"Jan said you were 'very sensual' in your last session," Scott told me, using bitter air quotes, as soon as he walked in the door one day.

"Yes, I was," I admitted. Yet I wondered what else she'd told him.

That session had been the first time in my life that I had access to a naked body other than my own. Lying on the futon, in all her naked splendor, Jan had waited for me to touch, explore, do whatever I wanted. I began with simple, tentative touches and kisses. She didn't stop me. I went further. She didn't stop me. I became lost in her flesh, her smell, her texture. It seemed to be working for Jan: her head thrown back, eyes closed, her breathing getting harder with an occasional gasp. With increasing bravado, I slowly approached her vagina. Was this allowed this session? Only one way to find out. I massaged her inner thighs, my fingers gradually coming closer... closer... and I was in. Not only did she not stop me, she was responding. I responded to her responding to me. And it was good.

So good that Jan took hold of my penis. But my penis wasn't ready, and recoiled. Jan stroked and gently pulled, but I wasn't getting hard. I wasn't getting hard! What was wrong with me? She tried for some time, but it became obvious that it wasn't heading anywhere. Jan took her hand away.

I felt like a failure. She said it was okay, I shouldn't worry about it, I should forget about it, I should go back to doing what I was doing, that it felt good. But when she remembered to check her watch, she jumped off the futon, threw my clothes at me and told me to hurry, that she had another client waiting. She sprayed herself with some sort of cooling body mist, got dressed and kissed me sweetly before shuffling me out the door.  

---

 

That session had been the first time in my life that I had access to a naked body other than my own.

"What else did Jan tell you?" I asked Scott. I inspected his face for any hint of a smirk or superiority. I found nothing. She had no reason to tell him, and neither did I. She was discreet. I was ashamed.

In subsequent sessions, the problem slightly improved, but not nearly enough. I could, eventually, get it up, but I couldn't keep it up for any reasonable amount of time. Jan tried to get me to relax, not think too much — an impossible request. And the more I thought, the worse it got. I was so caught up in my head that I could barely feel my penis anymore. I could see Jan touching it. I could see her sucking on it. I'd always dreamed of a woman's head bobbing up and down on my penis. But I couldn't enjoy it.

In the meantime, Scott kept me apprised of his progress, and I made him think I was keeping right up with him. Lying, lying, lying, until the day that he came home and tell me how he lost his virginity: doggy-style, Jan leaning over the couch.

Scott beat me.  

Jan was patient and supportive, but she didn't provide me with any answers. Neither did Dr. Klein. Where was he? Jan must have kept him up to date about my progress. Shouldn't he have addressed the issue? He was a psychiatrist, or psychologist, wasn't he?

The sessions were finished, but I wasn't. Dr. Klein suggested that I sign up for another round (so he did address the issue) but not until I was paid up for the first. I eventually returned a year later, but by then Jan had moved on. I would have liked to finish with Jan — for years I fantasized about running into her on the street and getting a room, but never did.

The new surrogate was as patient and fun as Jan, and she knew a trick that Jan didn't, the trick that did the trick. She told me to forget about everything, about "performing," about pleasing her and just focus on my own sensations and pleasure — then she put a blindfold on me and placed me in the middle of the room, naked, while she rubbed her own naked body all around and over mine. Once I became aroused, she took me into her mouth and the rest fell into place. 

Scott and I continued our competition for years to come. Who was the first to have sex outside of surrogate therapy? It took us both quite a while, but even with my delayed consummation, I was the first. The thing was, surrogate therapy taught us how to have sex, but not how to get laid. Or how to get into a relationship. Or how to maintain a relationship. (I'm still working on that.) Who was the first to be in a relationship? Scott. The first to get married? Scott, which meant he was also the first to get divorced. We weren't sure if that counted as a win or a loss. n°

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