by Manju Kapur
Ananda was horrified. Of course he didn’t do it. He had stopped once he reached college.
Many people suffered guilt over masturbation, observed Carla sorrowfully.
No, Ananda said, he did not suffer guilt. It was something he had outgrown, that was all.
Sexuality was not something one outgrew.
Perhaps, but masturbation was.
That was the traditional view. But it was just another form of sexuality. Besides it was good practice, when he was giving himself pleasure, he had to please no one.
That evening when Ananda heard this tape, he felt he was on the verge of an important breakthrough. Another form of sexuality, giving himself pleasure, it was not all up to him. The words floated through his head inducing a strange state of languor. Sexual feeling flowed through him, he felt young, untrammelled, free.
Two hours later, numbed by the time difference between the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, Ananda drifted off to sleep.
One week was over, and he still hadn’t had what he considered sex. When he raised this point, both Carla and Max laughed. Of course he was having sex, it was all sex, every bit of it. The stroking, the touching, the myriad physical sensations. Had he enjoyed himself? Yes, he had. Then he was having a successful sexual experience. There were no goals in sex, they repeated, no point to be reached, nothing to be achieved; the journey was the destination, from the first step on.
Suppose, he queried, he had a partner who did not understand this? Who only focused on the duration of penetration?
If necessary, they could do a one week session together. It would be very detrimental to the treatment if she persisted in this attitude. They could not answer for the consequences.
On the seventh day Marty sat on him, assuring him all the while that all he had to do was enjoy himself, feel the sensations. She interspersed her thrusting with holding his penis in a tight grip, a technique developed by Masters and Johnson and very effective. She taught it to him, so he could practise it during masturbation. During sex he could teach it to his partner as well; she knew of PE cases where the client managed to last the whole night just doing this.
What would Nina think, where had he learned all this from? He would have to tell her. Openness was the key to a good relationship, he knew, but he didn’t want to face questions or recrimination. It was his life. Besides, she had told him he needed help.
Marty sensed his attention was wandering, and the inevitable tell me what you are thinking followed.
‘I am thinking,’ he said, ‘that it might be a bit difficult to explain all this to a partner. She may not agree to—you know—do it quite your way.’
Marty smiled. ‘Trust me, if she truly loves you she will. It will do wonders to your relationship. My boyfriend also had a little bit of this problem. I didn’t mind, but it really bothered him. He worried about it so much that we went in for couple treatment—and he has never looked back. So I speak from experience.’
‘Your boyfriend?’
‘Yeah. Never looked back.’
‘No, but doesn’t he mind?’
‘Mind what?’
‘This. What you do?’ How to put it without insulting her? ‘Isn’t he jealous of your contact with other men?’
Marty was made of sterner stuff. She was in a therapeutic situation and paid to not mind anything.
‘It does bother him. But he also understands I’m in a caring profession. I want to help other people.’
There must be other ways, was his intuitive Indian thought, but hey Andy, she’s helping you, is she not? Somebody has to do these things, otherwise how would men get over PE, how would the world function?
‘Still, I can understand his objections. I don’t think I would like my wife—when I have one—to be a sex therapist.’
Marty smiled and said no more.
Next day, Max asked him whether he associated sex with shame? In certain cultures this was normal, but he needed to be aware of what he felt.
Ananda denied everything.
Then Carla asked him whether he had a problem with female sexuality; did he consider it on par with men’s?
As a doctor, of course he knew it was on par with men’s.
Did he have any problems with Marty’s role in his treatment, did he consider her a cheap woman, like a whore?
Of course she would have told them, that was part of the structure, so though Ananda felt betrayed, he was not surprised. ‘What did Marty tell you?’
‘Only that you thought her boyfriend might have issues with her work. Were you putting yourself in his place? Transference is quite common.’
How he wished he had never opened his mouth. They would think he was not progressive, just another backward, conservative Indian.
There is no emotional right or wrong, but it is essential that we recognise our feelings. For example he might feel uncomfortable with a woman’s expressing herself sexually, many traditions equated this with looseness. Being aware would help him deal with it, and he had to deal with it because it interfered with pleasure.
Ananda said he was not sure he agreed with them.
They replied that he didn’t have to agree with anything. But he should give these matters serious consideration.
While listening to this tape Ananda wondered whether he was old-fashioned. He didn’t feel old-fashioned. The fact that he was doing this therapy meant he was an open, enlightened man. There were some things that Carla and Max could not understand, understanding and sympathetic though they were.
Two weeks later Ananda’s therapy ended. He has lasted almost twenty minutes inside Marty. Dr Hansen assured him that his present condition would be permanent as long as he continued to follow the techniques they had taught him. His three thousand dollars had been well spent. Flushed with achievement, he set off for the long journey home. He felt there was a sexual world waiting to be conquered; the prowess he had not had as a bachelor was now his. Nevertheless, the timing of the whole thing was a bit unfortunate. He wanted to test himself in a wider arena, but he had to make sure his wife never got to know. He loved her, but his grief over his sexual ineptness had a much longer history.
xi
Nina hadn’t realised how much she was going to miss Ananda. In this country he was her anchor. Along with the missing, however, came uneasiness. On the phone he was simultaneously loving and evasive, especially once the conference week was over. He refused to give her the friend’s telephone number; she might disturb the household, he would call instead. Was he really in California? She just had his word for it.
She brooded over his behaviour during daily walks that grew progressively longer as her mind grew more disturbed. The short chilly days lent themselves well to her moody shuffling down the sidewalk and into Point Pleasant Park. In the Park she looked at all the dead leaves on the ground, brown, damp, shrivelled, waiting to decompose into the earth and give up their leafy natures. If Ananda was having an affair somewhere with an ex-patient during an assignation that lasted two whole weeks, what would happen to her? Should she return home, announcing her failure to her former world? No, anything was better than that. He would have to give her alimony, she would move out. The cement of children was lacking in this marriage.
The wind whistled past her ears and tore at her bent head. Her hair whipped across her eyes. How much colder would it get, she wondered. When would it snow?
The whole country is air conditioned Ananda had said. What would he say in winter? The whole country is a refrigerator? Let’s sell ours and put the food in the snow; we can save so much money.
On the last day of Ananda’s absence, Nina got a job. It was perhaps inevitable that her trips to the library would coincide, sooner or later, with a notice announcing the need for part-time help. She gazed at this notice lovingly—an answer to a prayer, another gift from the library—knowing in her heart that this job was meant for her. She was directed downstairs to the head librarian.
Here she put on her charm, ‘I come almost every
day, this is my home away from home. I used to teach literature in India, now I am getting to know Canadian authors. I am working my way through the stacks, and I would love to unite my knowledge of books with more practical experience.’
This kind of job usually went to graduate students, was Nina sure she would be happy with something so temporary?
Nina was absolutely sure, couldn’t be surer.
A few more questions, and the job was hers. It would eat into her time with Ananda at home, but maybe in the new dispensation that would not matter so much. She wondered how he would take the news.
In the meantime Ananda was flying back. It was Saturday, his head was full of his treatment. In the past two weeks, he had experienced more sexual fulfilment than in his whole lifetime. His suitcase was crammed with books Max and Carla had recommended. Perhaps Nina would be interested in reading them. She was a reader after all, and it would allay her fears. In the last week she had been suspicious, demanding to know his phone number, asking him whether he was having an affair, what was the matter, why was he sounding strange?
Nina was waiting for him impatiently. As soon as he entered, she threw her arms around him—where were you really? Why did you sound so peculiar, now tell me the truth.
His own grip tightened, he murmured, I love you, don’t get hassled, and carried her to bed. They pulled each other’s clothes off. He introduced his penis to her, her old friend and betrayer. Look, this is how you have to hold it.
Why, she demanded.
He told her in the briefest possible manner. I went for sex therapy, I didn’t tell you, I felt embarrassed, also I wasn’t sure how humiliating it might be for you, but see, see, it’s working, it’s working. Already I’ve been three minutes inside.
The sudden information, the realisation that her suspicions were partially justified, the penetration that lasted longer than it ever had, the squeezing of the penis that she now had to do; all this was too much for Nina to absorb.
I am not going to touch it. Why didn’t you tell me? You were lying.
Though she tried to break away from him, he held her tightly. She was naked, and he caressed her over and over—sorry, sorry, I had to do it by myself, don’t you see, I was so scared I wouldn’t succeed. It’s been like this for so long.
He put her hand back where it belonged. Tell me, he said, if the end does not justify the means.
She gave a reluctant giggle.
They had sex all weekend.
Ananda kept an eye on the clock next to the bed informing her each time of the minutes he had lasted. Nina was so relieved, pleased and startled by his performance that she was initially quite enthusiastic about his sense of achievement.
Monday morning came. Ananda departed for his clinic, leaving Nina with the whole day to go over what had happened to him, to her, to their marriage. He had staying power, demonstrated twice on Saturday, then twice more on Sunday.
How often had she longed for this? Her body felt sated, its agitation calmed. She moved around the apartment, tidying, putting things away, thinking of dinner, of how she had even forgotten to tell Ananda about her job.
She opened his suitcase to make sure it was empty before putting it away, and there, lying in it, were several books. Slowly she picked up the fattest, Male Sexuality, by one of America’s leading sex therapists said the blurb.
There were many sections. Male arousal, female arousal, myths about the rock hard penis, better communication = better sex, what to keep away from the bedroom, doing what she wants, doing what you want, breathing exercises, relaxation techniques, masturbation, assertive sex, premature ejaculation, getting what you want out of sex. Scattered through the book were examples of men with problems, and how the sex therapist had helped them.
Nina closed the book and stared at the cloud serrated sky for a long time. Like fertility, sex was another country.
The book certainly gave her more insight into Ananda’s problem than Ananda himself had been able to do. Curiously she picked up the next one, Together Always. This one, concerned with dysfunctional sexuality, exuded firm and resolute hope. Dr Epstein maintained it was possible to have a good sex life even with premature ejaculation, even with infertility, even if one was non-orgasmic, even through vaginal dryness and pain, even if arousal stages were vastly different. Human beings were not like animals, they came with their own histories and traumas. And the first place any trauma exhibited itself, in its full glory, was sex.
The first place.
The last book, a thinner, more lightweight volume, Couples in Bed, had a cover illustration of a beaming man and woman lying under a sheet, bodies entwined, emanating satisfaction and happiness. She opened it. Anal sex, erogenous zones, oral sex, communicating about sex, stroking, massaging, this is ok, that is ok, everything is ok if both of you want it.
As with the other book there was an emphasis on communication along with a great many examples. Good sex meant a good life. She couldn’t bear it.
He had gone about the whole thing in such a secretive manner, with his talk of conferences and root canals. That did not seem like very good communication to her.
The books talked about sex and sex therapy with partners. What had it been like with a surrogate, she wondered. He had been gone for two weeks, had he had sex every day with someone else? That was more than they had ever managed to do.
So it was more unusual alone. What did this say about him that he had preferred it this way? The depth of his insecurity, or the depth of his desire to shield her from the prying eyes of doctors? He must have known she was willing to do whatever it took to have satisfying sex. After all, she had suggested couple therapy, but instead of seeing Masters and Johnson together in St Louis, he had preferred to go alone to Max and Carla in California. Ananda’s rationalization, that he did not want to expose her to humiliation, made no sense. That decision should have been hers. On the other hand, he did have more staying power, so why was she looking a gift horse in the mouth? Surely it was wise to quietly accept this improved situation, rather than spoil it with questions.
Ananda came home beaming. He threw off his coat and came to embrace her. He had missed her all day, he said nuzzling her neck. Her smell lingered on him, he hadn’t showered that morning because of its fragrance.
Nina was not capable of holding onto grievances in these circumstances. He was so much more open and genial, it was amazing. Seeing the change in him made her realise how heavy his burden must have been. They cooked together, they laughed. She told him about her job, he was delighted. He wanted to hear all about the interview, he was sure she had made a good impression. It was gratifying to know that all her reading had come in useful.
After dinner they made love. She felt close to him, lying in his arms, marvelling once more at the change in his performance.
Again her thoughts went to the surrogate. What had she done? Maybe if she knew, she would be able to do the same for him, so that he would not have to lie so much. It was her wifely duty, and now was the time to bring up this issue, before time had dulled its lustre and forgetfulness set in.
His face was pressed against her shoulder, his hand was slack over her breast.
‘What was the surrogate like?’
The hand tightened a bit. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Was she good in bed?’
‘Sexual acrobatics was not the point.’
‘Did you feel attracted to her?’
‘No.’
‘Then?’
‘It was a professional relationship. Attraction did not enter the picture.’
‘But surely it’s necessary.’
‘You don’t have to like the face of your doctor.’
‘Still you were able to have sex with her? What exactly did you do?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘So we can do the same things here and you never have this problem again.’
‘She wanted to know how I felt.’
‘Well, so do I,’ said Nina,
sounding a little offended.
‘It was different.’
‘How? You’re not telling me how.’
He lost his temper. ‘It’s obvious how. Sex with your wife can’t be the same as sex with a total stranger in a medical situation.’
Vague terms. She withdrew a little from him, his hands on her body heavy blocks of stone.
‘You read so much, why don’t you read about the role of surrogates in sexual therapy?’
‘Right. All the books you have brought home talk of the importance of couples in this kind of therapy, the importance of trust and understanding.’
Ananda crossed his arms on his chest and stared at the ceiling. Nina felt annoyed. Here she was, trying to be understanding, and he refused to reciprocate. ‘Isn’t a prostitute also a sexual professional?’ she asked.
He had not expected his wife to be so narrow-minded, she was the one who had nagged him to seek help, and now she quarrelled with the form it had taken. It looked to him as though she had some kind of ego problem.
Sadly, it seemed to her that even good sex did not ensure a happiness beyond the act. She should not have said anything, confining communication to the non-verbal was perhaps the best thing at this stage. Maybe he hadn’t had time to read his books yet.
They did go to sleep, with a rift between them they felt uncomfortable about, but did not know how to remove.
After that night husband and wife observed a truce. Nina did employ the techniques that Ananda had demonstrated on the day of his arrival, he did show her the books he had brought back. Read them if you like.
Meanwhile he timed himself. As a confidence building measure it was essential, he told her.
When it came to counting his thrusts inside her, she rebelled. Ananda, it is about love, it’s not only about performance. Even those books say so. She quoted chapter and verse. ‘See?’ she said, flipping the pages and finding the section, ‘see what it says.’
‘And see,’ he said pointing to another section, ‘where it says how to put your partner off. Criticise his needs. Undermine his self-esteem.’
‘I don’t do that.’