Abuse (17 page)

“A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others.”

― L. Frank Baum

~~~

Renata Koreman

Joshua doesn’t need sight to communicate his feelings. His open expression of wonder is far too moving. Unable to face such honest, intense emotion, I avert my gaze.

“It
is
a miracle,” I say, feeling the first stirrings of anxiety. After a long moment, I add, “Sex can be intimate, passionate and mind blowing, but it can be fun, too.” I begin to playfully nudge and tickle him, particularly under his arms.

I cry out joyfully when I discover Joshua’s seriously ticklish. The resultant struggle and wrestling skirmish between us alters the mood. We’re both laughing now. Joshua’s poignant and self-reflecting frame of mind evaporates into a playful tussle.

In the end, we spend two hours in bed together and no, it wasn’t all sex. Much of that time was spent talking and laughing.

Some people need alcohol to relax and feel comfortable enough to open up. Some are totally inhibited unless they take drugs. With Joshua, the endorphins released from orgasm have put him on such an incredible high—I can’t get him to shut up. Not that I’d want to.

Usually taciturn, I never imagined he could be so garrulous.

“Renata,” he finally says, when I explain our session is over. “I want to do this again.”

“And so you should.”

“With
you
,” he amends. “I want to be with you. I love you, Renata,” he says, unexpectedly ardent. “Marry me! Stay with me! I’ve never felt as close to anyone before. I make a decent living; I’d be a good provider. I care about you. I’ll make you happy, I swear it.”

Damn it!

Leave it to Joshua to go right to the end game. No hesitation—no thought of dating or getting to know each other. Yet, I can’t blame him. We’ve talked together honestly. I’ve accepted him without judgment and introduced him to the bliss of a physical and emotional bond.

Sex is a powerful, intimate act of communication and connection. Falling in love, from
making love
is common. In fact, it’s a high-risk occupational hazard of the surrogate’s job. Both clients and therapists are vulnerable.

Having Asperger's presented social challenges for Joshua, but blindness isolated him even further. How much more life changing would sex be for someone like him?

For Joshua to feel comfortable enough to open up and share things he's never shared before is significant. Until we'd made love, I bet he'd never felt as accepted or as comfortable in his own skin with anyone. The fact that we've given each other such pleasure helped him come out of his shell.

Joshua loves me.

What does he know of love? Romantic, lasting love, that is. What does anyone? Hell, I understand as little as he does, in this regard.

I
so
want to please him. I share his hunger for romance, love and acceptance. I hate the unspeakable pain of rejection.

I don’t want to hurt him.

Right now, I wish there were two of me. That way, I could give one of myself to him, to fulfill his needs. The other 'me' could continue on my path, helping others and figuring out what
I
need in life.

I choose my words carefully. “Joshua, we did this so you would gain confidence and find a reason to have a relationship, remember?”

“Yes, but why can’t my relationship be with
you
?”

“There are many reasons why. For a start, I’m a professional. I was hired by your dad to provide a service, which I did. A relationship between us wouldn't be a good idea. I can’t marry everyone I help, now can I?”

“No,” he says. “But you should marry me.”

I continue, “Another reason is that I'm your first. The first always seems special.”

“You
are
special!” he says vehemently.

I can’t help but feel a little tug of pleasure for his heartfelt conviction.

I speak reasonably with Joshua for some time as we dress. I point out that he needs to have more involvement with others, particularly women. If he marries me—the first woman he ever talked to, in time he might regret it. Unlike him, I’m no genius. I only seem special because I have more social experience and we along with so well.

I’m exaggerating about my social experience. Compared to Joshua, however, I suppose I do have a lot.

“I’ve been with many different men, Joshua. Now it’s your turn. I’d like to see you have a relationship with other women.”

Joshua’s brows draw down in a heavy frown. “
Many
different men?” he asks. “Did you work as a prostitute?”

If someone else asked me this, I may have taken offense, but I know Joshua doesn’t think like that. He’s asked this question without realizing it might be insulting. It’s a part of his disability. Even though he knows what a prostitute is, he has no idea such a question could be considered offensive.

“Your father paid me to introduce you to sex,” I counter in a calm voice. “Does that make me a prostitute?”

His lips curve up in a generous smile and he kisses my hand. “No. It makes you a really good teacher.”

I laugh and his unintentionally harsh words are forgiven. “Joshua, you know hardly anything about me, and I have a career that involves me being intimate with many people. I need to help others as I’ve done with you today.”

“But you’re not married, right?” he asks. “You do want to be married and have children, don’t you?”

How does he zero in on that?

I roll my lower lip between my teeth. “Yes.”

“So you haven’t found true love, either,” he says, with happy conviction.

The guy is way too smart.

“I’m only twenty-two and I love many people, Joshua. You and I barely know each other. We’ve shared something extremely special. I have a soft spot for you, too, but that’s no reason to marry.”

Or is it?

Joshua’s heavy frown shows how upset he is. I hate to see pain in his expression. What makes me feel worse is I've caused his pain. I was supposed to be helping him, not hurting him. It makes me want to give in, to give him what he wants. To be exactly the person he needs. From the way he’s looking at it, there’s no reason we can’t date.

Joshua thinks he loves me. I wanted to help him and I know I did, but I never meant to hurt him.

I can’t marry him.

I care for Joshua in many ways. I like him very much. In time, could I fall in love with this brilliant man? Could we develop the kind of love a good marriage would build upon? Who knows? I have no idea what I’m looking for in a partner. I don’t know what I need or want.

To accept his proposal would be lunacy and likely lead to disaster for both of us. The basis of our relationship is nothing but a snapshot in time of two vastly different lives.

Yet, I long to be loved. I long to be married and have children. Could he fill my needs? Could I fill his?

For a moment, my mind touches on my little brother, Timmy. I really want children. When I see mothers with their babies, I feel jealous. Of course, I feel jealous when I see daughters out with their loving mothers, too.

When I see daughters with their fathers, I feel nervous.

Right now, Joshua’s offering me all I’ve ever wanted.

Love, marriage and a family. Why does the mere thought of these subjects still make me feel lost and sad and a failure?

André thinks I’m still wounded by unresolved issues from my childhood. I frustrate him because he hates to see me unhappy. Despite his extensive one-on-one counseling and the many techniques he’s used to help me, he can’t fix me.

I’m not really unhappy.

It’s just sometimes I feel like crying and I get into depressive funks. There's an emptiness within me I can't seem to fill. It’s as if I’m half a person. All of my life, I’ve longed for a family. I’ll meet the right man someday. Even though sometimes I feel old, I’m still young. I’ll get there.

If only I knew my other half
now.

After going back and forth for a while, we come up with an agreement. Joshua can email me twice a month for an entire year. In that time, he has to find and date
at least
one woman; preferably more.

“I do love you,” he says quietly.

For a moment I flash on to a memory of Jamie. Jamie opened my eyes to the intimacy and joy of sex. I was forever changed and I told him, “I love you,” too. But Jamie preferred men, so the subject of marriage didn’t come up.

“I’m honored, Joshua, I really am. Your whole world has changed. I know, I’ve been there. For now, will you go out and learn to love other people, too?”

He’s hurt and upset. Change is difficult, especially for him. He’d like to spend more time with me. We finally agree if Joshua is still romantically unattached at the end of a year, and I’m not with anyone—I’ll date him.

Why not? We are attracted to each other and we like each other. That’s a very good start.

“The patterns learned as a child, repeat as an adult. Those with an abusive childhood are very often oh-so blind to this inescapable truth.”

— André Chevalier

~~~

Renata Koreman

I lightly knock on his door.

“Entrer,”
André says.

I tentatively walk inside and close the door, resting my back on it.

André's study is warm, inviting and utterly male. Dark wooden floors are covered by a medieval Aubusson rug and his large teak desk is set so he can peer out over the landscape of Las Vegas. Dark wooden beams along a white ceiling make it appear as if the room’s set in some French château.

This is the place where I first met André. What a mess I was back then. Just out of a psychiatric unit for a psychotic episode, devastated by the death of Jamie, my best friend, protector and first love.

For a long time afterwards, I had nightmares, flashbacks and panic attacks. I wasn’t exactly an easy case. I can’t believe André took me in, and took me on. I’ve been such challenge and a trial to him. He’s devoted so much time and energy into helping me heal.

Ever the gentleman, André stands and gives me a friendly smile when I enter the room.
“Ma petite souris,”
he says in a quiet voice.

It means, “My little mouse.” He’s always affectionately called me that. His face is open and welcoming; in fact, everything about him demonstrates his pleasure at seeing me.

André wears his usual perfectly tailored top-of-the-line charcoal suit and vest, with a well-pressed, crisp white shirt. His subdued tie rests on the desk beside him and his shirt is open at the neck.

Flat stomach, broad shoulders, dark hair styled perfectly around his neck and ears, the man is so incredibly handsome.

Still, I think his personality is what’s most attractive about him. Character beats good looks every time. If he was decrepit with age, hunchbacked and physically ugly, I’d still find him to be the most beautiful person in the world.

I haven’t seen André
in
ages.
Just the sight of him lifts my low spirits.

I’ve just come back from walking Joshua Marks and his dog to the elevator and I feel so damn down. I feel ridiculously guilty for not accepting Joshua’s offer. I feel bad because I caused him pain. I’m confused because I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel stupid, and hopeless and I never get anything right.

André reads my turbulent emotions instantly. “Come to me,
ma belle,”
he says and opens his arms wide.

With a sob, I run into the safety of his embrace. The faint smell of nutmeg, cedar and Brazilian Rosewood fill my senses and I breathe in deeply. God, I adore his cologne. I love everything about him.

André grips me firmly, patting my back and soothing my raw feelings with soft words of affection and lighthearted chastisement. He knows I’m mad at myself—I often am. I’m my own worst enemy. He speaks only in French, telling me I’m a “foolish little cabbage” and a terrible, terrible trial to him, but he loves me anyway.

He’s called me a “foolish little cabbage” so many times. This isn’t an insult—it’s a term of endearment. Maybe you’d have to be French to understand the context. He’s being affectionate and his playful teasing is just so damn sweet.

Either way, he stops my downward spiraling mood in its tracks and makes me almost choke with laughter, which he no doubt had hoped for.

When I’m more composed, he takes my hand and we move to the couch where we can talk. He pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Taking gentle care, he wipes my eyes.

“You are upset. Tell me what has happened to disturb your peace?”

“Everything with Joshua went really well,” I reply in English, because I don’t have to think so much while speaking in my native tongue.

“I expected no less,” he says, switching to English, too. “You are most capable,
ma petite souris.”

I give him a wan smile and sniff in an unladylike manner. He hands me his handkerchief and I blow my nose loudly. His bushy black eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The stunned expression on his face makes me grin.

We both laugh out loud.

“All is better, is it not?”

I nod.

“And so?”

“Joshua asked me to marry him,” I begin. “He’s got it in his head that he’s in love with me. I feel like I ripped out his heart by saying no. The whole thing left me feeling guilty and confused. André, I want to be in love and married. He’s a good guy. We could be happy together…
probably.
”

He nods, his dark eyes filled with understanding. André knows my triggers.

“Are you pleased you did not give in and tell
Monsieur
Marks you would marry him?”

“Yes! But it was really hard. I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“It was well done. Continue to work on your boundaries, little mouse. You improve on this most vital skill. How did the session end?”

“We agreed if Joshua is still single at the end of the year, and I’m not with anyone—I’ll date him. But he has to date
at least
one woman before then. He can also write to me twice a month.”

André stands up and begins to pace. I knew this would piss him off.

“I do not fault your actions,” he says, “but me? I doubt your reasoning. Every time you wish to be the Superwoman,” he says flinging a hand in the air. “The Wonder woman, the heroine who races in and saves people. But you cannot save everyone. You are not to blame for Dr. Marks’ emotional responses to life. You cannot rescue someone from themselves. People are never as helpless as they feel! When they improve, it is not because of
you
—it is because they have
chosen to help themselves!”

André and I have had this conversation many times before.

As a child, I was powerless. I couldn’t save my mother from my father. I couldn’t save my baby brother. I try to fulfill other people’s needs in some sort of crazy form of compensation because I want to give them what I never had. I have difficulty making my needs a priority.

In the scheme of things, I feel unimportant.

Helping people is all I want to do. Being needed makes me feel valued. Through helping, I’m able to connect with others, yet a “rescuer” who's willing to forego her own needs to support others, isn't the best idea for a therapist.

“I did tell Joshua
‘no
,’” I say meekly.

He shakes his head, hitches a hip on his teak desk and crosses his arms. “
Pardon
, you did not say ‘
no
.’ You said you will not date him for a year and he may write to you.”

“But only twice a month.”

He rolls his eyes at that.

“I wanted to say yes… well, I didn’t really
want
to, but I couldn’t bear to see Joshua so upset. And frankly, the things he said made sense. I know it's crazy.”

“
D'accord, eh bien,”
he says with a sigh. “You did as you thought best and he is worthy of your care. In fact,
he could be
the man for you. Who can say? I only wish you would allow me to introduce you to people. I know of men who would be good for you. Men who would cherish you, protect you and need you as you need to be needed.”

“What? Not one of your Dom friends again?”

He shrugs.

André’s into BDSM. I know all about that. BDSM is a strange abbreviation because it’s formed from the beginning letters of more than four words. It stands for bondage, discipline, dominance, submission, sadism and masochism.

Often, André uses a variety of erotic practices involving role-play, restraint and other interpersonal power dynamics when he works with his clients. Helping people find their way in life and within relationships is what he does best.

Like me, André is a rescuer too, in his way. But unlike me, he’s not crazy. Despite being caring and empathetic, André maintains his boundaries with ease. He’s able to separate himself and his own wishes from those he helps.

In André’s opinion, BDSM is a useful tool for personal growth and self-awareness. Why? He says,
“BDSM is about honesty, communication, trust, sacrifice, service and connection. This makes it not only something for the body, heart and mind, but also a great remedy for the soul.”

It sounds wonderful.

Too bad, it’s not for me.

I’ll always associate an inability to escape and vulnerability with the abuse I suffered as a child from my scary father. I wouldn’t let André try it with me. He showed me a lot of the basics of Domination and submission, but I was too much of a scaredy-cat to go further.

He thinks if I fell in love with a Dom and played Dom and submissive games, I could work through all of my childhood shit. André says he’s solved many abuse cases in this manner.

“Often,” he says, “the same poison used differently and with trust, can become the cure.”

He means I need to go back to the things that messed me up and face them again, but this time with people I love and trust.

I don’t know if it would work for me.

They say if the only tool you have is a hammer, you’ll treat everything as if it were a nail. For André, BDSM is one of his favorite tools.

“You did very well with Joshua Marks, except now you are unhappy.”

“I know, it’s nuts, but I feel as if I let him down. I feel like a failure.”

Voice and arms raised, he jumps from his desk in a frenzy of passion. “
Oui, oui!
And a good Dom would spank you for such idiocy! I would enjoy to see you unable to sit down for a week! Yet, you will not have a good Dom, and I do not know how else to help you!”

My reaction—or my lack of one, is a testament to how far I’ve come over the years. The fact I feel no physical or emotional response to André’s apparent threat of violence or his raised voice, shows how much I trust him. He’d never hurt me.

André’s just frustrated and disappointed as I confound him with my self-punishment and weird depressive funks.

My doctor prescribed me high-dose antidepressants for years. Now I’ve stabilized on a minimal dose, but when it comes down to it, with the slightest provocation I still feel like a fool and a failure.

For a long moment, there’s only silence in the room.

I meet his eyes. “If I
could
bring myself to play BDSM games, I’d want to play them with you,” I say in a soft voice.

He smiles down at me and looks sincerely apologetic. “I’m very sorry I cannot be who you need me to be, little mouse.”

“Me, too.”

He nods. “On another matter. I see from your schedule you are available tomorrow afternoon, no?”

I have a ton of work to do at the vet’s office, cages to clean, animals to attend to… but Diana won’t mind. I can get everything done. I’ll do as much as I can tonight.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I have a new client for you. His name is Grant Wilkinson. He is seven years older than you are. As a child he was sexually abused by a man.”

I shake my head and already feel sorry for the poor guy. Not that feeling sorry for someone helps—it doesn’t. Pity sucks. I always hated when people felt sorry for me.

“What does Grant need from me?”

André gives me his typical Gaelic shrug. “Who can say? I have done all I can for him—for now. It is for you to take him further, I think. This will not be one session as it was with Joshua Marks. This could mean many, many sessions you must have with him. It may take time to discover his requirements.”

“Did you tell him about me?”

“I told him you enjoy sex and are an experienced sexual surrogate. I told him I would inform you of his history of sexual abuse, but that is all. He has spoken to me, purging himself of details. I feel it would help him to speak to a woman of these things.”

I frown and think this over. “How should I bring up the subject?”

“Do as you feel best. You are a counselor
par excellence
.” He shoots me a broad grin. “I know, as I have trained you! Use your own judgment of how to proceed. I will be available to answer questions, or to deal with any difficulties, of course.”

“Will I like him?”

André grins. “
Mais oui,
you will most certainly like him. I enjoy his company, oh, very much. We shall see. If a connection does not form between you, I will find him someone else.” His eyes narrow as his gaze probes mine. “Of all you have worked with, of a certainty, Grant needs you more than any other.”

My heart kicks up at these words.

I hear a soft knock, followed by Gustave’s appearance and his mellow voice announcing,
“Le déjeuner est servi.”

Lunch is ready. The thought of Pascal’s wonderful French cuisine makes my empty stomach growl. I’m hungry and now I’m all fired up. Tomorrow, I’m going to meet my new and hopefully long-term client.