“That was great, I feel fantastic,” he says.
“Wait until you look in the mirror. The rejuvenation effect of the drug is remarkable. You look a few years younger. Your skin is smoother.”
Chris touches his face. “Let me check. I need to use the bathroom.”
My son gets out of bed, and for a fleeting moment, my eyes drift down to see if he’s sporting an erection. Part of me is disappointed when the penis appears flaccid and there’s no discernible bulge to conceal.
The clinic comes to life as employees arrive to work. Various tasks and projects are happening, so the attention is focused on different areas. But for me, all I can think about is if there’s a flaw in the drug; previous test subjects didn’t have any sexual reactions.
When my son takes a while in the bathroom, I quietly walk to the door and press my ear. I wonder if he’s masturbating. My mind runs wild, imagining him jerking off while standing over the toilet. He’s an energetic young man and I’ve always steered clear of his sexual activities, but this concerns my research.
I don’t hear anything.
A few minutes later, Christopher exits the bathroom after washing himself, and I decide to be casual about things.
“Did you notice anything unusual?” I ask. “Was there any point where you were half-awake last night?”
“I slept the whole night. Why? Was I moving around?”
“No, I’m asking general questions. Do you feel anything different this morning? Any changes in your body? Any intense feelings?”
“Well, I guess I feel refreshed. Put it that way.”
Again I wonder if my son was jerking off in the bathroom a moment ago. It seems likely, if not, surely it will happen later.
There’s a tenseness on Christopher’s body language, the slight curl of his lips. He’s shy about something. With young men, that often means it’s sexual. What else is a vibrant young man shy about?
“Be honest on the questionnaire,” I say. “Obviously I’m going to read it, but please, this is important. Okay?”
He nods. “Okay, mom.”
I reach forward and touch his face. The same hand I used to touch his penis last night, showing affection in a different way. Looking into his eyes, I realize the research has taken a turn that I never expected.
***
In my office I continue working after my son went home. On the desk I’m using the computer and I also scrutinize every word on the questionnaire sheet.
My suspicion is correct. According to the questionnaire, Christopher admits to waking up with a strong sexual desire. More worrisome, he woke up with a ‘sore penis,’ for reasons he didn’t understand.
I think of all the possibilities that may have caused this. I tweaked the properties of the drug a week ago, which may be the answer. Perhaps his body is having an adverse reaction. I think about calling friends of mine who are in the same field.
Perhaps I’m overreacting. Maybe my son has a naturally high sex drive and he’s always aroused at night. Maybe it’s a one-time thing. One hard cock isn’t enough to draw conclusions.
Ferhana approaches my office and comes inside. The assistant looks like there’s a lot on her mind.
“Is there anything I can help with?” Ferhana asks with her distinct accent. “You’ve spent most of the morning in your office and seem distressed.”
I force a smile. “It’s nothing. I’m considering a few fixes.”
“Are there problems?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll need another day before I can answer that.”
“Do you mind if I speak openly?” Ferhana asks.
“Please, anything.”
I sit upright because this is the first time my assistant has ever asked permission to ‘speak openly’ about anything. So it must be important.
“I’ve read Christopher’s questionnaire sheet,” Ferhana says. “And I saw what you did with him last night while he slept.”
“What?”
“From the hallway, I saw you through the window, reaching inside Christopher’s blanket. You were blushing when I entered the room. I wasn’t sure what you were doing. When I read the questionnaire, it made sense that you were adjusting his penis.”
“I didn’t want you to see the bulge.”
“Because I’m a young Muslim woman, or because you wanted to preserve your son’s dignity?”
“Both.”
“I can handle these things,” Ferhana says. “I know what I am. Yes, I’m religious and from a different culture, but I’m open minded.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want a greater role. I’ve proven my value and usefulness. If you’ll allow me, I would like to have more responsibilities.”
I stare into those emerald green eyes, which are pleading to be utilized. These are understandable feelings. Many years ago, I was in the same position, being undervalued and resenting my boss for it. Now, how could I act the same way towards this talented young woman?
“Fine, you’re right,” I say. “What did you have in mind?”
“I would like a greater role in monitoring each test subject. If I’m being asked to stay here the entire night, then I should be given power to make decisions of consequence. I know this research better than anyone in this clinic.”
The request is more than fair. It’s long overdue and my assistant deserves a chance to have more hands-on experience after everything she’s done.
I stand and offer a handshake. With her, I’m always mindful of cultural and religious differences. I’m always cautious about touching, but I know she accepts handshakes when the time is right.
Our handshake is firm. Whenever I have a chance to enjoy her soft skin, I savor it. Especially while looking into those emerald eyes. In a strange moment, Ferhana uses both of her hands to touch mine. A friendly gesture? Or something more?
As we shake hands, I stand there and let her hold my hand and wrist. She enjoys touching my skin, as much as I enjoy touching hers. I’m convinced there’s something more going on. This young woman remains a mystery, and I like that.
*
As a self-professed ‘control freak,’ I learn to take a step back and I think it’s for the best. Training the next generation of researchers is important and I’m glad I have the right person to mentor.
My son returns to the clinic. It’s late at night, and this time, Ferhana takes the lead, giving Christopher the experimental drug. She hooks up the monitoring device on my son’s body. It’s a form of relief to surrender this kind of control to a young woman who knows what she’s doing. It spares me the stress.
“Looks like you’re all taken care of,” I joke.
Christopher smiles and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m in good hands. You need to relax, I’ll be fine. You worry too much.”
“That’s true. I’m lucky to have a great assistant.”
The comment makes Ferhana blush while setting up the wires and heart monitor. Her reaction is understandable; everyone needs validation. Especially when you’ve worked so hard and dedicated your life to something.
I stand in the corner as my assistant speaks with my son. It seems like Christopher is developing a small crush on Ferhana, admiring those sparkling green eyes and gorgeously wrapped pink hijab around a beautiful face. I get it. I’ve had the same crush since the moment I hired her.
An hour later, my son is asleep and I stay in the hallway. It’s tempting to go back inside and check my son’s vitals, but I promised Ferhana the leading role and I let her do the work. Through the window and open blinds, I see Ferhana writing notes on a chart.