The Sex Surrogate

by Gadziala, Jessica

  “It's what?”

  “It's twenty-some odd years of not feeling that way. Of no one saying that to me. It's not like I am going to transform my thinking overnight. But I'm getting better. I mean... could you picture the me who walked in here for my introductory session wearing the dress I wore tonight?”

  “That's a good point,” he said, nodding. “Do you believe I mean it when I say you're beautiful?”

  In his professional opinion?

  “There,” he said, his fingers digging gently into my face. “That look. What is that look? You've been giving it to me a lot lately.”

  It was a distinct look? That was great. Just lovely.

  “What look?”

  He released my face, rolling onto his back, and raking his hands over his face. “You're killing me, woman.”

  Ditto.

  Times about a million.

  “I'll go,” I said, moving to slide off the opposite side of the bed.

  “That's not what I want.”

  I took a deep breath, my back to him, my feet on the floor. Every ounce of me was screaming at me to go back to him, to curl up on my safe spot. For the last time. But maybe I had already gotten too many 'last times' for one night. I would just have to move on.

  “I know,” I said, my voice small as I finally forced myself to stand. “But it's late.”

  “Baby...”

  The soft pleading in my voice felt like someone was grabbing my heart in their hands and twisting it.

  I grabbed my dress, turning to him with a small, shaky smile. “Yeah?”

  But he had nothing to say.

  And I was tired of pretending I didn't.

  So I slipped into my dress, then reached out and touched his foot from on top of the sheet. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

  “Seven.”

  “As usual,” I nodded, grabbing my keys and wallet.

  He wasn't even going to walk me to my car.

  I guess we were beyond those kinds of pleasantries.

  I grabbed my jacket and slipped it on, buttoning it all the way up, and walked outside.

  The slamming door had such a hint of finality to it that I jumped.

  It was ending.

  Soon.

  After the Session

  “Shay?” I called, closing and locking the apartment door.

  It was late. But it wasn't that late. She would still be up, primping, checking social networking sites, taking selfies.

  But the apartment was suspiciously silent. Not even the sound from some random late-night show. I don't think I had ever walked into my apartment and found all the electronics and most of the lights off.

  I kicked out of the heels that were making my ankles feel like they were about to splinter and hung up Shay's jacket on the back of the door.

  Then I heard laughing, and Shay came dancing out of Jake's room, swatting his hands as he reached for her. And she wasn't exactly... dressed.

  I looked down at the floor, clearing my throat.

  The laughing stopped and I could swear I heard Jake curse under his breath.

  “So that's... happening,” I grumbled.

  I could practically hear them looking at each other, having a silent conversation with their eyes.

  “Ava,” Jake's voice said, surprising me. I had expected Shay to step up. “It's nothing. It's...”

  “Congratulations on the sex,” I said, going into the bathroom and stripping.

  It was going to be a three showers kind of day.

  Things were going to be bad enough in a couple days when my therapy with Chase was over. One of two things was going to happen. Either I got over my transference right away, and felt a little bit embarrassed for being such a fool. Or it would linger and I would be feeling what I was feeling right then: hollow.

  And on top of that, my roommates... the only two people in my life I had learned to trust and let in, were fucking around. Knowing them both as well as I did, I knew it was doomed to fail. The question wasn't if, it was when. Then what? I was in the middle? Trying to break up their fights, trying to reason with them? Being the bad guy who has to say 'you should have known better'?

  Wonderful.

  I was totally going to be in the mood for that.

  “Look,” Shay said, coming into the bathroom and slamming the door, making me jump and stare at the shower curtain like it was going to be pulled back at any moment. “Don't be getting your knickers in a bunch,” she said and I could just picture the scowl she was giving me. “This was all your fault anyhow.”

  “Mine?” I exploded, peeking my head out from behind the curtain. And there she was. Still bare ass naked. And completely comfortable with it. “How the hell is it my fault you two are doing something so stupid?”

  Her brow rose slightly at my choice of words. “You're the one who kept going on and on about how similar we are and shit.”

  “Which you took to mean 'you two should have sex'?”

  “No, but I mean who would turn down the opportunity to play around with their twin in opposite sex form?”

  “That sounded... awful.”

  “Alright. Whatever. You know what I meant.”

  “Well, I, for one, would have no interest in having sex with my male equivalent.”

  “Yeah, but only because you're in a unique situation. Shy girls are hot. Shy guys are boring as fuck.”

  I felt myself shrugging and slinking back behind the curtain. “Have you given any thought to how bad an idea this is?”

  “Oh, please...”

  “No, don't 'oh please' me. You live here now. He lives here. And I know you don't know him like I do, but he is a whore. No girl lasts more than a night.”

  “And who ever said I wanted more than that?” she asked, then paused. “Look, I'm a grown woman who has been around the block a few times. I can spot a man like Jake a mile away. I know exactly how he operates. That doesn't mean he wouldn't be worth a ride, ya know? Not all fuck buddies need to last a lifetime. Or even the weekend. We had fun.”

  “And you really think you're going to be able to walk around like nothing happened?”

  “You know our delivery guy at work?”

  “Yeah...”

  “We used to fuck on every surface of that damn delivery van. You see us acting like a bunch of bitches over that shit?”

  “No.” In fact, they acted like polite strangers.

  “Exactly.”

  “Alright,” I said, sighing. “Fine.”

  “What's the matter with you?”

  “Nothing. I'm fine.”

  “Don't,” Shay said, her voice firm.

  “Tomorrow is the ninth session,” I said, turning the water to cold. “He's taking me out and teaching me to pick up guys at a bar.”

  “And you don't want to do that because you're in love with him.”

  “Fake love.”

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want to call it.”

  “Shay...” I said, my voice cracking slightly.

  “I know,” she said, her voice sounding soft. “Girl, I know. But you'll be alright. I'll be here.”

  I took a shaky breath. True. That was true. I had more than I ever had before. Even if I was losing what felt like everything. I wouldn't be alone again.

  “I need a dress for tomorrow,” I said, shivering against the frigid water. “Something like the one tonight.”

  “You've come to the right place,” she mused, handing me a towel when I shut off the water. “How slutty do you want to take it?”

  “Pretty damn slutty,” I decided. If I was going to do it, I might as well do it up right. “But I'm not wearing those red bottoms ever again.” In fact, they should have been burned. Anytime I saw them, I would think of my legs straight up in the air with Chase admiring the view.

  “Shay,” I said, the next evening standing in our bedroom, trying to make my voice sound reasonable, “please tell me that is the shift, not the a
ctual dress.”

  “A shift? What are you eighty? No one wears freaking shifts anymore. This is a dress. And it is designer, it ain't no cheap swatch of fabric from the club hoe store in the mall. You said you wanted slutty.”

  True. But apparently our views on what constituted slutty varied greatly. Because what she was holding looked like something someone wears to the beach, not a club... in a very cold spell of fall.

  It was black. And, essentially, just a bra and a super ridiculously short mini skirt with sheer black mesh connecting them.

  “You can wear like semi-opaque stockings with them. But... I mean... full stockings. Thigh highs ain't gonna cut it. What club is he taking you to?”

  “He didn't say.”

  “Well, I mean.. dressed like this, you can really get into anywhere good in the city. I've worn it a bunch of times. Plus, you'll stand out. Everyone is wearing those cut-out dresses now. Men like this peek-a-boo effect. They can see stuff, but not really see stuff. But with this one... they'll all want to unwrap you like a present.”

  “Alright, fine,” I conceded, taking the dress from her.

  “Nervous?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When is the last time you talked to a random guy in a bar?”

  Never. That would be never.

  “I haven't.”

  “Shit. Well, it ain't that hard. Don't try to be someone you're not. Be you. But giggle more. Make eye contact. Touch them if they're close enough. Men can be a little dense on picking up on signals so you need to be a little obvious. Oh, and here...” she said, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper, scribbling something down.

  “What is this?” I asked, looking down at the numbers.

  “A phone number. Memorize it before you go out.”

  “Why?”

  “To give to the guys you don't really want calling you. I'm sure your shrink will try to teach you how to let guys down gentle. But that shit don't work. So just give them this number instead and excuse yourself from them.”

  I nodded. That was a good idea. I couldn't see myself being able to reject people. I knew how awful that felt. “Whose number is this?”

  “Oh,” she said, laying out makeup on my desk, smiling wickedly, “my ex best friend from a few years back. Bitch stole my man right out from under me. She gets a lot of phone calls from random creepers. And, I'm sure, more than a few late night dick pics. Best revenge ever.”

  Shay pulled me to my computer chair, sitting me down, then going through the hour long process of getting me ready to go out. She went a little more crazy with the makeup than she had the last time, working tirelessly to get the perfect smokey eye. Which apparently took four tries. I had fake eyelashes applied and something called “all night spray” squirted all over my face so nothing smudged. A light shade of matte lipstick was put on my lips. Then she went through the process of straightening my hair.

  “Aight,” she said, standing back. “Club ready.”

  “I'm almost afraid to look,” I said, smirking.

  “It ain't that different. Your eyes just really pop now.”

  And she was right. The fake lashes (as weird as they felt) looked great. And my face didn't look as caked on as it felt, just even. Foundation and powder would probably help with the blushing issue if it crept up.

  “Get yourself dressed,” Shay said, making her way to the door, “if you're not careful, you won't be ten minutes early.”

  “Ha ha,” I said, squinting my eyes at her.

  She was right.

  I was always at least ten minutes early.

  But I didn't want to be early. I wanted to be right on time. Or even a few minutes late. I didn't want to have to spend extra time alone with him. The car ride would be bad enough.

  The dress slid on and I adjusted my boobs into the tight bodice that seemed intent on shoving them up as high as possible. The skirt was going to be the bane of my existence the entire night. I tried pulling the clingy material down, but it just slid right back up again. With a sigh, I sat down to strap myself into the black heels Shay had provided, tiny straps criss-crossing over the top of the foot and the heels not near as high as the ones from the night before.

  “Are you decent?” Shay called, knocking on the door.

  Not really, nope.

  “Yeah,” I called and the door opened.

  “Dayum,” she said, nodding. “That will do. Alright, here, let me spray you with some perfume.”

  “I have the stuff that Jake...”

  “No,” she said firmly, grabbing for one of her bottles. “Not that vanilla stuff. Not tonight. You need something with a little punch. Here,” she said, spritzing the air, “walk through.”

  I did, wrinkling my nose slightly against the scent. I wasn't a huge fan of perfume to begin with and Shay's seemed to scream sex. “What is this?”

  “Just a perfume... mixed with pheromones.”

  “Oh for god's sake,” I groaned, shaking my head.

  “Hey they'll come charging at you.”

  “Like deer in rutting season,” I grumbled.

  “What smells so good?” Jake asked, coming into the room, making Shay and I throw our heads back and laugh.

  “Alright, you got this,” Shay said, walking me to the door. I grabbed her coat from the night before, not willing to be walking around alone in glorified underwear. “You got the number memorized?”

  “Yep.”

  “Aight. Try to have some fun with it, okay? This isn't just an assignment. It's practice for your dating filled- future,” she said, handing me my wallet and keys.

  My dating-filled future.

  Oh, joy.

  Ninth Session

  Fake phone number rolling around my head on an endless reel, I walked quickly toward Chase's office, driven mostly by my desire to get the whole damn night over with as soon as possible.

  I made it to his door five minutes after after seven, almost a little proud of myself for not freaking out about my punctuality. As soon I was in the door, there was Chase in a dark gray suit and white shirt.

  “You're late.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, reaching to lock the door before I remembered it wasn't that kind of session.

  “Good for you,” he said, nodding. Oh, not the praise. Literally anything but the praise. “Let's see that dress, baby.” Okay. Anything but the praise... and the endearments.

  I reached for the buttons of the jacket, then pulled it off quickly. I was rewarded by the sound of his breath exhaling hard.

  “Is this too much?” I asked, feeling uncertain. “Shay told me it would work for like... all the bars and clubs, but I am seriously starting to question her fashion sense.”

  His lips quirked up a bit as he moved across the room toward me. “It's a nice dress. But it looks extraordinary on you,” he said, his hand going out to touch the mesh across my belly. He took a breath, his face crinkling up. “You don't smell like you.”

  It sounded like an insult.

  “Shay's perfume,” I supplied.

  “Your eyes,” he said, his voice almost sounding sad.

  “Fake eyelashes. Apparently they make my eyes pop or something.”

  “They popped just fine on their own,” he murmured, his hand moving to stroke my cheek.

  I swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the feeling of his hand on my skin. “Should I take them off?” I asked, thinking of how weird it would be for my eyelids to not feel heavy anymore.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head, dropping his hand. “They're fine. Most guys will appreciate the effort.”

  Most guys.

  Not him.

  “So, um,” I said, looking down at my feet, feeling a huge wave of insecurity, “where are we going?”

  “You're nervous.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “I've never been good with the whole... flirting thing.”

  “That's what I'm
here for- to teach you.”

  Right. Patient/doctor. Keep those reminders coming.

  “We're going to start at a restaurant. Get some food in your stomach to help with the anxiety...”

  He was taking me to dinner?

  My eyes shot up, curious.

  “I'm assuming you have, once again, not eaten before coming here.”

  “No.”

  “Alright,” he said, reaching behind me to pull the door open. “Let's go. It's getting late,” he said.

  Then he didn't put his hand at my lower back.

  In fact, he didn't touch me at all. Not even by accident. He kept a safe space between us.

  I sat in tense silence in his car, my heart starting to beat a little faster than usual in my chest. I held onto the door handle, crushing it into my palm, trying to focus on that and not how cold he was being. He swerved in and out of traffic, not even glancing my way once.

  Then we were at the restaurant and he was opening my door, not even bothering to extend his hand to me to help me out. When I looked up at him, curious, he was pointedly looking away.

  Okay.

  So that was how it was.

  Why the hell even bother to take me to dinner if you didn't even want to look my way? He could have easily just taken me to a club and gotten the god-awful session over with already. But, no, he had to drag it out. And not only did he need to drag it out, he needed to suddenly become another person while he was at it.

  I got out of the car, trying to push the negative thoughts away. They weren't going to help. Looking up at the restaurant, my mouth fell open slightly and then I laughed, a full, rolling laugh, making me bend slightly forward, holding my belly. “Seriously?” I asked, looking up at him.

  He was looking down at me, smiling wide, his eyes crinkling up at the edges. “Don't judge it by how it looks,” he said, reaching out and putting a hand at my hip.

  Okay. It was hard to not judge it by how it looked. Because how it looked was downright seedy. Bright blue tables, awful faded, discolored white paint on the walls, painfully fake looking foliage hanging from the ceiling. The people inside were all in jeans and t-shirts. And I was dressed like I was trying to find a sugar daddy.