S E X L E S S

FROM MERCURY

Margot was an enigma.

Charya Sok met a whole lot of women in his life, patients, friends, acquaintances. The man thought he had seen them all, but Margot was an alien. She blocked him in his office until his first appointment arrived and refused to leave without booking the next.

One could think she sought some attention, perhaps no one listened to her, but no, Margot captured an audience. She whisked up facts in a way that just made one want to sit and listen like a small village's folklore storyteller. Even her daily life appeared to be an epic fantasy. Margot was no damsel in despair; her mind was active, always multi-tasking and assessing information. She rebounded on anything. Margot missed her true vocation; Charya would have seen the woman animating the political debates on BFM [french news channel].

Charya's grandmother, who was a holistic practician, would relish a patient like Margot. Even for him, Margot was the manna that tickled and teased his knowledge. The woman saw right; her condition intrigued him more than she could suspect from day one.

How could someone as energetic, easygoing, with all the thirty-something-checklist elements ticked off and a balanced life break a cycle that ran on autopilot?

Margot was part of the lucky women who had it all.

So how come?

Charya was almost a hundred percent sure it had something to do with her boyfriend.

During the conversation, she often referred to him as a partner instead of a companion or spouse, which was a lot more endearing. The appellations used alone indicated something was off for the doctor. Also, she never pronounced his name. She often used him as an umbrella to underline the fact she wasn't available.

Even though Charya knew the best thing to do was transfer Margot and her file to a colleague, he decided to pursue the sessions.

She challenged him. According to her, he was all words and no action. The woman sure ranted; she even unleashed the unwarranted sentence of "and to think my taxes serve to remunerate you." Yep, Margot's mouth was savage, and the only way to stop her would be to clamp it shut with a definite answer to her problem.

"Clement, calling Charya. Are you with us, man?"

The day was over, and like every Friday, Charya drank with his graduate buddies. It was a routine he liked. It allowed Charya to decompress but also to connect with people who understood his preoccupations.

"I was saying, when are you going to tie the knot with beautiful Fay?"

They had finished teasing Hadrien, and now it was his turn.

"Eh," Charya took a sip of his beer, "I want to practice a little more and establish myself before."

Hadrien shoved him, "bro, come on, how more established do you wish to be? The woman has been waiting for you like forever."

"Guys, there are some aspects of our relationship you just can't understand."

"What, do you want to play the tradition, finance, and cultural differences vinyl? Stop that shit," Robert said as he drank his Tequilla shot in one go.

His friends were right; he stalled. Charya couldn't explain as much as he loved Fay; something prevented him from going all the way. Unlike Margot, his sex life was fireworks, yet something held him. Not from popping the question as the tacit agreement already existed. No, it was something else. What made him want to pluck his hair out strand by strand was not to locate the cause of his problem. Marriage was not a fickle matter. Charya planned to do it once and keep it together until the end of his lifeline. One could call it cold-feet, but the term did not fit the man sincerely desired to spend his life with Fay.