by Manju Kapur
It was afternoon when the plane taxied into the San Francisco airport. Ananda took a cab, marvelling all the while at the sun, the tropical vegetation, the palm trees. So this was California. He hadn’t felt such warmth outside India.
The drive was long. They crossed a bridge to enter Berkeley on the other side of the Bay. He felt the smallness of Halifax; the road system here was enough to dazzle. Finally he arrived at the Carlton Hotel. His room was pleasant, with huge windows overlooking the street, a small balcony with an awning, a double bed, muted lilac and blue bedspread. He could see a clock tower in the distance.
He phoned Nina—yes, he had reached all right, the weather was nice and warm, he was looking forward to bringing her here one day. The hotel the conference had booked him into was very nice, centrally located in downtown Berkeley. There were other doctors booked into the Carlton, he looked forward to spending time with them over lunches and dinners. He would probably walk to the conference venue, just a few blocks away. Tomorrow was a long day, he was particularly interested in the sessions on root canals, he might not be able to phone her, but she was not to worry. Here was the number of the hotel, but she was only to use it in emergencies, he was going to be pretty tied up.
Phone call over, he lay down, exhausted. Everything was now in place, he must sleep, his appointment with Dr Hansen was for ten the next morning.
He leaves early, the address of the doctor’s office in his hand. On Shattuck Avenue he finds a narrow white building, no 1214. Up the stairs to the second floor, to an office and receptionist, she probably knows why he is here, but never mind, never mind, there must be streams of people in and out all the time. The floors are wooden, the sofas pale stripes, the cushions silvery green. The door opens: ‘Ananda Sharma?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Max Hansen,’ dressed in jeans and a white shirt, about fifty years old.
Ananda is led into the inner room with big windows, a tree waving its benign branches outside. Here, Max and Carla begin the journey that will explore Ananda’s psyche and root out all offending matter.
First some reassuring facts. This was a condition that was eminently reversible. (They did not use words like cure because that suggested disease.) They gave him statistics about premature ejaculation, percentage of men affected, how often, what ages, rate of improvement. Though sex was ultimately dominated by the mind, the success rate of talk therapy was low; you could spend years, thousands of dollars and still not get anywhere. When frustration built up, performance suffered. Tension led to unsatisfactory sex, which furthered anxiety. Sexual therapy disrupted that cause and effect. Once it was proven to the client that he had staying power, then confidence built, leading to better performance, etc, etc. Their job was to provide methods to enable this process.
Ananda asked apprehensively whether not having a partner would affect treatment. They laughed genially. Some doctors insisted on partners because they felt that emotional commitment made the therapy more effective. While that was true, such an attitude condemned the unattached male to perpetual misery. They themselves had had great success with surrogates.
Now the procedure was this. The surrogate—her name was Marty—would meet him at his hotel. In consultation with them she would set limits on how much and what kind of contact was permissible. There was to be no penetration the first week. It was essential to learn how to relax, and they placed great emphasis on breathing techniques. Marty would also teach him how to exercise the pubococcygeus muscle, pull it back, hold it, let go (same as for urine); you can do it anywhere, and as with all exercise, the more often he did it, the stronger it would be.
In sex there was no goal to be reached, no performance on which one was judged (Nina, are you listening?). They would teach him to take pleasure in his body, to focus on the sensations. He would just feel, that was all he had to do.
After every session Marty would meet the doctors and give them her feedback. Based on this, there would be a counselling session with Ananda. The counselling session would be taped, and Ananda would have to listen to it in the evenings, as often as he could. He would be surprised at how many insights emerged during this exercise.
They sent him back with some books: Male Sexuality, Male Sexual Response, Together in Bed, Sexual Myths. Marty would meet him at his hotel at three o’clock. In the meantime he was to read, read, read.
Ananda left 1214 Shattuck Avenue with a light heart. Professionals, the professionals were taking care of him. He was bound to improve. He had no time to waste in restaurant dining; there was a McDonald’s around the block, a burger would be his lunch.
Once done, the good student hurried back to his hotel, only stopping briefly at the drugstore to buy breath fresheners. A surrogate was coming; maybe the books would reveal techniques that would enable him to perform better. He settled down to Myths about Sexuality first, flipping the pages quickly to see what information it would yield. Initial arousal, excitement phase, full arousal, plateau phase (this is what he yearned to prolong), orgasm, then resolution after orgasm and the time it took to reach the plateau phase again.
PE was reversible; ten percent of men had it, many more experienced it in varying degrees. Ananda decided he could be included in varying degrees. Hadn’t he known some success with Nina? He looked at his watch. It was already two thirty. He took a shower, shaved, brushed his teeth, used mouthwash, used aftershave, deodorant, and walked around the room chewing breath fresheners. He felt intensely nervous.
The hotel phone rang. Marty here. Come on up, Marty, Room 201. She was dead on time; he liked that in a woman, though of course she was not a woman, she was a person of the medical profession.
The door bell rang. His sexual helper was young, blond, with freckled skin, tight clothes, somewhat plain. ‘Hi. I’m Marty.’
‘Hi, Marty. Come in. Dr Hansen told me about you.’
She smiled warmly. ‘I am so pleased to meet you. I have always wanted to visit India.’
‘Yes. Well.’
‘So here is what we are going to do. I’ll be with you for two hours. We’ll spend at least an hour of that time in bed, maybe more if necessary. Meanwhile you must let me know what goes through your head. Whatever it is, no matter how small. Max says that things that don’t seem relevant are often the most revealing.’
He just stood there, nerve-wracked.
‘Let’s get into bed,’ she said.
Should he draw the curtains?
If it put him at ease.
It definitely did.
A dim and gloomy light filled the room.
‘You prefer it like this?’
‘Should I not?’
‘Hey, there are no shoulds and shouldn’ts. You must go with what you feel.’
‘Alright,’ he said uncertainly.
‘We can take our clothes off now.’
‘Do you want to use the bathroom first?’
‘For what?’
‘To take off your clothes.’
‘Would that make you more comfortable?’
‘I don’t really know how this works.’
‘Would it disturb you if we undressed in front of each other?’
‘Not at all.’
But he couldn’t help turn his back a little. He knew it was irrational; she was going to see him anyway, touch him anyway. Alone with her though, it seemed the most unnatural situation in the world. How had he gotten into it? He heard rustling, the screech of a zipper, the fall of clothes on the floor.
‘What are you thinking?’
He turned. She was standing there naked and he was unable to look at her directly. A covert glance informed him that she had large, high breasts, sturdy muscled legs, narrow shoulders, square feet. Her body made her face more appealing.
‘The whole thing is a bit cold blooded, no?’
‘We are here by mutual agreement. So, no, I don’t feel cold blooded.’
‘But I am a stranger to you. Don’t you feel awkward?’
‘I would hardly be in this profession if I did. I lik
e helping people, makes me feel I am doing some good in the world. Come lie down. Let me know why you are so uneasy.’
He got into bed with her. She started stroking him, running light fingers over his skin, commenting admiringly on its colour. ‘How does that feel?’
‘Nice,’ he said politely.
She laughed, ‘You have such good manners. Now relax, tell me what you are thinking.’
‘Dr Hansen also stressed relaxing. But it is hard in these circumstances.’
‘Yes, in the beginning it’s a bit strange, but you get used to it. Talking helps.’
Encouraged he confided, ‘They keep saying relax, relax—Dr Hansen, the books. Feel your sensations, empty your mind, concentrate on the moment, and if I could, I would, but I can’t.’
‘You are right, it’s difficult. But together we can do it.’
She was clearly a nice girl. A tiny bit of him unknotted.
‘Let your mind follow my fingers. Close your eyes.’
He closed his eyes. There was that light touch on his shoulders, travelling down to his stomach, venturing to his thighs, parting them, stroking the insides, coming back to his chest.
It felt so wonderful, another knot in him untied.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I love what you are doing to me.’
She smiled at him and continued. After a few minutes he grew tense, he couldn’t help it. It made him nervous to just lie there, not reciprocating. He cleared his throat.
‘Yes?’
‘You’re doing all the work.’
This time she laughed, ‘Honey, it’s not work. I’ve just been touching you for seven minutes. It’s fine to enjoy your body, there are no responsibilities attached to this.’
Her fingers moved gently over him. In the dim light he could see her white body against his brown skin. Usually he lay under covers when he was naked, even with Nina, but there was too much activity going on here to allow that. She jumped down to take a bottle of lotion from her bag; she was going to give him a massage. Obediently he straightened himself.
Not like that. Lie on your stomach.
He found she meant to sit on him.
Firmly, on his buttocks she positioned her own fair bottom, shifting every two minutes to continue the sure, steady movements of her hands. No place was too private for her. Eyes shut, he followed her touch with every nerve.
Two hours later the session was up. As she dressed she told him he had been wonderful, did he know that? It took courage to expose oneself, but he had managed to overcome his uneasiness. Most men took a long time to loosen up. He was doing great, just great.
He doubted that, but Marty insisted that it was so. He should trust her, she had the experience.
In the evening he walked down Telegraph Avenue, looking for dinner. The place was dotted with cheap student places. All around he could see people in every kind of ethnic variation. In Halifax you had to look hard to see an Indian, here the place was crawling with them. He spent a long time just walking up and down the sidewalks, enjoying the warmth, the sight of so many young people, the shops open much later than in Canada, the streets buzzing with life. It had been a full and momentous day.
When he was tired, he went into an Italian joint and ordered a spaghetti bolognaise. Dutifully he tried to finish—he hated waste—but found it impossible. He returned to the hotel, phoned Nina, assured her that the conference was very interesting and then succumbed to jet lag.
Next morning at Carla and Max’s, the tape recorder was put on—and the session began. Marty had given them her inputs, now they wanted to know what his experience was: how had he felt when she stroked him, massaged him, was he tense, what were his thoughts.
His thoughts throughout the whole thing had been of two kinds. He had managed to derive pleasure from what she was doing, but there had also been embarrassment and discomfort.
Yes, they said, that was the reason traditional sex therapists preferred to do couple therapy. They felt you could get straight to the point.
Ananda studied his shoes.
So discomfort was entirely understandable, continued Max, and many clients had to work to overcome it. As a medical man, Ananda knew that there were some things you couldn’t do yourself, like fixing your teeth or testing your eyes. Even dentistry could be awkward; after all it was an intimate experience, leaning close to a person and putting your hands in their open mouths. We are used to it, that’s all. Ananda just had to think of sex therapy in those terms. Embarrassment was also a matter of conditioning and habit.
Ananda agreed. He was spending too much money to do anything else. Of course they were right, it was a matter of conditioning.
They applauded his attitude; it would definitely make things easier.
Tomorrow Marty would continue with her stroking. By now the process would be more familiar and his sole concern should be his own pleasure. It was up to him to get as much as possible out of these two weeks. These methods worked, their success rate was very high. Marty would also teach him breathing exercises that would help reduce tension. And for two weeks he was not to think, to worry, to get anxious or to speculate. All that was their domain, he was only to enjoy himself and (they laughed) do all his homework. His input would decide the ultimate result.
Slowly Ananda walked back to Telegraph Avenue, armed with the tape he had to listen to, along with the little machine that would play it to him.
He ducked into a pizza joint for lunch. Thoughtfully he chewed the slices, barely tasting the pepperoni. What had Max said? He should not be so concerned about what other people thought, this was not an exam. There are no shoulds or shouldn’ts, there is no judgement; whatever he did was him, uniquely him. Every person was different. Towards Max Hansen, Ananda was rapidly feeling all the love a boy feels for his father.
Afternoon, and there was Marty.
This time she stroked his penis, his scrotum, his thighs, murmuring from time to time, ‘What are you thinking?’
‘What did Max tell you about me?’
‘He told me you are more concerned about others than yourself.’
This did not sound too bad. In India one was praised for this.
‘Just let go. Take a deep breath, slow and regular. Focus on the air going in and out of your body. You’re making very good progress.’
His mind cleared a bit. These people liked him.
In response his penis stiffened.
‘I am going to go on doing this, if any thought comes to mind, tell me. Any thought, any fantasy—anything. We’re here to help you.’
Her body was warm next to his, her hand persuasive. As instructed he lay back and did nothing, but with more confidence. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so difficult after all. Her stroking went on; involuntarily he raised his hand and found her breasts. His eyes flickered shut, and he shifted closer. His wandering fingers touched a slight seam of ridged flesh, and his medical senses awoke. She had had breast augmentation.
‘Why did you get this done?’
‘To feel good about myself.’
‘Were your breasts small?’
‘B cup. I wanted a C.’
‘Oh.’
‘Do you find that strange?’
‘So feeling good is important enough for you to undergo surgery?’ He had heard that sometimes the silicone leaked, or that the tissue around it grew hard. As a procedure it was definitely non-essential. And how much had she paid for it? There was no insurance that covered cosmetic surgery. She would have had to save for ages.
She giggled, ‘Oh I managed, but let’s concentrate on you instead. Does the scar disgust you?’
‘Oh no, no. I was just wondering.’
‘If it does, you can tell me.’
There is only so far one can go to change one’s nature. Telling girls who are cradling your penis that their breast augmentation scars are disgusting was beyond him.
‘I’m a doctor, I have seen all kinds of things.’
And so the sess
ion ended.
That night as he listened to the tapes, he heard himself: hesitant, tentative, unsure, even afraid. He heard Max repeating he should relax in a hundred different ways. It was all very well to tell his little friend down there to relax, but who was listening?
Gloomily he rewound the tape, though it was no fun listening to himself. He heard Carla telling him that he seemed a responsible, caring person, worried about the needs of others. It was about time he worried about his own desires and feelings. He sighed and picked up the phone.
‘Hey Neen.’
‘You sound in a good mood. Did you have a productive day?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How is the conference going?’
‘These Americans really do thorough research. Some of the papers are very interesting.’
‘How come you are not giving a paper?’
‘Maybe next time I will. And then you come with me.’
He could hear her chewing something, and the flavour of her peppermint sweets filled his mouth. She would love that, she said. She was feeling lonely, she missed him.
Yes, he missed her too. She would never know how much.
He was sounding quite romantic, teased the wife. Maybe he should go to more conferences in California.
He laughed and so did she, each feeling pleased with the other as they put their respective phones down.
Next day, Max informed him that his session with Marty had seen an important shift in his attitude; her impression was that he had been able to relax and enjoy himself more. What was his own assessment? Had he felt less pressured?
Ananda said he hadn’t felt so tense, though he didn’t know whether this situation could be replicated in normal life. Perhaps you could lie back and do nothing with a surrogate, but a partner expected more.
There were no rules in sex. In a relationship, he and his partner could work things out in such a way that both received pleasure. It was not all up to him, the things he was learning here were his, to be used in a relationship.
Ananda looked doubtful.
And masturbation, continued Max. What about that?
What about it?
Did he do it? How long did he last?