How Long Has This Been Going On (58 page)

Walt said,
"What?"

"Well, I'm with Danny on that," said Judith.

"You're a hunter?" asked Walt.

"Somehow," said Win, wryly, "everything that I am upsets people. Yes, I'm a hunter, and a sex therapist, and bisexual, and Russian."

"Zdrasvitye, moi drug"
—Hello, my friend—said Tom, who had done a lot of business with the Russian community in St. Paul.

"Bisexual?" said Judith. "How does that affect your therapy?"

"I know about you hunters," Walt put in. "You just go around shooting Bambi."

Win replied with the hunter's usual argument, that animals raised in the captivity of the agro-business are much worse treated than animals killed as food in the wild, citing chickens forced to spend their entire lives in body-tight cages, and so on. But Walt wasn't buying any of it, and neither am I. Free the chickens, stop the hunting, and collect all the guns, is my view.

"In answer to your question," Win told Judith, "I counsel both men and women, but if the therapy reaches a point of mutual physical involvement, I generally refer women clients to women colleagues."

"Why?"

"Women are less inhibited when discussing their problems with another woman. With a man, they feel they have to portray themselves."

"Claude feels that way," said Walt, "when there's another bear in the room."

Win and Tom reached over at exactly the same moment to tousle Walt's hair; their hands touched, and both immediately withdrew.

"Especially another cuddly yet somehow insecure bear," Walt continued, "like himself." "This therapy," said Judith to Tom. "How far does it go?"

"As far as necessary."

"But would you... would you actually..."

"Therapy really isn't about what you do in bed, Judith. It's about how you see yourself. I'm not giving the dos and don'ts of know-how. I'm soothing and developing the self-image."

"Claude could use your help, I expect," said Walt. "He's terribly naive about sex." Dunking one of his cookies, he added, "Unless you would try to hunt him, and in that case I couldn't possibly introduce you."

"Oh, I wouldn't hurt Claude," said Win.

The next day, running an errand to the Stockman job on Colfax, Walt told Tom that he had liked the kitchen conversation—he called it a "quartet"—even more than Danny's party. "It was very grown-up," Walt said.

Walking to the car, Tom asked, "What did you think of Win?"

"He's nice, except for the hunting part."

"Really virile guy, isn't he? He kind of takes over."

"Danny has a crush on him. He says everyone does."

"Does Win have a..."

"Lover," Walt filled in, looking at Tom as if he had spelled "cow" with a
k.
"And he doesn't."

His tone careful, Tom said, "What would you think about taking a shot at Win's therapy?"

"Why?"

"Because maybe... you need it?"

They got into the car, and Tom gunned the motor and the subject, full speed ahead. "Look, Walt, it has to do with you telling Danny that I'm your... all right,
lover,
just out of, I don't know, shyness? You're old enough to be dating."

"Well, Claude wanted to go out dancing, but what if all his stuffing fell out? He has holes all over, you know, from Dexter getting excited and biting him."

After a bit, Tom said, "Well, okay."

Then he said, "Don't you want to at least
try
it?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I like Win. Everyone says he's the hottest guy around. I just think it's funny that I was sent here so you could cure me of being gay, and instead you want to sign me up for lessons. Except I bet Win has a rule against therapy with anyone he already knows."

"I expect he'd break it for you, anyhow."

"How do you know?"

"I just know. I can tell when one guy digs another guy."

"But
why
do you know?"

"Because..."

"Because
why?"

"Because I saw what it looks like."

"When?"

"A long, long time ago."

Win said, "I usually begin by asking the client why he wants to undergo therapy. But since you were really sent here by your cousin, why don't I skip that and ask you what you would like to do?"

"Do when?" Walt replied.

"Now. With me. If I'd met you in the Parrot, say. Took you home, got you here. We're talking. And I say, 'Walt, what do you want to do?'"

Walt didn't answer.

"Okay," said Win. "A little relaxing exercise first, okay?"

They were in the "client room," a nook in browns and navy blue with an impressive desk that was rather overshadowed (Walt thought) by the deceptively unassuming little bed.

Walt would rather have been exploring Win's house, a most friendly-looking Victorian tucked away between Hennepin and McAllin—pricey if you bought it, but Win had inherited it from his parents. He was raised in it, in fact, even (this is a little shocking) born in it. He's only half Russian, on his mother's side.

Win had Walt lie on his stomach on the bed; both were fully clothed except for their shoes.

"Okay, now. Listen up, Walt. This is to reassure you that nothing in the session is going to be out of your reach or in any way challenging." Straddling the boy, Win gently massaged his back and neck. "No one is going to ask you to do any more than you want to. I won't assign you any activities. I just want to help you get in touch with the activities you have already imagined in your daydreams."

Walt felt safe in his cords and sweater. But Win's patter had a slightly shopworn quality, as if he'd sold this massage to many, many a client.

"The main thing," Win went on, "is to relax. There is a flow in the pressure of my hands. Do you feel the flow?"

"...yes..."

"You sound tentative."

"Only because I'm not sure."

"Right, then. Let me turn you over. Don't be afraid.... Walt, you really shouldn't grip the sides of the bed like that."

"In case of earthquake."

"All right, then, I won't turn you over."

Walt relaxed, the fool, and Win with loving determination flipped him onto his back.

"You cheated!" Walt cried.

"Don't fight me," said Win, continuing the massage. "Walt..."

"If only Claude were here."

"Claude," said Win, his hands working on Walt's sides, "is Walt."

"Win," said Walt, "is Tom."

Well, that struck truly. For about two seconds, Win was frozen, his hands without grip and his expertise baffled. He smiled down at Walt and said, "You aren't going to be easy, are you?"

"I'm the easiest boy in the Land of the Ten Thousand Lakes."

"Okay, slugger." Win got off the bed and motioned to Walt to sit up. They were next to each other now, Win's arm around Walt's shoulders. "Would you like to lean your head against me?"

"No."

"So you're fighting me."

"I can be shy and secret."

"You said I'm Tom. Are you attracted to Tom?"

"Who isn't? He's a great guy."

"That's your type, then? Older men, big guys? Protective, loving, and a little bossy?"

"Is that you or Cousin Tom?"

"Is that Cousin Tom?" Win insisted.

"He's not so bossy. And who says I
have
a type? I just want someone to like me."

"Someone to like you. Okay. Let's say you spot a guy you're really hot for. And this guy asks you out. You're going to end up at his place, spend the night together. Can you imagine this?"

"Yes."

"Now—what do you see the two of you doing?" "Having breakfast.''

Win was silent.

"I'm a big flop at therapy," said Walt. "Right?"

"No one is a flop at therapy, Walt, because it's not a test. But some clients do resist it." Win stood up. "Let's take a shower."

"Isn't my time up now?"

"Walt, I'm trying to help you."

"Allen Taylor said that at the discussion group. And then everybody was screaming at me."

"You went to Allen Taylor's group? He's a fraud, Walt."

"That's what Tom said. You know, I already took a shower once today."

Win propelled Walt to the bathroom with a hand on the back of his neck.

"I'm just trying to ease your shyness," Win explained. "You can't trust me till you feel secure with me."

"And maybe not even then."

Once the two of them were under the water, Win said, "Give yourself to this sensually, Walt, but don't feel you have to do anything in particular. Don't try to understand it, just enjoy it. Feel my hands on you? See? Think of this as an innocent pleasure. Just... drifting. There. The water is pleasant, refreshing. I'm holding you safe. Just holding you. Relax into it."

"How come there's no soap?"

"Walt.
It's not a cleaning shower, it's... All right, I'll get some—"

"Oh, I'm all done."

"You stay
right there."

Win popped back into the tub with a cake of soap. "This was a very good idea," he said. "Let me soap you up and you'll... Yes... lean into it. Arch your back a bit... Right..." Win worked on the boy in silence for a while, then murmured into his ear: "I just want you to relax, now. You can close your eyes if you want to, and I'm going to hold you close. You're just some very tempting little boy who's going to give it up for Daddy."

Instantly, Walt squirmed away, crying, "Give for
what?"

"Walt, will you please relax?"

"But who's
Daddy?"

Win shut the water off and handed Walt a towel. He said, "You think you're a clever case. But I'm a nutcracker, and I'm going to open you right up." He said it in an amiable manner.

* * *

After a while, Walt started to cooperate, though he was uncomfortable with Win's rule that, while Walt didn't have to do anything involuntarily, he did have to state a reason why. Win promised to accept the reason, whatever it was; he merely demanded that Walt come to terms with the things that intimidated him—not necessarily conquer them, but certainly identify them.

And Win said this: "Gay men who are inexperienced can be apprehensive about sex because they feel they're being judged on their sexual performance before they've mastered it. I always say, this is like reviewing a movie while it's being filmed. One thing I try to work on in my therapy is that you don't have to be good at everything, or even
do
everything. What you want is to find something you like to do and work on that till you're expert."

"How do I know what that is?" Walt asked.

"We're going into the bedroom right now to find out."

"Uh-oh."

Working with Walt, Win learned, was a bit like playing football. Now you're upfield, now you're driven back, and while you may score a goal here and there, the other side is running the ball just as hard as you are. Win gave Walt a course in fellatio, Win active and Walt passive, then Win got Walt to try it as the active party.

So Walt retaliated by bringing Claude to the next session. Win upped the stakes by teaching Walt the art of frottage—French for "rubbing," which is basically intercourse without penetration—with Win on top and Walt as the bottom. Then Win wanted to see Walt try it as a top, and Walt dutifully took over: but Claude was the bottom.

Win said, "Walt, you just want to have sex with yourself."

"It's hard to break old habits," Walt replied.

Tom, who had set the whole thing in motion, was very amused by all this. He took to asking Walt, "What did you learn in school today?" when Walt returned home; and Walt would say things like, "I finger-painted and Claude fucked Win," which Tom thought was screamingly funny.

Judith was a list maker. Every Sunday evening, with a week of work and leisure behind her, she went through a ritual of reflection, analyzing her life in ways large and small. She would remove her contacts and don her old tortoiseshells, pour out a small glass of fruit wine, light a cigarette—she seldom smoked—and compile her lists: of things to do, ideas to consider, changes she might make.

Tonight she wrote:

1. Tell landlord
2nd time
about getting heating units unclogged

2. What does William want for his bday prsnt?

3. Ask Tom

Then Judith paused, noting that the list was all about men—or, no, all about Judith but necessitating contact of some kind or other with men... the landlord, her brother William, Tom. This, she reflected, is a woman's life: having to cajole men into giving things one shouldn't even have to ask for, such as a reasonable source of heat in winter; and tiptoeing around men's fragile egos even in something as trivial as a birthday present, because last year William was so unhappy with the Mickey Mouse travel alarm that she gave him—"I already
have
a travel alarm!" he almost wailed—that he sulked right through the surprise party she had thrown for him; and ask Tom what?

"Tonight," Win told Walt, "I want you to fantasize."

"Okay. We're on a spaceship headed for Venus, the mysterious planet of flame and terror."

"No, Walt, let me finish. I want you to share one of your sexual fantasies with me."

"Never."

"We all have them, it's perfectly normal. But most of us are too embarrassed to tell anyone."

"And let's keep it that way."

"Look. Walt, I'm like your psychiatrist. You confide in me because I keep your secrets. Besides, the point of therapy is to free you to relate to what you want out of your erotic life. You see? You don't have to fall into anyone's idea of the established patterns. You make the patterns for yourself."

"But one problem is, I don't want to be here," said Walt sadly. "I'm afraid of all this."

"Why, Walt?"

Walt said nothing.

"Is it me?" Win asked. "Don't you like me?"

Walt nodded.

"We get along well, don't we?" said Win.

"It's interesting when you talk to me about how gay life works, and the bars, and your friends. It helps me understand what Danny is talking about sometimes, because he's so worldly, and I don't want him to be impatient with me. So you and I can have these nice conversations, and everything's fine, but then you start taking off your pants."