Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories  May 1990 | issue 174
On Seeing A Sex Surrogate
by Mark O'Brien

Marie told me that she couldn’t let me use her house for the next appointment because she and her lover were going out of town. So I called Neil, a disabled playwright who lives in a large apartment building in my neighborhood. Although I hadn’t known him long, he readily agreed. But he told me that his mattress was on the floor of his bedroom. That worried me because this would make it difficult, perhaps impossible, for an attendant to lift me back into my wheelchair.

On the day of the appointment, Dixie took me to Neil’s building. Neil has a rare disabling condition which impairs his speech, but allows him to stand and hop about on one foot. There he was, standing on one foot beside his wheelchair, which he had parked outside the building’s entrance. Upon seeing us, he plunked himself into his wheelchair and led us to the elevators. Once inside the apartment, Dixie pushed me into the bedroom and eyed the mattress with skepticism, saying that she could easily put me on it but feared that she would hurt her back lifting me later. After a minute of mutual indecision, she picked me up from the wheelchair and set me down on the mattress. After she made sure that I was comfortable, she and Neil left.

I lay there looking at Neil’s clock and wondering whether Cheryl would ever arrive. Neil had told me he would wait for Cheryl outside the building to give her the keys. What if Neil had become bored waiting and left? Was Cheryl coming at all?

After waiting for forty minutes, I heard some noise in the outer room. It was Cheryl, who apologized for being late.

As Cheryl undressed me and herself, I noticed that I wasn’t becoming aroused. I felt proud of my self-control and began to think of myself as a mature, sophisticated man, accustomed to being in a bedroom with a naked woman.

She got into the bed with me and began to stroke my thighs and cock. I climaxed instantly. I loathed myself for coming so soon, in the afterglow of my man-of-the-world fantasies. Undismayed, Cheryl began to stroke me, scratch me, and kiss me slowly. Reminding me of our previous session, she assured me that I could have a second orgasm. She said that she would rub the tip of my cock around her vagina. Then she would put it into her. I couldn’t see what was going on down there and I was too excited to sort out the tactile sensations. Suddenly, I had another orgasm.

“Was I inside of you?” I asked.

“Just for a second,” she said.

“Did you come, too?”

She raised herself and lay beside me.

“No, Mark, I didn’t. But we can try some other time if you want.”

“Yes, I want.”

After she got off the mattress, she took a large mirror out of her tote bag. It was about two feet long and framed in wood. Holding it so that I could see myself, Cheryl asked what I thought of the man in the mirror. I said that I was surprised I looked so normal, that I wasn’t the horribly twisted and cadaverous figure I had always imagined myself to be. I hadn’t seen my genitals since I was six years old. That was when polio struck me, shriveling me below my diaphragm in such a way that my view of my lower body had been blocked by my chest. Since then, that part of me had seemed unreal. But seeing my genitals made it easier to accept the reality of my manhood.

Cheryl was still dressing when Dixie came into the apartment. Dixie dressed me and, lifting me with surprising ease, got me back into the wheelchair. Cheryl told me she would be out of town for a couple of weeks. She looked at her schedule book. “How would the twenty-ninth be for you?”

“It’s ok with me,” I said. “I’ll just have to check with Neil or Marie to see if I can get a place.”

“Well, just leave a message on my machine.”

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