An Intimate Life Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  a note on names and other identifying details

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Introduction

  Chapter 1. - heavy breathing: mark

  Chapter 2. - the sin under the covers

  Chapter 3. - irreconcilable differences: brian

  Chapter 4. - sex maniac

  Chapter 5. - no magic: george

  Chapter 6. - no virgin mary

  Chapter 7. - better late than never: larry

  Chapter 8. - westward

  Chapter 9. - past perfect: mary ann

  Chapter 10. - becoming a surrogate

  Chapter 11. - more than a client: bob

  Chapter 12. - a second family

  Chapter 13. - what if?: bradley

  Chapter 14. - a frightening new disease

  Chapter 15. - going oral: kevin

  Chapter 16. - isn’t that your daughter?

  Chapter 17. - the fantasy: derek

  Chapter 18. - monsieur reaper

  Chapter 19. - sex and the senior girl: esther

  Chapter 20. - still cooking

  recommended resources

  Acknowledgments

  about the authors

  Copyright Page

  a note on names and other identifying details

  Throughout this book I share stories from my practice. Names, physical characteristics, and mannerisms have been changed to secure the privacy of my clients. Many of the client stories presented here occurred many years ago, and, because of that, I have had to reconstruct dialogue and sensory details that have escaped memory. In addition, to protect their privacy, I have given pseudonyms to many of my personal friends, family members, and acquaintances.

  For my husband, Bob,

  whose love and support made this book possible.

  I love you!

  foreword

  Surrogate partner therapy involves three people: the client, the surrogate partner, and the “talk” therapist who weaves it all together. That’s me. I make the initial recommendation to incorporate surrogate partner therapy for selected clients.

  Once the process has started, the surrogate partner and I confer after each surrogate/client meeting and plan the next. Then the client processes the surrogate experience in a “talk” therapy appointment with me. Cheryl and I have talked through more than one hundred sexual journeys of clients seeking something better.

  Thirty years of collaborating about clients with Cheryl has taught me many things. Here are three of the most important: Sex therapy, like life, is never linear, so keeping a spare tank of energy around is always a good strategy. An open-hearted surrogate partner can find real sexual attractiveness in a person least likely to grace the cover of a magazine. And last, the Age of AIDS won’t stop a brilliant surrogate partner from doing her work.

  Cheryl is one of a kind. She’s the person I want to sit next to at sexuality conferences to get her unique take on the research and what it means to her work. She readily generates a no-punches-pulled sexual realism, but it’s wrapped in a soft blanket of optimism and nearly boundless compassion.

  She has to be compassionate. Genuine empathy is required when talking honestly with another naked person about how to touch and receive touch. It’s also a necessity when explaining the crucial importance of adopting good sexual hygiene for future sexual partners. A surrogate partner can’t be role-modeling sexual communication that works in the real world if it’s insincere. Sitting naked face-to-face, eyes-to-eyes for all these years has fostered an unconventional yet very rewarding career for Cheryl.

  Surrogate partners are educators for their clients and they are “normalizers.” Many clients enter sex therapy with a near-terminal case of uniqueness, thinking that they are beyond help and hope. Many clients whom I’ve referred to Cheryl came into my practice with the mental equivalent of “one shoe nailed down to the floor.” They kept circling around and around their “stuff,” unable to change—and felt stuck with their sexual problems. And while surrogate therapy is centered around the client, it’s also very much about leading the client out of the set of ideas that nailed the shoe down in the first place.

  Clients aren’t the only ones with set ideas about sex. I recall attending a sexuality conference at which Cheryl was presenting. It was 1985; AIDS was a reality in the world of sexual contact. The audience of sex therapists, researchers, and educators sat in the audience eagerly awaiting Cheryl’s presentation on being a surrogate partner when serious, life-threatening, sexually communicable conditions had entered the landscape. How could a surrogate possibly use a condom with a man with erection dysfunction?

  Like most conferences in hotels, there was a table at the back of the room with a continental breakfast. As Cheryl got to the condom part of her presentation, she asked for someone in the audience to get her a banana from the table. Chuckles rippled through the room. Once the banana fetcher had volunteered, Cheryl asked him to eat the banana—more chuckles.

  Then Cheryl asked the banana eater to bring her the peel. There, before a convention room full of people, Cheryl opened a condom packet and, holding the peel in one hand, slipped the condom over it with the other hand in about three seconds. The resemblance between the empty banana peel and a flaccid penis was unmistakable. Case closed.

  Many clients doubt their sexual attractiveness. I remember asking Cheryl how she was doing with one particular man I had referred to her. We both knew that a part of his sexual growth would involve his believing that a woman could be turned on by him. I asked her how she was working with that part of it. She replied instantly with her distinct Boston accent, “Oh, he has really great ears and a great neck. I find them sexy.” And that’s why the amazing story of Mark, in the opening chapter, rings so true. If anyone had a reason to wonder about his attractiveness, it was Mark.

  One would think that after doing this work for so many years, Cheryl would become slightly jaded about her clients or blasé about teaching some of the same concepts over and over. But she doesn’t. Each time we confer about a recent session with our mutual client, there’s Cheryl explaining in detail exactly what she said to the client—as if it was the first time I had heard it or that she had said it. There is no way to pretend such freshness, but it’s the reason why a woman nearly 70 years of age can do the work she does with such joy and such purpose.

  We have shared the lectern at conferences, witnessed major passages in each other’s lives, and stepped into various media settings together hoping to enlighten—only to find the wizardry of video edits sometimes negating our educational intentions. I am honored to write the Foreword for a book that reads like a cliff-hanger—despite the fact that I know all the twists and turns of the plot, many of the characters, and how it all turns out. I hope that you will find it, as I have, a privilege to listen in on her thoughts.

  —Louanne Cole Weston, Ph.D.

  introduction

  I have had over nine hundred sex partners. I haven’t had intercourse with all of them, but I’ve had it with most of them. I sometimes reveal this in the talks I give, and, as you can imagine, it sparks a strong reaction. Often, I ask the audience what words come to mind when they hear this figure. Here are a few of the most common: whore, skank, slut. Well, I’m none of those—even though some people will undoubtedly disagree. I am a surrogate partner. These days, people hear that title and think what I do involves carrying children for infertile couples. When I explain to them that I use hands-on methods to help clients overcome sexual difficulties, they come away only slightly less confused. Isn’t that prostitution? they wonder, sometimes aloud.

  Whereas prostitution is one of the world’s oldest professions, surrogacy is one of
the newest. Clients are always referred to me by talk-therapist colleagues. They may be suffering from erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation, anxiety around their sexuality, little or no sexual experience, difficulty communicating, poor body image, or various combinations of these issues. Virtually all of the men (and sometimes women) I see long for more intimate and loving relationships in and out of the bedroom. The work of a surrogate is to give them the essential tools for building healthy and loving relationships.

  As a surrogate, I have a series of exercises I use with clients to help them resolve problems and achieve their goals. A good deal of my time is also spent educating them about anatomy and sexuality. I work closely with the referring therapist, checking in with him or her after each session to discuss the client’s progress. Clients typically see me for six to eight sessions. One of the biggest misconceptions about surrogacy work is how much intercourse takes place during those sessions. It’s true that I have sex with most of my clients, but it is only after we have gone through a number of exercises designed to develop body awareness, address body image issues, achieve relaxation, and hone communication skills. It is usually in the later sessions that we have sex. It’s worth noting that I am a “surrogate partner,” not a “sex surrogate.” My ultimate aim is to model a healthy intimate relationship for a client, and that involves much more than intercourse.

  My clients come from all races and socioeconomic backgrounds. The youngest client I worked with was eighteen and the oldest was eighty-nine. They are CEOs, truck drivers, attorneys, and carpenters. Some are hunks; others are average looking. I’ve worked with a virgin septuagenarian, a college student suffering from premature ejaculation, and men of all ages who don’t know how to communicate about sex.

  I started this work in 1973, and my journey to it spans our society’s sexual revolution and my own. I grew up in the ’40s and ’50s, a time when sex education was—to put it mildly—lacking. As I educated myself, I found that most of what I had been taught about sex was distorted or wrong. The lessons came from the playground, the church, and the media. My parents could barely talk about sex, much less inform me about it. Unfortunately, many parents today remain as ill-equipped to provide reliable, nonjudgmental sex education as mine were a half a century ago. I often think about how much smarter, healthier, and happier our kids would be if parents had the information and skills to have honest, age-appropriate discussions with them.

  Despite what I and many others had hoped for in the exhilarating days of the sexual revolution, too many of us remain mystified about sex and about our bodies. The assault on fact-based sex education led by those who wish to turn back the clock, and the barrage of misinformation we get from the twenty-four-hour media cycle, have many of us as confused as ever. We joke about sex, rail against sex, expose people for having inappropriate sex, and, although I’m hardly the first one to point it out, use sex to sell everything from chewing gum to SUVs. What we have real trouble with, however, is having an honest, mature, and nonjudgmental public conversation about it.

  I have wanted to tell my story for a long time, and my motivation for this has evolved and expanded over the years. One thing that has not changed is my belief in the power of stories to inspire and challenge us. My life is, in many ways, a paradigmatic one. I grew up during a time in which rigid dogma about women’s sexuality held sway. It came from both religious and secular sources. When I look back on my life, I marvel at how it conferred so much shame and guilt around one of the most natural and healthy human impulses, and at the impact that had on me as a young person. But, I am a baby boomer. My young life straddled two eras. I was in my twenties in the 1960s. The shifting social winds of the time encouraged me to question and rethink nearly everything I had been taught. Held up to daylight, many of the beliefs about sexuality that I had been inculcated with as a child didn’t survive. This process culminated in my career as a surrogate.

  In addition to my story, I relate many of my clients’ stories because I believe they have much to teach us about sexuality and the issues that can complicate it. Their experiences provide a rare window into what really drives and heals sexual problems.

  If it isn’t already evident, I suppose I should confess that I have a mission with this book. I hope that it will, even in some small way, encourage open and honest discussion about sexuality. I also hope that it will inspire readers to claim and honor their sexuality at every age. Everyone has a right to satisfying, loving sex, and, in my experience, that most often flows from strong communication, self-respect, and a willingness to explore. It is my goal to inspire the frank and fearless consideration that can lead to all three.

  1.

  heavy breathing: mark

  Mark O’Brien opened his mouth slightly, making a little silent hiccup. I grabbed the tube that sprouted like a plastic tendril from the portable respirator his aide had clamped to the headboard. As I sat up to bring it to Mark’s mouth, my breast grazed against his cheek and we both smiled. Mark squeezed his lips around the flat mouthpiece of the tube and the reassuring hiss of air filled his lungs. He closed his eyes. He luxuriated in oxygen, something most of us took for granted. The machine blinked and made loud ticking noises. He loosened his lips and opened his eyes. I gently removed the tube, leaving it on his pillow, just outside the crescent of sweat that rimmed his head. “How are you feeling?” I asked. “Good, Cheryl. It wasn’t as scary as I thought, or it was, but I’m still glad I did it.” Then he flashed his sweet, boyish smile.

  It was 1986 and I had been a surrogate partner for thirteen years. I had worked with disabled clients before, but none as compromised as Mark. At thirty-six, Mark had lived most of his life in an iron lung after having contracted polio at age six. He could only breathe on his own for short periods of time and it was only with the help of the respirator that he could meet with me for a couple of hours in the spacious Berkeley cottage he had borrowed for our first session.

  The iron lung was essentially a breathing machine. It looked like a wide pipe with levers and dials that encased Mark’s whole body, leaving only his head exposed. It worked by creating a partial vacuum every few seconds that lifted his chest so his lungs could fill with oxygen. Because Mark slept in the iron lung, he didn’t own a bed. Luckily, he had a supportive friend who was willing to share hers with us.

  Except for the ability to wiggle a few fingers and toes and move his mouth and eyes, polio had left Mark paralyzed. It had also contorted his body so that his left hip twisted to the right, jamming his legs together in a way that almost made them look fused. His neck and head were frozen to the right, making him gaze permanently off to the side. He spent his entire life lying flat on his back, except for when he was propped up for an attendant to wash or dress him or a doctor to examine him.

  Like all of my clients, Mark was referred to me by his therapist. Like most of them, he was anxious in the first session. “This is a big day for him,” Vera, one of Mark’s attendants, said when I arrived at the one-bedroom cottage that morning. The friend who owned the cottage was also disabled so the cottage was outfitted with a ramp at the front door and low kitchen cabinets and door handles.

  Vera led me past the living room skirted with bookshelves that were low to the ground and down a hallway lined with black-and-white landscape photographs. She knocked on the bedroom door at the end of it. “Mark, Cheryl’s here. We’re going to come in,” she called out before slowly opening the door. She motioned for me to go in first. Mark lay on a broad four-poster bed covered up to his chin with a blue afghan. Sondra, Mark’s therapist, had told me that he was slight, only four-foot-seven and around seventy pounds and for a moment I was startled to realize how small that really was. The blanket that covered him was barely raised off the bed. “Hi Mark,” I said, “it’s so nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you, Cheryl,” he said in his gurgly voice. His cornflower blue eyes stared downward.

  “Just let me show you how to use the respirator and I’ll leave you two alone,” Vera sa
id. She pointed out the small switch that I would need to flip on to start the flow of oxygen and then she put the breathing tube into Mark’s mouth. “See?” I nodded. Mark took a few little gulps of air and released his lips. “He’ll let you know when he’s done.” She took the tube out of Mark’s mouth and said, “I’ll see you guys a little later.”

  From the way he said my name, Che-ryl, I could tell that Mark and I had something in common. We were both transplanted New Englanders. I told him I was from Salem, just outside of Boston, and that I had been born into the big French Canadian community there. My maiden name was Theriault (pronounced “Terry-O”). “ . . . Or ‘There-ee-alt’ if you were one of the Irish Catholic nuns at my elementary school.”

  “You’re Catholic?” he asked.

  “I was,” I said, and smiled.

  “I still am,” he said. “I need to believe in God so that I have someone to yell at.”

  I laughed and Mark’s eyes brightened.

  I took off the jacket that I really didn’t need on this warm mid-March day, dragged a chair from the corner of the room, and sat down by the side of the bed. “Let’s talk a little about how we’ll work together,” I said, as if I entirely knew. Like therapists, surrogate partners have a protocol and a repertoire of exercises to help clients effect change in themselves and their lives. These obviously would have to be tailored to Mark’s condition, and I wasn’t entirely sure I knew what that meant. “We’ll work at your pace. What I’d like to do today is learn more about you, and, if you are ready, start with a body awareness exercise,” I said.

  I asked Mark to tell me a little about his family and his childhood. He was born in the Dorchester section of Boston and had moved with his family to the Sacramento, California, area when he was sixteen. He was the oldest of four children. He had some memories of his life before polio. He remembered waking up excited every day to run outside and play. He loved the outdoors and playing with the kids in the neighborhood.