. It snaps right back to Romeo. “Wait. Who are you again?”
“I’m just the boyfriend,” he says.
“Just?” Her cheeks flush. No doubt, she’s remembering one of my stories about Mr. O.
I went into great detail about the early stages of our relationship. I never explained Mr. O was also my anonymous sex worker, but, hey, that’s also no one’s business. Only mine.
“Does it ever bother you?” she asks. “Having all those stories out in the open?”
“You’re not telling anyone I look bad, are you, Doctor?” he asks me.
“You don’t listen?” she asks.
“He listens,” I say.
“No, no.” He shakes his head. “I can’t. I get too turned on. Isn’t her voice the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard?”
“Uh…” The poor girl turns beet red. “She is very informed. So, um, you really don’t know Casanova?”
“Only that he’s as sculpted as David.” He puts his hand over his mouth to stage whisper. “But packing more where it counts.”
She nods, not just red, but practically drooling.
Romeo is still charm, incarnate. It bothered me, at first, how easily he seduces women. I got jealous. I kept thinking he meant something by it. But the more I sunk into the relationship, the less it bothered me. Eventually, I grew to enjoy it.
There is something about watching him in his element.
It’s sexy, knowing other women want him, knowing they can’t have him, knowing he’s all mine.
“I hope you find him.” Romeo winks at the girl. “But if you’ll excuse us, I see our producer.” He brings his hand to my low back and leads me away from the girl.
I scan the room for Meredith reflexively, but of course, she’s not here.
She’s in Thailand at the moment. She’ll be back in three months, after Laos and Australia, then six months here, then another trip around the world.
I miss her like crazy and I hate dealing with the time difference, recording episodes exclusively via Zoom, but I’m happy to see her spread her wings too.
She’s done the wildest thing of all: started traveling with a boyfriend.
That’s right, the former commitment-phobe has a boyfriend, and she says their vanilla sex is actually the wildest sex she’s ever had.
I know the feeling.
I bring my lips to my boyfriend’s ear. “I think I need some new material.”
“Oh?” He replies in a flirty tone. “What are you thinking for the topic?”
“Public sex. Is it still possible? Or will you get arrested?”
“I saw a spot by the pool. Now or later?”
“Now and later.”