Six Months Later

After months of halos, neck braces and intensive therapy, I find myself sitting in front of Cindy, a psychologist friend of Mom’s. Recanting the story to her might be therapeutic, but right now it’s still incredibly painful. I’ve managed to complete almost all of my graduation requirements, but I’ve been avoiding everyone who reminds me of the past.

“So, when did you guys break up?” she asks, referring to Teresa. “It wasn’t right away I hope.”

“No. She came back the next morning to see how my surgery had gone and we spent a lot of time together the next couple weeks,” I reply, clearing my throat, not enjoying bringing these memories back to the surface. Cindy looks down at her clipboard, giving me some time. “She couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to go to the next game. I would’ve had to endure a two-hour flight each way and I was still in a halo.”

“She wanted you to remain part of the team?” she asks, with a puzzled expression.

“I don’t know. She kept talking about the fact that the surgeon had mentioned that there was still a chance I could play sports one day.” A wave of anxiety washes through me. “I mean, maybe if I had another year of college eligibility. Then I maybe could’ve played again. But there’s not an NFL team out there who’s going to waste a draft pick on a quarterback with a broken neck.” I hang my head to the side in an attempt to relieve some of the tension building in my neck.

“Are you okay?” she asks, seeing my discomfort.

“She also insisted on having sex,” I add, wanting to get everything out. “I’m in a fucking halo and she’s expecting me to perform like there’s nothing wrong. I couldn’t even get close enough to kiss her. That’s when I kinda lost it.”

“I imagine it was all a bit too frustrating?”

“Yeah, she was acting like this was just a temporary thing. Life was going to go back to the way it used to be, but I knew that would never happen. I wasn’t going to be drafted, my football career was over and I was trying to come to terms with it. Having a delusional girlfriend telling me that everything is going to work out wasn’t helping anything.” I feel a weight lift from my chest. I’ve been needing to admit that I was the one who ultimately pushed her away. “I knew that my prospects for being an NFL quarterback was the reason I had won her over in the first place. She talked about it constantly. How she hoped that I would be drafted by the Jaguars, because her best friend had moved to Palm Coast which was only an hour away.”

“But you two weren’t engaged or anything.” A slight scowl crosses Cindy’s face.

“No. We had only been dating since the beginning of the football season,” I admit, rolling my eyes. “She had been dating Ricky Jordan before that, but they broke up after he went to play for the Canadian Football League.”

“She didn’t want to move to Canada?” Cindy snickers.

“He only makes a couple hundred thousand Canadian, so he couldn’t sustain the jet set lifestyle that she envisioned. In hindsight, I’m much better off without her.” I cross my arms and slouch in the chair.

“It’s just hurtful to know that someone doesn’t love you for you,” she replies with a compassionate look. “Is that when the depression started?”

“Honestly, the depression started about five minutes after the shock wore off. The way the doctors were talking and the fact that I was in a halo, I immediately knew that my football career was over.” I bite at my upper lip, still feeling the bitter disappointment. “Simultaneously breaking up with Teresa only added to the misery. What’s the use of having someone in your life if they’re only there for the good times?”

“At least you learned that lesson at twenty-one,” she says with a sigh. “I didn’t wake up until I was still childless at age thirty-six and found out my husband had a twenty-five year old girlfriend. It’s a lot harder to start over at that stage of life.”

“I’m sorry, but you don’t look thirty-six,” I mumble, shocked by that little tidbit.

“Well, thank you. I actually turn thirty-nine in a couple weeks,” she admits sheepishly. “So now I can dread my fortieth birthday for an entire year. So things could be a lot worse than starting over at age twenty-one.” She lowers her head and looks me straight in the eyes.

“I’ll turn twenty-two in August. I was the youngest kid in my class.” I feel compelled to tell her for some reason. “I have no idea what I want to do with my life. My path has always been so clear.”

“You’re graduating, right?” she asks, flipping the page in my folder.

“I’m just a couple credits short of a liberal arts degree, but I have no idea where to go next,” I confide, revealing what’s probably the biggest source of my depression. “My dad keeps pressuring me to go to medical school, but I don’t want to be a slave to the hospital like him. He still puts in hundred hour weeks.”

“That’s why I chose a private practice,” she says with a smile. “I quickly learned the bliss of being able to set my own hours.”

“I really liked psychology, so I took two extra semesters of it,” I tell her, a smile creeping across my face.

“What?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“My favorite was psych 202, Human Sexuality,” I reply with a chuckle.

“Everyone should have to take that class,” she replies with a slight flush coming into her cheeks. “How is your mother doing?” she asks, abruptly changing the topic.

“Same as always,” I tell her, finding it funny that one second we’re talking about human sexuality and the next it’s my mother. “She works long hours too. I think sitting around the house reminds her of how empty it has become.”

“Your parents both seem very driven.” Her eyes soften. “Was that an issue for you growing up?”

“I got used to it.” I shrug. “At least I learned to cook at an early age. I still can’t stand the thought of eating another frozen pizza.”

“Have you thought about culinary school?” she asks, perking up in her chair.

“I have actually, but everyone I’ve talked to about it complains about the long days and having to be on your feet all the time.” I sigh, looking down at the floor. “I don’t think I could stand all day. But sitting on a computer for hours kills my neck too.”

“I have the same issue, but mine is in my back,” she says, stretching in her chair. “I need to move around between patients. I’ve actually been looking into a treadmill desk, for doing paperwork. It would be nice to get my exercise done at the same time.”

“I just finished physical therapy, so now I’m just starting to working out again.” I pat my gut. “I’ve never been so out of shape.”

“Oh, to be your age again and think such things.” She laughs. “Just wait until you’re my age and you gain a pound and a half just by walking past a doughnut shop.”

“I think you look amazing,” I tell her, wanting to see her cheeks flush again. The little blue and black dress that hits her mid-thigh turned me on the second I saw her. It’s been way too long since I’ve gotten laid.

“So how’s your love life now?” she asks, with a shimmer in her eyes.

“Non-existent,” I grumble. “I really haven’t met anyone new for awhile. Honestly, I’m not really interested in another relationship.”

“Oh, don’t let one bad experience keep you out of the dating pool,” she says softly. “There are lots of good people out there. You just have to find them.”

“So you date a lot?” I ask, turning the tables on her.

“It’s not that easy when you’re my age.” Her eyes go back to my file. “The dating pool is a little leaner than it used to be.”

“I can’t imagine you have any issues getting dates,” I reply, as she nervously tucks her long dark hair behind her ear. “You’re quite stunning.” She looks up with the most striking blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s the contrast between them and her dark hair, but they’re absolutely amazing.

“Your mother and I have been friends for twenty years. She was my TA for freshman psychology and we’ve kept in touch ever since.” Her eyes fall back to my file and she shuffles the papers before finishing her thoughts. “So other than cooking and football, what are your other interests or natural talents.”

“I’ve always been good with women,” I admit after a momentary pause.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are,” she says with a curl of her lip. “But I think you already mentioned that you’re not interested in them anymore, remember? Besides, it’s a little hard to make a living unless you want to be a porn star or a gigolo.”

“I’ve never liked that word, gigolo. Mom was a huge Richard Gere fan. She was watching a DVD one night when I was a kid. I sat down and started watching it with her until I figured out what was going on. I remember getting really uncomfortable and going to my room. I watched part of it a few days later, when she was back at work.”

“American Gigolo?” A wry smile crosses her lips.

“Yeah, I remember liking the part where he said he gave a woman her first Big O in nineteen years. That would be pretty awesome,” I reply with a wink. “He ended up in a bunch of trouble though, so that part would suck.”

“He got a little too full of himself, if I remember right. That tends to get people in trouble,” she says, bringing out a definite plot theme. “I remember him being abrasive and cocky in the beginning and before long it came back to bite him. In the end, he was saved by love,” she adds with a sigh.

“Yeah, it’s always that way in fiction,” I grumble, still feeling pretty jaded by how things turned out with Teresa. “It makes sense though. If you’re trying to escape from a shitty life, you don’t want to escape into more reality.”

“Unless that reality makes your life look good by comparison,” she counters, arching her eyebrows. She’s so smart and sexy at the same time. I can’t believe she’s single. “You don’t agree?” she asks, seeming perplexed by my silence.

“Oh, yeah. You’re right. People seem to feel better when they see that other people going through worse shit,” I reply, still mesmerized by her blue eyes. “Actually, I was just thinking about the fact that you’re unattached. Some things in this world just don’t make any sense.”

“Well, after my last relationship it took quite a while to even think about entering something new,” she explains in a softening voice. “Then I found myself becoming more and more comfortable with living alone. That’s the two choices we all have. Endure the struggles of dating in order to find the right person or just be okay with being alone until the right one simply comes along.”

“In the meantime, you just order up a hot gigolo when necessary,” I suggest, still trying to make her cheeks flush again. She clears her throat, closes my file and places it on her lap before reestablishing eye contact.

“You know,” she says with a thoughtful look in her eye. “There is something to be said for the perfect boyfriend experience.” She shares a look that lets me know she’s experienced it. “A wonderful evening, great sex and a goodnight kiss before he rides off into the sunset. No expectations, no disappointments.” Now I’m the one who feels a bit of heat in my cheeks.

“I’ve always been intrigued by the idea, but isn’t it illegal?” I ask, surprised by the openness of our conversation. Then again, I could easily be having this conversation with my own mother. She has no filter when it comes to anything sexual.

“There is nothing illegal about paying someone for their time,” she says, with a determined expression. “You’re paying me for this session. If we go to my place and have sex after our session, does that make it prostitution?”

“No! That makes it a happy ending.” I laugh out loud.

“If you pay the man for his time upfront and there is no guarantee of sex, it’s perfectly legal in all fifty states,” she says reopening my file to jot something down. “And if you’re not comfortable with the term gigolo, you can always become a sex surrogate. There is actually a hundred hour course you can take to become certified.”

“A certified sex surrogate. That definitely sounds better than a gigolo. Mom has some sort of certification in sex therapy.”

“Yes. We’re both certified sex therapists. Her and I both went through that training a dozen years ago.” She makes another note in my file. “If you got certified, I could refer you a dozen clients right away.”

“Really? How much can I make doing that?” I ask, sitting up in my chair somewhat captivated by the idea.

“I know experienced surrogates who make a thousand dollars a session,” she says with a nod. “It’s a nice way to make a living if you can separate your emotions from the physical act. The nice thing about being a surrogate is you might meet with someone several times before actually becoming intimate. That’s all taught in the certification class. How many more classes would you need for a psych degree?”

“Somewhere between twenty and thirty credits, but that’s something I wouldn’t mind doing.” I continue to be mesmerized by her as she gets up and walks over to her desk. She picks up a business card and writes something on the back.

“Here’s the website where you can look at the course material. I’ll give you a reference since you don’t have your degree yet. They know your mother as well.” She hands me the card and once again I can feel the tension between us. “Give me a call on my cell if you have any questions.”

“Will do. Thanks.” I shove the card in my pants pocket before turning for the door. “I’m not committing to anything, but I’ll definitely check it out.”

“There’s no pressure, Rex. It’s only an option,” she says with a warm smile. “I’ll see you next Tuesday.”

Walking out of her office, I had the weirdest sensation. On the one hand, I was completely turned on by someone nearly twice my age. I actually had to make a quick adjustment when I stood up. On the other hand, she’s introducing me to a fascinating new world. A sex surrogate is honestly something that I’ve never even thought about. Mom has worked with people who have those type of problems for years and I’ve always been a little uncomfortable whenever she talked about it. A thousand dollars per session though? That will definitely open a guy’s mind!