An Intimate Life (28 page)

It wasn’t only my personal life that was roiled in the early ’80s. Around that time the surrogacy world was rocked with fear about a frightening new disease that filled the media. We weren’t sure exactly how it was transmitted and not even a hint of a cure or treatment existed. It affected mostly gay men, but it had been diagnosed in heterosexuals as well. At first Steven knew one person with it, then he knew two, then five, then seven. Fear shot through the San Francisco bathhouses that he and his friends frequented. People talked in grave tones about what was starting to look like an epidemic. It was a wasting syndrome, and its victims were struck with repeated infections, lymphoma, Kaposi’s sarcoma, thrush, pneumonia, and other grim conditions. Steven had seen friends go from burly to skeletal as the disease ruthlessly winnowed away their bodies and lives. AIDS had made its terrible debut.

Surrogates and other sex workers were as confused as the general public—probably more scared. In 1983, the news media reported that AIDS had been seen in heterosexual women. Conjecture flew about how the disease was transmitted. Could you get it from kissing? From sharing a cigarette? Was it airborne? Like every surrogate I knew, I was trying to find reliable information and exact truth from the onslaught of rumor and speculation. I was also questioning if I could stay in my profession. I considered suspending my practice. Maybe it was time to look for other work. I had trained as a massage therapist. I supposed I could do that, but what if I touched someone who was sweaty? Could I get AIDS from that? If my worry wasn’t going to spiral into panic, I needed information fast.

The CDC issued a statement about the transmission of AIDS in 1983 saying, in part, that AIDS “ . . . seems most likely to be caused by an agent transmitted by intimate sexual contact, through contaminated needles, or, less commonly, by percutaneous inoculation of infectious blood or blood products.” They also said that there was no evidence that it was spread via air, or that casual contact posed a major risk. The picture became clearer. I could stop worrying that I or my kids would contract AIDS with a handshake or from a cough. Still, I needed a plan to keep myself as safe as possible. Surrogates were starting to leave the profession, and I had decided that I wasn’t going to follow them. I loved being a surrogate. It was my life’s work and I wasn’t going to walk away from it. I pledged to become as educated as I could about AIDS, and to change my practice to limit my vulnerability to it.

In 1984, Steven, a few other Bay Area surrogates and I piled into a van and drove to Palm Springs for the Society for the Scientific Study of Sexuality, or “Quad S” conference, where there would be much talk of AIDS and its transmission. We had gone to these conferences in the past, and while they were always an occasion for serious discussion, they were also festive. It was an opportunity for likeminded people to join together and to catch up with old friends. The days were spent learning, trading notes, and opining on the pressing issues in our field. The nights were for fun. We gathered together for dinner and drinks and the laughing and socializing often stretched into the early morning hours.

That a new era was in store for us couldn’t have been more evident at Quad S that year. Even the airy Southern California hotel with its aquamarine color scheme and curved walls couldn’t disguise the mood. People were crying and recalling friends and members of our community who had been taken by the scourge that was now upon us. Anxiety was high. These were surrogates and other sex educators, therapists, physicians, and a variety of other professionals. Many of us were reeling from losses and all were confused about how to best advise the people who turned to us for help. Past conferences seemed like a somewhat raucous college reunion. This one seemed more like a memorial service.

It was the first time I remember hearing the term “safe sex,” which later gave way to the more accurate “safer sex.” Our community may have been mourning, but it also had to become educated at breakneck speed. We were entering a new era in which the old fears of treatable STDs and pregnancy were nothing compared to what we now faced. The takeaway messages from the convention about prevention were unequivocal. Condoms were now a must. For the first time we learned about using dental barriers and non-microwavable plastic wrap for oral contact. If you wanted to stay safe, say goodbye to anonymous, unprotected sex. A new era had been foisted on us and its choices were stark. Our thinking may have been as progressive as ever, but our actions needed to become a lot more conservative.

When I returned to the Bay Area, I enrolled in a class on eroticizing latex at the Institute for the Advanced Study of Human Sexuality in San Francisco. We learned how to turn condoms, dental dams, and other preventative tools into sex toys. In addition to providing us with potentially life-saving information, the class was proof that sex education could be fun. We practiced putting on condoms with our mouths and devised creative ways to have non-penetrative sex. I also learned how to erotically check that a condom stayed in place in the midst of vigorous intercourse. From then on I kept a supply of condoms at my office. Using them is mandatory—and fun. I started modeling not just good, but safer sex.

15.

going oral: kevin

L
ike many people, I roared with laughter at the
Seinfeld
episode in which Jerry finally shares “the move” with George. It may have been especially funny for me because people sometimes think I teach “techniques” that are sure to please all women (or men). But I don’t teach them, and they don’t exist. What drives one person wild may have another reaching for the TV remote.

The technique I do teach, however, and that has a proven track record of working, is communication. Sometimes it can be communication about serious underlying issues, but more often it’s simply the ability to talk about what feels pleasurable and what doesn’t. It’s tough for some of us to tactfully tell a partner that we don’t like what he or she is doing, and to suggest an alternative. We worry about bruising egos or hurting feelings, and there is a great temptation to avoid discussion that makes us feel awkward. It’s comforting to think that not talking about a problem will somehow make it go away, but we all know that doesn’t work. It drives whatever the problem is underground where it can fester and mutate into more of an issue than it ever would be out in the open.

Talking honestly and respectfully about what works and what doesn’t under the sheets is the best way I know to build an exciting sex life. Many clients have proven this to me, but the one who exemplified it the most was Kevin, who came to see me in the mid-1980s.

Kevin was suffering from what he called “impotence.” He had a girlfriend, Diane, whom he loved, but he regularly lost his erection with her. Diane had begun to wonder if he didn’t find her attractive, or if he was bored with her, and this drove him to therapy. He didn’t understand how he could have such attraction for the wonderful woman in his life and not be able sustain an erection with her. He feared that there was something radically wrong with him, or that he was simply a bad lover whom Diane would eventually trade for a better one.

That Kevin was determined to change was evident at our first session. He had an earnest desire to understand and address his issue. He also had a level of frustration with himself that was at odds with the rational approach he had adopted. He knew self-blame wouldn’t fix the problem, but he felt it anyway.

I asked Kevin to talk about why he had come to see me.

“I don’t understand, and I’ve tried to look at it in every way I can,” he said.

He took off his wire-rim glasses and placed them on his khaki-covered knee.

“I mean, I love my girlfriend, she turns me on, and yet when we try to have sex, I lose my erection.”

Unlike many other clients, Kevin could talk about sex without embarrassment. Words like “erection” are difficult for some clients even to utter, but I couldn’t detect any change in his demeanor as he said it.

I asked him if he had experienced this in the past.

“Never. And Diane is the first woman I truly love,” he said.

“Do you become partially or completely flaccid when you lose your erection?”

“Completely. It’s like I go back to not being aroused at all.”

I asked Kevin if there was a pattern to how he and Diane typically made love. Did they start with foreplay, or just jump into it? What kind of touch did they engage in? Who typically initiated sex?

“When we first started seeing each other, I mostly made the first move, but now I’m so scared of failing that I’ve backed off. For a while Diane was initiating, but now she’s scared too. When we were having . . . er . . . trying to have sex, we started with foreplay, which we both love. We French kiss and touch each other all over. Then she goes down on me or I eat her out. That’s usually when the problem starts. That’s when I lose it, and ruin everything.”

“Do you both enjoy oral sex?”

“Yes, I like getting it and giving it, and so does Diane.”

Given this, it was curious that the mood typically shifted at this point. It would be important to pay close attention to how Kevin responded when I performed oral sex on him during the Sexological. Maybe this would give us both some clues to what was undermining his sex life.

“Kevin, this isn’t your fault, or anyone’s fault. We’ll try to get a better sense of what’s underlying your issue as we work through some exercises, but one thing that will help is if you can try to let go of self-blame. Let’s start with you trying to be compassionate with yourself and not seeing this as a failure on your part. Deal?”

“Okay. Deal,” Kevin replied, somewhat grudgingly.

I explained Sensual Touch to Kevin and asked him if he was ready to try it.

He stood up. He was a small man, probably no more than five-foot-four. He was trim, except for a small roll of belly fat that barely protruded over his belted waist.

In the bedroom I took off my blouse, pants, and underwear, and invited Kevin to undress and settle into bed.

We started off by lying in spoon position and breathing together. I asked him to lie on his side and bend his legs. Then I snuggled up next to him and put my hand over his abdomen. “Just breathe the way you normally would and I’ll follow along,” I said.

He took even, easy breaths in and out. I mimicked his breathing and soon we harmonized into a steady rhythm of inhales and exhales. I felt his abdomen gently expand and contract.

“Doing great, Kevin,” I said.

In and out, in and out, we continued for several minutes. Then Kevin’s breath picked up and his body got warmer.

“How are you doing?” Kevin said he was fine.

I slowly got up and stood by the side of the bed. I could see that Kevin had an erection.

“An erection at this point usually means that you’re relaxed, which is the best thing you can be right now. If you’re ready, please roll over onto your abdomen in the middle of the bed, but make sure you adjust yourself so you’re comfortable,” I said.

Kevin slowly rolled over and slipped his hand under his groin to adjust his hardened penis.

I knelt on the floor and took Kevin’s feet in my hands. When I pressed on the arches he started to giggle.

“You’re ticklish there,” I said.

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay, nothing wrong with it at all. However you react to my touch is okay. I’m going to apply a little more pressure, so it doesn’t tickle, but it’s okay that it did.”

I pressed my thumbs into the arches of Kevin’s feet and moved them around in circles.

Kevin’s body reacted almost immediately to my touch. As I worked my way up his legs, the tension in them dissipated under my fingers and his breathing deepened.

I slowly dragged my palms over his butt cheeks, which were tight. I asked Kevin to breathe in and bring his attention to my hands. He inhaled deeply and his hips loosened as he exhaled.

I worked my way up until I reached the crown of his head.

Kevin’s eyes were closed and each breath he took was so deep that I thought he might have fallen asleep.

“Kevin?” I said softly.

He started.

“How are you doing?”

“I was dozing off. This is so relaxing.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re relaxed. I’m going to work my way down your body again.”

I gradually moved from Kevin’s head to his toes.

Then I asked him to take a deep breath and, when he was ready, to roll over onto his back.

His penis stood almost straight up, and it remained that way for the whole time I touched the front of his body.

That Kevin had no problem maintaining an erection with me, especially in our first session, made me more curious about the dynamic between him and Diane. As we continued to see each other, a pattern emerged. He would get an erection almost as soon as we got undressed, and while it might wane, it never totally left.

When we did the Sexological in our fourth session, Kevin remained hard throughout. It was in the feedback period after I had stimulated him with my mouth and hand when the mystery of why he could sustain an erection with me, but not with Diane was solved, and it provided yet another reminder of the importance of basic communication.