The Surrogate

Aimee sat tensely on the butt. Her muscles were almost shaking from tension. The blood had left her face. Her face was tense and pale. She heard a lone car engine driving down the street. She counted the clouds. It was an overcast day.

Then, her iPhone vibrated softly. George had responded with a candid shot of his flaccid penis.

"There you go, Aimee. In your life, you will get lots of penis shots. Men are kind of obsessed with sending those. You can just ignore it. It's strange behavior that eventually goes away."

"But, what do I do? The cleaning man has seen me now half naked and haunts me with his penis."

"Just smile and pretend like nothing had happened. We will pick you the right guy later. The time is almost over. We have to do one last thing. We have to burn your old panties and bra. They are only holding you back."

James walked her out onto the patio. A round, black barbeque stood there. She put her skin colored underwear into the filthy white ash. There was a little swirl of ash. He sprayed way too much lighter fuel on it. With a thrown match, he lit up the pile. The flames immediately licked two feet high in bright yellow-orange. After ten seconds, the flash was gone. The lighter fluid had been used up. A low blue flame turned the bra into black liquid plastic that melted into a ball of goo.

She walked out of the practice with the new sexy lingerie under her office garb.

A week later at 2:55 PM, Aimee wore shiny yellow and purple Jordan sneakers. Her workout pants were bright red with white stripes. On top, she wore a matching workout jacket with a small zipper. The workout clothes were so new that they were still stiff and had sales rack fold marks. More life pulsed through her face. Her index finger zipped straight forward to push the door bell. The heavy Burmese sounding gong echoed through the rooms inside.

James was dressed in a business casual shirt and khakis from an office visit to present his services to a new psychologist in the neighborhood. The hair was slicked back with product to provide a shiny flat surface on top of his head.

"Aimee, good to see. I see your erotic thread showing stronger today. And, you look like you started with a personal trainer. Tell me, how has George reacts?"

"George has been smiling extra intense, every morning that I walk through the lobby. And, he keeps trying to give me candy, food, and coffee. Every afternoon, he comes by my desk. Yesterday, he brought me very sugary candy from Mexico. And, then he just stands there with his round face and the short stubbly hair. He looks and smiles."

"Aimee, this may sound cruel. However, to open up your sex appeal, you have to feel confident. You can't be obligated to act nice. The same psychological bond that keeps you from expressing your sexy self is the bond that keeps you acting nice. You have to give George a cruel rejection."

"But, he is so nice. He hasn't done anything."

"See that is the what we call the nice-itis talking. You have to get over that. There is no crutch to smooth talk it or make it acceptable. You have to do something that you find very unacceptable. Period."

"That's really hard."

"Next time you see him, tell him 'Don't embarrass yourself. You didn't think you could get any of this?' Then just walk. That's very important. It's like a smart bomb. You drop 'em and don't hang around: Did it really explode? No, just leave and let it sting."

"I can't do that. He is going to cry."

"Okay, let practice. Tell me."

Aimee's eyes rolled round. Her body faced the wall. Her shoulders tried to roll off the uncomfortable feeling. She mumbled: "Don't embarrass yourself. You didn't think that you could get any of this?"

"What, I can't hear you."

With a little firmer tone and less mushy body posture, she repeated: "Don't embarrass yourself. You didn't think that you could get any of this?"

"Sweetheart, you don't mean it. You love me."

With a firm voice and her body digging into the ground with each inhale, she raised her voice: "Don't embarrass yourself. You didn't think that you could get any of this?"

James kneeled down and put his hands on his eyes as if he were crying: "Why?"

Aimee stomped her foot on the ground in a spontaneous jolt that even startled her. With her index finger wagging into the air, she screamed: "Don't embarrass yourself. You didn't think that you could get any of this?" Then, she walked into the bathroom.

James clapped his hands to congratulate her.

"Come on back. It's time to do an exercise."

Aimee returned from the bathroom.

"Today, we are going to focus on your relationship with your vagina. Vagina is very clinical. I want you to think of it in a warmer and fuzzier term. Pussy is an adorable name for it. Cootchie has a very cute ring to it. Snatch is bolder and rawer. Man trap is a bit feisty and over the top."

"Why do I need to pick a name? It is such a nasty place."

Aimee's face turned in disgust.

"That's your love cave," exclaimed James.

"No, it's a dirty pee hole. There are urine drops smeared to it. There is always this white sticky goo that traps all the dirt into black dirt bunnies. The flaps are wrinkled skin hanging around. It's so close to the stinky ass. It's a waste hole."

"Okay, Aimee, lets address your relationship with your sex. Loving your pussy is the foundation for having orgasms. A positive relationship with your pussy is the foundation for a fulfilling sex life, which is the foundation for a romantic relationship. Phew, that's a lot of pressure, huh?"

"I don't see, how you can find anything positive. It's just a hole that traps germs, liquids, and smells."

"Okay, let's take a deep breath here. This is a big issue. And, I can assure you that we will get through this together. Let's take your clothes off and have a look."

Aimee peeled one layer after the next off her body. Her movements showed that her new found pep had disappeared into defeat. James watched her unzip the workout jacket. He watched her grab the t-shirt by the sides to pull it over the head. The black and red lingerie showed. The workout pants came off. The g-string rolled into a bunch on the way down her meaty thighs.

Her vagina was rosy. The vulva lips were neither complete potato wedges nor meat curtains. They were in between. A bit of a meat curtain was hanging there, yet barely enough to show the ruffles in the curtain and the textured lips with many tiny creases in a cross hatch pattern. Her areolas were extra wide and almost filled half the area of her breast. Her nipples themselves were tiny little knobs.

"Let's wash your va-jay-jay in the bathroom. You'd be surprised about how many women never paid attention to this intimate place."

They walked into the bathroom. The bathroom was white. Everything was neat. There were no shampoo bottles or anything standing around. The only thing outside of the drawer and under-sink-cabinet were ultra soft luxurious towels, white and highlighted with a colorful stitched emblems. The bathroom had a meticulously clean toilet and bidet in the corner.

"You have two toilets. Is that for couples to do their business together?"

"No, this is a bidet. Have you seen a bidet before?"

"No."

"A bidet is kind of like a mini bathtub to wash your intimate areas. The word is French and means pony, because one sits down in it like on a pony. See, here is a central fountain that will shoot water up."

While James lathered his arms in a white sheen of soap up to the elbow, Aimee carefully explored sitting down in the bidet. Her butt sank beneath the lid. The white porcelain felt unfamiliarly cold to her ass, her ass that had never made contact with anything in public. She felt herself a bit helplessly slumped into the bidet. She looked up at James with big puppy eyes, who looked down at her lightly amused like watching Bambi making its first steps.

James kneeled next to the bidet. Aimee felt helpless and left her sex presented like a slave on the village auction podium -- for all to see and exam. There were a few black cotton balls at the side in the vulva and thigh crease. There was a bit of vaginal discharge that had clotted into something thick and white. The hood of the clitoris was larger than that of the average woman.

Carefully, with his bare hands, James glided the pads of his fingers in between the inner and outer lip. While he kept explaining to Aimee her own anatomy, his fingers pulled back the clitoris hood. His fingers continued to separate and spread the vagina open. His finger poked inside of her. Aimee intently and very silently listened. The butt cheeks were a bit sticky from sweat and a musk smell. James leaned two inches close to her nether region to report on the aroma of the smell: A little naughty ass flavor, a little stale fishy, and also her own unique cinnamon like pussy smell.

The following water stream from the fountain beneath was soft nothing like the jet stream that one would have expected of a cleansing operation. James' full hand lifted soothing warm water onto the lower part of her belly to flow down her clitoris, vagina, and drizzle off her ass into the bidet. Two drops of liquid soap quickly frothed into a thick foam bath of tiny bubbles. The foam beard was washed off expertly. James fingers trailed through all the little grooves to produce a squeaky clean pussy.

Her face had received a dreamy expression from listening to all the soft handling in her sensitive region. He handed her a hand towel to dry off and helped her to stand. Tame like a lamb she followed him into the practice room. He had her sit naked at her side, while he remained fully dressed in his business clothes.

"Next, we are going to do an art exercise. To get familiar with your vagina, I'll have you draw it. You will notice that with increased time looking at it, your vagina will endear itself to you. It's a natural process that as we observe something, we start to like it."

"So, here is a hand mirror, so that you can see yourself. Here is an artist pad and a pencil. This is a view finder. It's just a cardboard paper with a square cut in the middle."

"Almost none of my clients are artists. So, here is a really simple technique that lets you get creative without getting into your head."

"Make marks in the middle of the sides of the paper. Now, imagine the paper split into four quadrants divided by the marks. You are going to draw each quadrant individually. That way, you don't think about the whole thing with your mind, but get lost in the details."

"Here is where the view finder comes in. Hold it between your eye and the vagina, so that it covers the three quadrants that you are not drawing. See, now your vagina is already a flat image. All you have to do is measure."

"Notice how your clitoris is a third from the top of the hole in the viewfinder and a quarter to the left. Find that same place on your pad. Now, notice the shadow on the far side of the clitoris. See, if you can get that shape accurately and really darken the paper with the pen. See, it's just measuring with the view finder and transferring."

Aimee captured the details of her clitoral hood: the round curve on top, the little bit of clitoris lurking out, the triangular shadow beneath it. She detailed all the folds of her labia, the shadow on her thighs. She got the dark shape in between her vaginal lips. She counted all the curls in her meat curtain. There were three waves in it. By and by, the painting of her nether region turned beautiful for someone, who had given up painting after elementary school. And, she fell in love with it, adored her va-jay-jay.

James had patiently observed her face get focused, relax, smile, and grow a happy glow to it. Aimee was lying on her back with a pillow behind her neck. Her knees were up at an angle. The notepad's bottom edge of sharp papers was pushing against her left breast, where she rested it. The pink rimmed hand mirror was put in place with a pile of the bed sheets.

"Great job, Aimee! Your vagina and your drawing both look beautiful."

"Are you ready for the next level?"

He looked at her expectantly with the eye brows raised. She smiled back at him warmly and mellowed out from the day's therapy activity.

"We are going to practice masturbating. That's very clinical. 'Making love' or 'reaching enlightenment' are much better words to use."

James dropped sandalwood scent therapy out of a tiny vial into a ceramic water bowl. A tea candle glowed beneath the water bowl. He pushed play on the tiny CD player. Soothing and Arabic inspired music played. He placed a bottle of clear lubricant with a baby pink cap next to her.

"I am going to talk you through a guided masturbation now. To have a wonderful orgasm means to spread the feeling through your whole body, not just your vagina. Take your fingers and rub your ears. Lead your index fingers through all the little groves. This is actually reflexology."

"Gently, let your hands glide to your neck. Play with different sensation. Try firm rubbing of the muscles and alternate with soft sensual strokes of the skin. Mix in a bit finger scratching or even digging."

James looked over her naked butt. Her body was hefty. Yet, the sensual curves and feeling started to emanate from her body. It was hard to believe that she had been a tough business woman with pleasure and her body completely shut off. Now she was lying fully exposed and playing with her body.

"What am I doing with neck? I don't feel anything special."

"Well, the Japanese consider the neck an erogenous zone. That's why the kimonos cover the neck like Western clothes cover the breast. Taoist monks allegedly can trigger orgasms by merely touching the neck."

"Move your hands down to your nipples. Try circles. Try distributing spit around your areola to create a cool stimulating feeling. Try pinches. You can even try some slaps."

Aimee groped her hefty breasts with both hands like a farmer that works the dirt. She gave them a smack with an intently bitten lip. The mammary tissue in her breasts jiggled. She'd be good at titty fucking thought James' drifting mind.

"Now, run circles with your fingers on your inner size. Alternating scratching up and caressing down is especially stimulating there."

Red streaks of her fingers glowed up a few seconds after each scratch, until her whole inner thighs were reddening.

"Your whole body is warmed up. Take some of the lube and distribute it over the outside of your vagina. Make nice strokes up and down."

Aimee obediently drizzled lube on her hands. Her vagina became glistening and slick. Drops of wet formed on the sheet. Her body remained still.

"James, with all the stroking and caressing, I don't feel anything. I don't see how any of this is going to make me orgasm or aroused. It's just handling like baggage at the airport."

"Trust the process. If you haven't masturbated, your mind does not know how to orgasm. You will suddenly notice that you have been turned on all along. You just didn't realize what feeling you had to look for."

Aimee said, "Okay." Her hand continued rubbing her pussy up and down. Her eyes were wide open looking at the ceiling. After a few strokes, James noticed how she placed more pressure on the downward stroke. A few more strokes, and her hand curved a little more on the upward stroke to lift her vagina up. She was on her way to learn how she had to move her hand to get off.

"Try pressing the base of your palm against your pubic bones. Do small circles with a lot of pressure to move the skin over the bone."

A sultry sigh escaped her mouth like an exhale gone strange. "Oh, I am so sorry. I didn't realize what my lungs were doing."

"This is what we want. You are getting turned on."

"I am getting turned on? This is what it means to be aroused. Interesting," Aimee kept blabbering to herself, while her eyes were turned still due to her intense focus on her inner feelings.

"Aimee, try the tip of your fingers on your vagina and move them very swiftly back and force. You'll notice that you have to learn to get the pressure just right."

"Oh, ah, wow, this is intense."

"My, my legs are tingling," Aimee breathed the words heavily out of breath. "Is this supposed to happen."

"That, that was nice. That was kind of like eating Lake Chamberlain chocolate, only so much more."

"Excellent job, Aimee! Now that you can get there by yourself, let me show you a few strokes."

James skilled hand caressed the spot between her clitoris and entrance with just the right speed and intensity. He deliberately pushed his index finger inside and outside of her while his thumb pushed down onto the clitoris in circles.

"Wow, James, can I take your hands home. You are so much better than I am!"

"Don't worry Aimee, with practice you will be able to touch yourself better than anybody else can. I know that you are a very cognitive learner. However, with touching genitals, there are a lot of nuances. You have to let the touch work itself out naturally. Just relax and enjoy. As homework, I want you to self love yourself every day."

James slapped Aimee's thigh that the exercise and session was over. Aimee wiped her bottom clean of the lubricant with a wad of tissues from the box on the bed stand. Then, she jumped back into her workout clothes with a snicker on her face and left promptly to avoid going over time.

A week later at 2:30 PM, Aimee parked her red Honda Civic hatchback four car length away from the surrogate's house. She remained in her car and watched. The residential street was a long road lined by great tall leafy trees. Their trunks had narrow spaces between the sidewalk and the street to escape the concrete cover. A gray family van parked in a drive way. Two kids ran out of the sliding side door. One threw a basketball into a hoop over the garage.

Another five minutes, and she saw what she had come early for: The previous patient. A tall slender women with many tiny braids of kinky black hair came out of the door with long lanky legs. Heavy construction worker boots were clad to her feet in a fashion statement. Her legs were covered with leggings that showed the silhouette of legs as skinny as that of a horse. Her butt was a nothing in the exposed silhouette. Her top was a jacket too short to cover her belly with a pink green color that was too vibrantly bright to fit into American fashion sensibility.

The teenager was evidently straight from Africa with little naturalization of her style of clothing, hair, or gait. The tattered blue subcompact drove off with her in the passenger seat.

Aimee waited a polite five minutes to be her standard five minutes early: 2:55 PM. She stood in front of that door again, the door with the blue paint. The spots where the paint was missing had been memorized. She was dressed in a light gray drench coat. She had been running to her therapy session straight from a client meeting. The door opened.

"So, James, what kinds of other patients are you treating?"

"Aimee, everyone gets a little nosy after they are becoming comfortable with the whole concept of sex therapy. I can't tell you patient details. Obviously! However, recently, I have been working with a lot of African teenagers. They are of course all eighteen years old or more."

"There is a terrible practice of cutting in Africa. Similar to Jewish people removing the foreskin of their sons, African women remove the external parts of the vagina of their daughters. Those days are really very unfortunate. The aunts and grand mothers usually try to make the day fun by presenting the girls with gifts."

"However, after the gifts are unwrapped and the cakes eaten, they quite barbarically hold the girls down, and they cut their own nieces and grand daughters. They cut like one cuts a fish or steak. They discard the labia. Some are so poor that they use glass pieces from a broken bottle to cut. Very traditional areas even sow the vagina closed until the point that she is married."