For Gayle, it had been a bad night.
Once she had returned to her house and bedroom, and gone to bed, she had been unable to sleep. Fantasies about this affair—she could only imagine it as an affair, not therapeutic sessions—that Paul was having with the woman named Nan filled her mind. Gayle had no idea what this Nan looked like, or how she behaved, but repeatedly she conjured up a picture of a young woman more attractive than herself and more spontaneously giving.
Lying in bed, trying to find sleep, Gayle was enveloped by the fantasies. Nan's genitals were beautiful, perfect, more lovely than her own. Paul worshipped them. Nan's orgasms were probably better than her own, as was the orgasm he enjoyed that had been induced by her, and there was no way Gayle could compete with such love.
As the night wore on, Gayle tried to banish the fantasies and replace them with reason. This Nan wasn't a normal woman like herself. Nan was there with Paul because she had to be treated for things that were wrong with her. Gayle did not have those things wrong with her. Paul liked Nan, was caring about her, as he should be, but he had unreservedly professed his love for Gayle herself.
Her fantasies had been senseless, she decided. She knew better than that. Love and commitment were not in the crotch but in the heart. Paul loved her from his heart, as she loved him. The problem was not Nan, nor Nan and Paul, but her own jealousy. Yes, Paul meant enough to her to make her feel jealous if he gave any part of himself to another woman. From her earlier sessions with Dr. Freeberg, Gayle knew that jealousy came from a basic insecurity, a therapeutic issue she had thought she had worked out. To expect a totally monogamous relationship was unrealistic. Because total monogamy couldn't exist. Men looked at other women, and women looked at other men. Were flirtatious, and even more. But this did not invalidate their dominant love for one mate. Paul could be allowed his minor side thing with Nan, yet keep Gayle close in his heart as someone he cherished the most.
Having thought that out, she felt more at ease and drowsy. And finally, before dawn, she slept.
When she awakened to the bright sun from behind her curtains, and she saw the hands on her bedside clock, she knew that she had overslept. Not by much, but she was an early riser. Once her head had cleared, she was glad she had caught up on her sleep. She needed rest because she needed all her strength.
There was a trying day that lay ahead of her. First, Adam Demski in the late afternoon. Then, Chet Hunter in the early evening. With each of them, the scheduled exercise was initial penetration. It was crucial and important.
But, she reminded herself, what was also important was to straighten things out with Paul Brandon.
He was, she knew, usually a late sleeper. So the odds were that he might still be home.
Gayle sat up, took the telephone in her lap, and dialed Paul.
Happily, after a few rings, he answered the phone. His voice was fuzzy, but he was there.
"Paul," she said, "it's Gayle. Did I wake you up?"
"Yes. I'm glad you did. I—"
"Let me say something right away, Paul. I am abjectly apologetic. I behaved like a fool last night. Now I can admit why. I was jealous. Green, unalloyed jealousy. I think I was wrong to be. Was I?"
"Gayle, I love you more than anyone and anything on earth."
"The same for me. Paul, will you come over here tonight? Let me make it up to you."
"Can't wait."
"Nine thirty," she said. "I can't wait either."
They were stretched out on the broad mat together, both nude, and Gayle propped herself on an elbow and decided to be direct with Adam Demski.
"If you're wondering what's next, Adam, it's penetration."
She saw concern cross his countenance.
She went on easily. "This will not be the only attempt, Adam. There'll be another—maybe two more. I don't want you becoming nervous and starting to look at yourself as a performer."
"Do you think I can do it?"
"I feel you can. That's why we're going to undertake the exercise. I'll be the dominant partner, the one on top. The exercise is called stuffing and quiet penetration."
"Stuffing?" he said. "What does that . . . ?"
"Let me explain, Adam. Most men think that to achieve intercourse they have to have an erection that is rock hard. Well, that's not true, not true at all."
"It isn't?"
Gayle resumed earnestly. "I'll let you in on a secret, Adam. Intercourse can be accomplished with an almost flaccid penis. If you get only five percent swollen, not one hundred percent, it's enough. Most men prefer the missionary position, themselves on top, because it's more macho. But with this exercise, with me on top, I'll be better able to direct and control what follows. With myself above you, I can use gravity, instead of working against it. We'll start with this soft penetration. Next time or the time after, we'll do the harder penetration, with the male superior and thrusting. But for this time it is me on top."
"I don't know . . ."
"I know. I know you've solved your impotency because I've seen it. I know you can feel pleasure, feel sensuous, and make me feel good, too. Let's not be grim and serious. Let's be playful, have fun. I'm going to ask you to kiss my breasts and run your hands over my body, and then I'm going to caress you all over, including your genitals. I'll tell you when you're ready."
Resignation left Demski's face and made way for interest and curiosity.
Gayle fell back against the pillow. "Adam, touch my breasts, kiss them and the rest of me."
He half rose and began to oblige her.
After minutes of this foreplay, Gayle gently pushed him down on his back and began to run her fingers over his face, his chest, allowing them to play across his upper thighs. Then at last she began to play with his testicles and stroke his penis.
She could feel his penis enlarging, not to a fully erect position, but definitely enlarging.
It was enough, she decided. "Lie quietly, Adam, and don't move."
Gracefully, she mounted him, taking his barely swollen penis in the fingers of one hand and directing it to her vagina. Slowly, easily, she began putting the penis into her vulva, and she could feel his small shaft inside her. "Remember The Clock, Adam? When you used your finger inside me? Now it's your penis inside me."
"I'm not sure I'm in you."
"Okay, I'll prove you are." Astride him, Gayle tightened her inner vaginal muscles. "Did you feel that?"
"And how!"
"No moving, Adam. No thrusting or trying to perform. This exercise should accomplish no more than prove to you that you can get inside me. The real purpose is not to perform but to get you used to being potent enough to enter me, to have your penis in a woman's vagina in a non-threatening, non-demanding situation. The whole idea is to let you know that you can get enough of an erection to enter a woman and to sustain that erection inside her. How does it feel?"
"Good, very good."
Although she tried to teach her patients not to be detached, Gayle made herself become detached in these moments. She wanted to be a spectator to his reaction.
They had been motionless for some time, and inside her vulva, she could feel him softening and receding slightly.
So as not to let him lose what had been gained, not undermine his confidence, she whispered, "Okay, Adam, you can move a little if you want to."
"I want to."
"Go ahead. Back and forth a few times. It may make you come. If it does, don't worry. That would be natural."
Her thighs closed on him as he began to move inside her. For an instant, she felt his penis grow more rigid, and he moved faster, and then he came, gurgling with pleasure.
Later, when he was showered and dressed, and she had her robe on, she saw him to the door.
In the doorway, he turned and pecked a kiss at her. "I think you made me do it. Or sort of do it."
"Oh, you did it, all right. You got a solid passing grade. Definitely a B plus." She kissed him in return, lightly. "Next time, look for something much more."
"Adam, I promise you an A."
After she had douched and bathed, Gayle slipped into a fresh robe, in time to show Chet Hunter inside.
As they walked through the hallway to her therapy room, she could see that Hunter was more nervous and tense than usual.
Settling on the mat while he undressed, Gayle asked him if he had done his homework.
"Just like teacher told me." He took off his jacket carefully and placed it on the couch. "It's not much fun alone."
"Immediate fun is not the purpose," Gayle told him, "but it'll get you ready for fun."
"I hope so."
"Well, did it work?"
"Sure it did. I got myself to an erection, and when I felt I'd ejaculate, I stopped and squeezed. I did it maybe four or five times."
"Very good," said Gayle.
Hunter had taken off all his clothes. "What I want to know is, when does the real thing happen?"
"Now."
His grim expression disappeared. "You mean right now? You mean we're going to have sexual intercourse?"
"Penetration," Gayle corrected him. "What we call soft penetration—meaning not that you'll be soft, but we'll go at it slowly, to get you used to being inside me but holding back."
"Great."
"As long as you can hold off from prematurely ejaculating, we'll continue the squeeze technique together. You'll see how effective it is."
"I'm ready when you are. Can we start now?"
"Certainly. Let's lie down together and take turns caressing each other until you get an erection."
"That won't take long, honey." He was staring at her breasts. "Once I touch those boobs, I'll be sky-high."
"Fine. Then you remain on your back and let me get on top."
"Wait a sec! I'm not used to having a woman on top. What's the idea?"
"The idea is to make it easier for you to hold back. Less chance for you to move and ejaculate."
"I don't see that," he protested.
"You will, Chet, believe me. Once you have your erection, just stay put while I straddle you. If you feel you can't restrain yourself, let me know at once. I'll apply the squeeze and retard your ejaculation, and then I'll caress you until you're ready again."
"That doesn't sound much like penetration to me."
"We'll get to your kind of penetration when I tell you. For starters, after you're inside me, and you feel like having an orgasm, let me know, and we'll keep applying the squeeze technique and letting you penetrate until you can stay inside me for five minutes. Remember, once inside me, if you feel like ejaculating quickly, don't wait—tell me, and I'll prevent it."
"Whatever you say."
Gayle took him by the arm. "Now, let's lie down together and touch each other, taking turns."
Once they were side by side on the mat, Gayle began to stroke him, moving her fingers past his genitals to avoid exciting him too soon. After a while, she lay back and indicated that Hunter could caress her.
When Hunter's hand reached her breasts, and as he had predicted, his erection was instantaneous. She could feel it against her.
She peered down. Full erection. No problem there. What happened next would confront the problem. But Gayle was experienced with such cases, and confident.
"All right, lie back, Chet, and let me do the rest."
Obediently, he dropped into a supine position, and Gayle rose to her knees and gently mounted him. She inched closer to him until the top of his penis brushed her pubic hair.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
His eyes were shut, his expression distorted. "Like coming . . . I feel like—"
Immediately, her hand darted down to the head of his penis, catching it between three fingers and pressing.
"Dammit," he said as his penis went limp, "I could have made it."
"You wouldn't have," Gayle counseled him. "But you will."
"When?"
"Be patient. Tonight. Now, let's start over."
Still astride him, Gayle's fingers fluttered around his face, neck, chest. Automatically, he reached up for her breasts over him. At once, his penis began to swell and rise.
Again she directed his penis toward her vagina, and once again he warned her he was about to ejaculate.
She caught him and squeezed and retarded his orgasm.
The process started all over again and went on for at least ten minutes. Each time she brought him closer and closer to her vagina, and each time she prevented a premature ejaculation.
Lying there, she could feel him relax, his muscles loosening. "I'm about wiped," he said. "I'm beginning to think I can't—"
"You can," she interrupted quietly. "You will, Chet."
Slowly, she caressed and stroked him once more. This time it took longer to revive his flaccid member. After ten minutes, after massaging her breasts, he began to grow larger below.
When he had achieved a full erection, she lowered herself on it, let his shaft glide completely into her vagina. She could almost hear the seconds ticking by . . . Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. "Don't move," she whispered, "and be sure to let me—"
But that moment, he moved, and his body began shaking and trembling beneath her, and she sat still, feeling his orgasm explode inside her.
When it was over, and he stretched beneath her, spent, she slipped to his side and she smiled. "Well, I'd say it was a good start, Chet."
"I was actually in there all the way, wasn't I?"
"Penetration for real."
"But not long enough. I got too excited—I couldn't hold back, didn't have time to tell you."
"Still, you did what you couldn't do before."
He looked up at her. "Sexual intercourse."
"Yes, and it will get better, be of greater duration, if you continue to do your homework."
Sitting up, he asked, "What's our goal, Gayle?"
"The average male—the average—usually has intercourse before orgasm for five to seven minutes. We're going to keep on until you can do ten minutes. After that, you graduate. You'll make someone very happy."
"Yeah, someone," he said, nodding, "someone'll be very happy, that's for sure."
At nine thirty that evening, after there had been no response to the doorbell, Paul Brandon used his key to enter Gayle's house.
Going into the bedroom, he found Gayle in bed and sound asleep. He bent closer to her to make sure, and heard her shallow breathing. She was gone for the night.
After studying her beautiful face in the innocent repose of sleep, Brandon shook his head. It was hopeless, he told himself, being in love with a female sex surrogate. Why couldn't it have been someone average he'd fallen in love with, like a woman spy or a marathon runner or another man's wife?
Why a female sex surrogate, of all things?
She spelled only trouble.
With a sigh, he put down the box of candy he'd brought her, left, and went out into the darkened night.
Chapter VIII
It was while Nan Whitcomb was wrapped in his bathrobe awaiting her crucial exercise—penetration—that Brandon, entering the bedroom to remove his clothes, was startled by the ringing of the telephone.
Usually, Brandon turned down his phones before an exercise was about to begin, but unaccountably he had forgotten to do so before Nan's arrival. Well, accountably, perhaps, he told himself, because his mind was still occupied by thoughts of his failure to make contact with Gayle last night, and by his apprehension of what immediately lay ahead with Nan.
The phone was still ringing, and since Nan had just gone into the bathroom, Brandon felt safe in picking it up.
The voice on the other end was Gayle's. "Paul? Am I disturbing you?"
"Not at all."
"I'm just waking up completely, and my head's a little cobwebby—but I found the candy and have a feeling that you were here last night. Were you?"
Brandon smiled to himself. "Well, as they say, if a tree falls in a forest, and no one hears it, did that tree real
ly fall in the forest? Well, my dear, I fell at your feet last night, but no one heard me. Was I there? Yes, I was there."
Gayle sounded stricken. "You were? Oh, dear God, forgive me. I'm truly sorry. I dozed off on you."
"You were exhausted, so it's understandable."
"Do forgive me. I wanted to be with you. Paul, how can I make it up to you?"
"By being with me tonight. Why don't I pick you up for dinner? That is, if you won't be too tired?"
"I won't be tired tonight. I'm just having my hair done this afternoon."
"Let's say I come by at seven thirty. I'll have a reservation at Restaurant Lapin Agile. French, but still casual."
"I'll be ready."
"Can't wait."
He hung up, turned off the sound on the telephone, then quickly turned off the sound on his two extension phones and hastened back to the bedroom to get ready for the reappearance of Nan Whitcomb.
He had taken off the last of his clothes when he saw Nan, still wearing his terry cloth robe, standing in the bedroom doorway observing him lovingly.
Slowly, almost teasingly, she unbelted the white robe and slipped out of it. Casting it aside, briefly allowing him to take in her nudity, she advanced toward him. As she approached him, he became aware that she had sprayed herself with some kind of exotic-smelling perfume. She kissed him on the cheek and proceeded to the bed, where she sat down.
"Today's the day, isn't it?"
Momentarily, Brandon felt unnerved. She was treating this session like a long-awaited honeymoon night. "Yes, it is."
"Penetration," she said softly.
He tried to strengthen his resolve to remind her, after it was over, that they were not lovers but teacher and patient, and that soon her therapy would be finished and their relationship would end.
"Non-demand penetration," he emphasized. "You are not expected to respond."
She didn't pout, but the movement of her bony neck and shoulders had the effect of pouting. "Why non-demand?"
"Because this exercise is to prove to you that you can again be entered totally and without pain, and nothing else has to be proved."
The Celestial Bed Page 21
