An Intimate Life (4 page)

I do my best to stay in the moment with my client, but lying next to Mark that day, I noticed myself worrying about our next session too much to be entirely present. That’s because the third session is typically when I do the mirror exercise. It is one of the most telling exercises in surrogacy work and it involves the client standing before a full-length mirror describing how he feels about his body. As we lay quietly together, I started mulling over just how I would adapt this for Mark. I worried about how he would react. Was he ready to do this? I was just about to broach the topic when he asked if I had ever read Shakespeare’s “Eighteenth Sonnet.”

“Many years ago, in school.”

“Well, I memorized it for you.”

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” he began.

“Some air,” Mark said as he finished the first line. I brought the breathing tube to his mouth and he let the oxygen fill his lungs. He parted his lips and I took away the tube.

“Thou art more lovely and more temperate/Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May/And summer’s lease hath all too short a date . . . ”

Clients had expressed appreciation before, but never with a love poem that has endured centuries. I snuggled against him and I realized how much I hoped that Mark would find a partner and that one day he might lie next to her reciting this very poem.

Boundaries can get fuzzy in surrogacy work. Having sex, even in a therapeutic context, invariably creates attachment between people. Early in my career I worried about how to maintain a professional degree of distance and still create the intimacy that is so vital to the surrogacy process. It can be a tricky balance, and I was concerned about clients bonding with me when one of our main goals is to help them build healthy relationships in the “real” world. Had we met in my early years as a surrogate, I think I would have been concerned that Mark was becoming unhealthily close to me. But thirteen years into my career I had seen enough to know that expressions of gratitude generally don’t signal anything more than a client wanting to show sincere appreciation.

“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see/So long lives this and this gives life to thee,” Mark finished.

“Mark, that was beautiful. I want you to know how much I’ve liked getting to know you and how happy I am that we’re working together.”

I ran my finger over the ridge of his hip and down his leg. I felt myself becoming more aroused than I had been in all of our time together. It is not uncommon for me to get turned on when working with a client. This doesn’t mean, though, that I necessarily progress to intercourse or that I act on my arousal in other ways. Surrogacy is client-centric and the physical interaction is geared toward achieving his goals.

Alongside my arousal, I felt a pang of sadness. Mark was such a sensitive soul, and he could make such a fine lover for someone. I hated to think that he wouldn’t have that opportunity. I wanted to resume the touching and tenderness, but I knew I had to discuss the mirror exercise with him.

Given how polio had twisted his body, I wasn’t sure he had ever seen his adult genitals. Even though I was anxious about how he might respond, I still believed that it was important for him to see his body in full.

“I’d like to discuss our next session,” I said. “I’d like to bring a mirror so you can really see your whole body. How does that sound?”

Mark hesitated. I was getting used to the clues his body transmitted, and I could feel his skin heating up and warming mine. Understandably, this was sensitive ground for him.

“I don’t know. I’m curious, but I’m afraid of what I might see.”

“What scares you about seeing your body?”

“I’ve never actually seen my dick,” he said. “What if it’s deformed?”

“You have a perfectly normal penis, Mark. You’ll see.”

What worried me wasn’t Mark’s reaction to his penis, but to the rest of his body. Would he be shocked to see himself naked for the first time as an adult, in the aftermath of polio?

I took his face in my hands and kissed him on the forehead. Mark parted his lips and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He needed air. I flipped the oxygen switch on the respirator and brought the hose to his mouth. He drew deep breaths from the cloudy, ribbed breathing tube.

“Thank you, Cheryl,” he said when I took it away from him.

As I drove home that night I began to feel a lot less anxious about our next session. Like many of the disabled people I had worked with, Mark was resilient and courageous. He could handle seeing his whole body. Maybe he would even be happier than he thought with it. Besides our Catholic upbringing and New England roots, Mark and I had something else in common: I hadn’t seen my genitals until I was an adult either.

As the 1970s dawned, I was living in the San Francisco Bay Area, and, along with many others, I was actively questioning just about everything I had been taught. I enrolled in a masturbation workshop taught by the wonderful Betty Ann Dodson, Ph.D., (or Dr. BAD, as we lovingly sometimes called her), the author of the groundbreaking
Liberating Masturbation: A Meditation on Self Love
(later retitled
Sex for One
) and
Orgasms for Two
.

The day started with a trip to the grocery store. Betty guided the class of about twenty women to the produce aisle and had each of us select a zucchini. After that we headed to a classroom that was lined with overstuffed pillows. Betty had brought a hand mirror and we each took turns propping ourselves against a few of the pillows and looking closely at our vulvas. Betty also invited the students to look at each other’s vulvas. She had a flashlight to help us better see one another, and when she asked if anyone wanted to volunteer to hold it, I raised my hand. I didn’t think I would ever get an opportunity to see the genitals of so many different women, so I jumped at this chance. If a student was willing to show her vulva, I pointed the flashlight at it so the class could get a clear view. It turned out that no one was unwilling, and all twenty women shared their vulvas with the class. Many of the women were surprised to realize how beautiful female genitalia is, and to see the similarities and differences among us. With much laughter, we each noted which size zucchini we had picked and what it suggested about our size preference. Then there was a discussion about how we masturbated. Some used a vibrator or a dildo, and others simply used their hands. Most cared less about the size of what went into her vagina, and more about how she was stimulated and touched. I still remember the excitement that charged the room. To see so many women discovering the beauty of their genitals is something I’ll never forget.

When I do the mirror exercise, I sometimes see that my male clients have a similar response to Betty’s students. It’s one of the reasons I think the exercise is so important, and eye-opening. For some it’s the first time that they have thoughtfully looked at their own bodies. I hoped that Mark’s reaction would be at least something like mine was on that day with Betty.

Because we couldn’t use the cottage where we had met for our first two sessions, Mark borrowed another friend’s home for the third.

Dixie, another of Mark’s attendants, let me in and pointed to the back of the apartment. She noticed the mirror sticking out of my tote bag. She paused for a moment as though she were going to ask me about it, but then she smiled shyly and said, “Just through the kitchen and to the right.” It was a small apartment with peeling paint on most of the walls. The kitchen counters had been covered with the same green linoleum that was on the floor. As I made my way back to the room where Mark was waiting, my shoes stuck a little and it felt like I had to peel them off the ground with each step.

I knocked on the heavy oak door of the bedroom. “Mark, it’s me, Cheryl.” Then I slowly opened it and walked in. This time, the mattress was on the floor. There was a desk scattered with papers in one corner of the room. Mark’s feet stuck out of the blue afghan that covered him. They were clad in socks that were as white as eggshells. His feet never touch the floor, I thought, and felt a prickle of guilt. A shaft of light streamed in from the big window that faced the University of California campus and a blizzard of dust danced in it. Mark smiled. “Great to see you again, Cheryl,” and, then, before I could respond he added, “You brought the mirror.”

I sat down on the mattress and kissed Mark on the lips. When I lifted my head back up, I swept my long, brown hair across his chest.

“I did. A little later we’ll do the exercise we discussed last time, okay?”

I asked Mark how he had been in the three weeks since our last session. His writing career was keeping him busy and he had just landed an assignment from a local newspaper to write an article on disability laws. He had been looking forward to today. He was starting to think that he could have and enjoy sex like a “normal” person. What’s more, he had given me sexual pleasure. For someone like Mark, whose sexuality was treated as an inconvenience at best, this was a real confidence booster. Like most of us, Mark wanted to know that he could delight someone in bed.

I undressed him and then myself. As always, Mark lay on the far left side of the bed. Because his head was permanently turned to the right, this ensured that he could see me when I lay next to him. I sat down on the right edge of the mattress and hoisted my legs onto it. Then I rolled over on my side and cuddled up next to him. His penis was already erect. I kissed him on the top of his head. “You’re already able to stay in the Plateau stage longer. That’s progress.” I caressed his face and chest. I kissed him on the lips and scratched his perineum and scrotum. I noticed that his scrotum was lifting, a sign that he would soon orgasm. I stopped touching and asked him to check in on the arousal scale. “Can you estimate where you are, from one to ten?” I asked. He said he thought he was at about seven. Then I asked him to practice the breathing technique I had taught him. I put my hand on his thigh and moved it to his penis. A squeal of delight blossomed into a howl and he came.

“I didn’t want to do that yet,” Mark said, frustrated.

“It’s okay. Remember last time? You can probably have another orgasm.”

“I wanted to have intercourse today.”

“Let’s see if we can.”

I ran my hands slowly down Mark’s body and back up again. I took his face in my hands and kissed his nose and then his mouth. Then I positioned myself so that my legs were on either side of Mark, giving him easy access to my breasts. He licked them, tensing his tongue and circling around the nipples. I took his hand in mine, and folded his fingers so that they made a fist. I then guided his hand to my genitals and gently rubbed his knuckles against my clitoris. “I really like to be touched like that,” I said. I reminded him that some women want a different pressure, so it’s important to start off lightly and then ask if they want more.

Mark grew hard for the second time, and I quickly covered his penis with a condom. “Let’s just put the tip into me and see what happens.” I took his penis in my hand, and moved it around my vulva. Then I inserted the head into me. I asked him to pay attention to his level of arousal. I didn’t move at first, and then I pressed down on his shaft. About a minute passed before Mark orgasmed.

“Did you come?” Mark asked. When I said I didn’t he was disappointed, but I reassured him that we could try again.

“How did that feel?”

“Okay, I guess. It was so quick.”

“Yes, but you were inside me. This is a big step, Mark.”

He smiled and then closed his eyes, drifting in his gauzy, post-orgasm reverie for a little while. When he surfaced again, I asked if he was ready to take a look at himself in the mirror. It was time for Mark to see his genitals for the first time in his adult life.

I propped up the mirror horizontally on the far edge of bed and stood behind it, holding on to the middle of its three-foot frame with my fingertips. I tilted it back slightly so that Mark could get a full view. He was silent for a few seconds. He scanned up and down his body.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“Not bad. Better than I had imagined.”

I was so relieved.