The Celestial Bed

by Irving Wallace

"What do you mean?"

  "I mean, it adds up to zilch. I'll give it to you like A,B,C. I once read in some book that only one crime counts. Not stealing the jewels or embezzling . . . The only crime that counts is murder. The same goes here. When you're out to prove prostitution, it's not diddling around that counts but only sexual intercourse. I don't see any sexual intercourse here."

  "Well, all I've written about is part of it," said Hunter defensively.

  "Not to me, it isn't, and not to Hoyt Lewis, either." Scrafield picked up the typescript once more and began to leaf through it. "What have we got here—hand caress, facial caress, back caress, body imaging, a shower, some feeling around but not touching breasts or genitals, then feeling around the genitals, and so on and on. What does it all add up to? A crock of nothing. In court, there'll be only one question. Did you lay her? Well, why haven't you? Why don't you?"

  Hunter felt the perspiration on his forehead. "As you know, I got into this therapy thing by saying I had a problem."

  "There's no problem a good fuck can't solve. You mean you can't get it up with her?"

  "I can. I have."

  "Then what's holding you back?"

  "Well, Reverend Scrafield, I'm trying to follow the rules. There are rules in therapy, and you've got to follow them."

  Scrafield was plainly disgusted. "Who gives a damn about rules? You've got this good-looking woman—you say she's a looker—in the nude, on her back, and instead of putting it to her, you're diddling around. She's used to having men go inside her. That's clear . . . It's her business. So get down to business!"

  Hunter was sweating profusely now. He didn't want to tell Scrafield that he had tried, and it had been a fiasco. Nor did he want to discuss the squeeze technique that Gayle had found necessary to use with him.

  "We're making progress," Hunter said lamely. "I expect I'll have sexual intercourse with her tomorrow."

  "You're sure?"

  "That's next on the agenda."

  "Can you promise me?"

  Hunter gulped. "Sure, I can promise you."

  Scrafield's stony expression had cracked into the resemblance of a smile. He jumped to his feet. "That's more like it, young man." He waved the sheaf of typed pages. "You go right out and make a photocopy of this and drop it off for the D.A. Then, when you deliver it, reassure him he'll also have the taped evidence in hand any minute now."

  "By the day after tomorrow."

  "All right. The minute our D.A. has your sworn statement that you will testify in court, we'll move, and get Freeberg and Gayle Miller in custody." He patted Hunter on the shoulder. "Long as you're at it, be sure you enjoy yourself tomorrow—before we put her out of circulation."

  Undressing in his bedroom, as Nan Whitcomb sat naked on the bed with her adoring eyes on him, Brandon could not concentrate on what was immediately ahead for him. His mind was totally filled with Gayle and his stupid behavior last night in walking out on her. He felt riddled with guilt and with the fear that he had ended their budding relationship and lost someone he was truly in love with. He wanted only to get to a telephone in private, call Gayle, and find out if she would see him once more.

  Meanwhile, his clothes were off, and he knew Nan was awaiting his next move.

  Brandon knew what his next step should be. Penetration.

  He stood unmoving, afraid to proceed. For one thing, with his mind on Gayle, he worried slightly that he might not achieve an erection with Nan. But meeting her eyes, he knew that was not what he really feared. He really feared the adoration in her eyes, and her newly acquired relaxation in his presence. He feared that if he successfully coupled with her, and they both enjoyed the experience, Nan might misread it for love. If so, that would create a real problem.

  "Something on your mind?" Nan asked cheerfully. "Just thinking what we should take up next."

  "What is next, Paul?"

  Should he attempt a stalling tactic until he could have more time to decide how to handle what intercourse with her might lead to?

  Instinctively, he wanted more time to think out how he should handle her.

  "Actually, Nan," he found himself saying, "I think it would be best for both of us if we repeated our last exercise, just once more, to see how we both feel."

  Nan was unable to hide her disappointment. "We'll do the genital touching again? Wasn't there supposed to be something new?"

  "Not necessarily. It wasn't bad last time, was it?"

  "It was wonderful, Paul," she quickly assured him. "I wouldn't mind."

  "You can let go, possibly have an orgasm again. It's not our goal, but there's nothing wrong if you feel like it."

  "I'll feel like it. But I'll feel like it more if you'd have an orgasm, too. Last time, I'm afraid I shortchanged you. I'd like to make you happy, too."

  "We'll see," he said noncommittally, joining her on the bed.

  They moved to the middle of the bed, then turned face-to-face, their eyes open. Taking up a bottle, he applied a light oil to her body, avoiding her vaginal mound, and then he handed the bottle to her and asked her to apply the oil to his body. She did so industriously, making a careful detour past his genital area, but by the time she had covered him with the oil, he could see her breasts rising and falling more rapidly. He had wanted this to be a slow, extended session, but her obvious desire to be touched by him told him it would not last as long as he had hoped.

  "Okay, Nan," he said, "let's go ahead with the exercise. Do you want us to pleasure each other simultaneously, like we did last time, or do you prefer we sensate focus on each other separately, taking turns?"

  "Taking turns," she answered at once. "I can concentrate better. You can do me first, and after that, I'll do you. Do you mind?"

  "Not at all," Brandon said. "Actually, it is preferable to do this in sequence. You lie back, close your eyes, and really make way for your feelings."

  "Good," she said.

  She was on her back, her eyes tight but her arms and legs limp.

  Bent over her, he went for her head, his fingers running through her hair, then dancing over every crevice of her face, and playing along her shoulders. Her breasts were heaving when he reached them, and the nipples were points.

  As he stroked her stomach, there was an almost inaudible sound. He thought it might have been a moan. His fingers touched her pubic hairline and glided over the visible bud of her clitoris. Her knees came up, and her legs spread, and he knew he would never get to her thighs.

  "I want to come . . ." she sighed.

  He had meant to get to her thighs, but he would never make it. After all, this was genital pleasuring, and Nan did not deserve to be deprived of it.

  His fingers were going from her clitoris to her vagina and back again, and abruptly she raised her hips well off the bed.

  "Paul, Paul," she cried out, and then she exclaimed, "I'm coming!"

  He knew, and helped her all the way over the top.

  When the prolonged orgasm ended, she sank down on the bed limp, trying to catch her breath.

  Then he got to her thighs at last, caressing them, and after that her legs. Throughout the remainder of the exercise, she lay motionless, and he told himself that she was too exhausted to pleasure him the same way, which in a sense was a relief. Because he didn't want his body to subvert his determination not to get too involved with her.

  Suddenly, to his surprise, she was sitting up, her eyes open. "Thank you, Paul," she said, and leaned over and kissed him. "You wanted me to have feelings," she added. "I had them, very much."

  He was afraid to ask what they had been. He did not answer her.

  She pushed him backward. "Now, my turn," she said. "I'm going to do it to you. I hope you have the same feelings."

  He continued to avoid making any reply and dutifully lay down and closed his eyes with misgivings.

  He was encompassed by the touch of her hands on his cheeks, throat, chest.

  "You're gorgeous, sweet and gorgeous," he heard her whisper.

 
; He made believe it was Gayle speaking to him . . . He could see Gayle nude and magnificent as she had been last night . . . And then he knew it was happening to him.

  His swollen penis was rising, standing straight up.

  There was no containing it. He was helpless now.

  Her hand had curled around his rigidity, very practiced, perfect, perfect, perfect.

  He did not know how many minutes had passed. Maybe five or six. Maybe more. But it seemed an eternity of delight, and he wanted only release.

  "I—I—I . . ."

  Her hand moved faster. "I know, my darling," she whispered.

  Her hand covered the top of his penis, and he came and came and came.

  The next thing he knew was the satiny feel of her pliant body. She was lying close to him, he realized, and embracing him.

  Her eyes were on him.

  "You were marvelous," she said, 'just marvelous."

  "You, too," he said weakly.

  "I felt closer to you than ever."

  "I hoped you would."

  He stared at the ceiling, and she was silent awhile, staring at him. At last, she spoke. "Paul, there's something I want to tell you."

  He was not sure he wanted to hear. He wondered what it would be. He nodded.

  "I left Tony Zecca," she said as if she were giving Brandon a present. "I couldn't take it anymore, so I walked out last night while he was asleep."

  Brandon was alert now, propped on an elbow. "You left him?"

  She released Brandon. "Like you once suggested."

  "But I—" He didn't know how to respond. "Where did you go?"

  "I called you to ask if you could suggest a hotel, but you weren't in."

  "No." He remembered being with Gayle . . . and walking out on her. Oh, God, what idiocy.

  "So I phoned Dr. Freeberg at home, and he was kind enough to get me a room at the Excelsior Hotel, not far from the clinic."

  "I'm glad." He sat up, and then she sat up. "What are you going to do for money?" he asked.

  "I've got enough for a few weeks. After that, I'll have to find a job."

  "You'll find one," he said, troubled. He began to get out of bed.

  "Paul . . ."

  He turned toward her. "Yes?"

  "If you'd like, I could stay with you here tonight. Would you like that?"

  "Of course I like to be with you," he replied unhesitatingly, "but it's not allowed, Nan. I'd lose my job if Dr. Freeberg ever found out. Even if I wanted to break the rules, I couldn't tonight. I have another—another appointment."

  "Oh." Her disappointment was evident.

  "I'm sorry, but we'll be seeing each other tomorrow afternoon for the next exercise."

  "That's right. I won't forget." She seemed considerably cheered up. "What will it be?"

  The word came out with difficulty. "Penetration," he said, and quickly added, "if you think you can do it yet."

  She smiled. "I can do anything with you, Paul, anything." Within minutes after Nan had dressed, hugged him good-bye, and left his apartment, Brandon was on the telephone, hoping he would find Gayle at home.

  To his good fortune, she was home.

  "It's Paul," he said to her, "hat in hand. Gayle, I want to apologize for my behavior last night. I was a stupid ass."

  "I'm glad you called," she replied seriously. "I was thinking about us all day. I almost called you. I don't think I behaved very well, either. I wasn't very sensitive. I wanted to tell you that."

  "Gayle, when can I see you again? The sooner the better."

  "Yes, I want to see you, too. Why don't I come up to your place?"

  "When?"

  "Not until after dinner. I promised to have a bite with two of the other surrogates. I could make it around ten o'clock. Or is that too late?"

  "It's never too late."

  "I'll be there. Give me your address. I look forward, Paul. I really do."

  Arriving at his apartment, Gayle was greeted by Brandon with a hug and kisses.

  Stepping back, she surveyed his living room. "Not bad," she said, "for a struggling male sex surrogate. I like those Giacometti lithos on the walls."

  "I try to think thin."

  "Are they real?"

  "Who can afford real? They're reproductions. I'm so glad you're here, Gayle."

  She dug into her purse and extracted something.

  "I brought you a present, a peace offering," she said, smiling. "I think we've made our peace, but I'd like you to have it anyway."

  "What is it?"

  Handing it to him, she said, "A key to my house. When we have our next date, and you get there before I do, you can go inside and get ready for me." She took him in. She gestured to the terry cloth bathrobe he was wearing. "I see you are ready. What's underneath?"

  "Just me. No camouflage."

  "I'd better catch up with you." She pecked a kiss at him. "Show me your bedroom."

  He led her off to his bedroom.

  "Be it ever so humble," he said.

  She studied it. "Do you use the bedroom here?"

  "For what?"

  "For your patient. I use a special therapy room. I reserve my bed for the likes of you."

  "Yes, this is where we do the exercises."

  Gayle started unbuttoning her blouse. "How are you doing with her—whatever her name is?"

  "Nan."

  "Are you making progress with Nan?"

  "I hope so. She was suffering from vaginismus. I have the feeling she's relaxing somewhat."

  Gayle pulled off her blouse. "But you don't know yet."

  "I should know after our next session."

  "Penetration?" asked Gayle quietly.

  "Yes. But there's a problem that makes me a little nervous." He wrinkled his brow. "I'm not sure how to handle it. . ."

  "What's the problem?"

  "Well, to be honest, I believe my patient is falling in love with me. She left her boyfriend—no loss, he was a bastard —and today she offered to move in with me."

  "That's a no-no, Paul."

  "I told her so."

  Gayle reached behind to unhook her brassiere. "I mean, the rest of it, too. You can't allow a patient to fall in love with you."

  "I'm not encouraging it, believe me. Still, I can see it happening. It's making me uncomfortable. She's a nice woman. I don't know how to deal with her."

  "Maybe you're not being professional enough?"

  "I'm trying, Gayle."

  "Maybe not enough. Maybe you're sorry for her and got too involved." She paused. "How come your Nan left her boyfriend?"

  "I can't say I objected. In fact, I may have encouraged it. From what she tells, he's an animal. He could be the cause of her trouble. Anyway, she turned her back on him."

  Gayle had not taken off her bra yet. "Because you encouraged her? Paul, it doesn't sound like you're handling her right. Maybe this is something Dr. Freeberg should know about."

  "What could he do?"

  Gayle said firmly, "He'd take you off the case. Knowing Dr. Freeberg as I do, he would never permit a surrogate to become seriously emotionally involved with a patient."

  "I'm not the one who's involved," said Brandon patiently. "Nan is."

  "Then it's Nan, okay. But you let her fall for you without taking steps to prevent it. Dr. Freeberg would not allow that to happen or certainly would not let it go on. Have you told him about this?"

  "No."

  Gayle stepped nearer to Brandon. "You must tell him. It's your duty to tell him."

  "You think he'd actually take me off the case?"

  "In ten seconds flat."

  "But the therapy isn't completed."

  "He'll find someone to complete it."

  "Gayle, I'm the only male surrogate in his stable."

  "I guarantee, he'll find your Nan another one."

  Brandon shook his head. "I don't like it. My quitting, someone else coming in—it could hurt her deeply."

  "Dr. Freeberg would know how to manage it. You owe it to yourself, to F
reeberg, and to her to report the whole thing."

  Brandon shrugged. "I guess you're right. It makes me a little sad to have to do this, but I will."

  "That's better," said Gayle cheerfully. "Well, here's something that'll maybe cheer you up."

  She drew off her bra, and her breasts almost jumped out at Brandon.

  With one arm immediately around her, he bent to kiss the nipples of each breast. "You're fantastic," he exhaled. He started kissing and tonguing her breasts again, and as he did so he pulled her up against him.

  She clung to him a moment, then pushed away. "Hey, mister, I don't feel anything. From you, I mean. Take off your robe."

  He complied, and they both looked down at his flaccid penis.

  "Dear one," Gayle said, "what gives? Don't you feel like it?"

  "Of course I feel like it. I—it's just that—"

  Gayle was eyeing him carefully. "Just what, Paul?"

  "Well, I won't lie to you. The fact is I had an orgasm earlier, but give me a little while . . ."

  Gayle's hands flew up to her breasts, covering them.

  "You had an orgasm—when you were with Nan?" she said incredulously. "With Nan?"

  "Let me explain, Gayle. We were doing non-demand genital pleasuring—"

  "Some non-demand!"

  "And we were stroking each other. We were just following the rules, and it got a bit out of control . . . I mean, she'd orgasmed when she was with me yesterday, and she wanted me to, so—"

  "So you let her get you off!"

  "I didn't want to. I couldn't prevent it."

  "The hell you couldn't. What you wanted was the girl who loves you to make you happy, because maybe you love her."

  "Gayle, stop it. You're way off base, I swear. I don't care for her . . ."

  Gayle snatched up her bra and was putting it on. "And as for me, I don't care for you. You allow another woman to get you off, and now you expect me to line up and follow her." She pulled on her blouse. "No way, my friend! Not in a million years!"

  Brandon grabbed her arms. "On my word of honor, Gayle, there's no one to be jealous of."

  "Who's jealous? I'm just an old-fashioned monogamist. One man, one woman. That's the way I intend to live my life. I don't need a polygamist to mess things up. As for you, tonight you can play with yourself! Good-bye!"

  And with that, Gayle Miller stormed out of the bedroom and out of the apartment.