Chapter 1

Expanded Horizons Clinic

Capitol Hill, Seattle

February, 2019

Brent

“How can I help you, Brent?” Dr. Jack Halloran asked.

Brent had heard that question a hundred times over the years—in clothing stores, restaurants, coffee shops. But he’d never really thought about it.

Could anyone help him?

Did he even want to be helped?

He closed his eyes and fought an urge to leave the room. When he opened them again, Dr. Halloran was patiently waiting. His pleasant face revealed nothing, but those blue eyes were understanding. Brent wondered how many people made an appointment at the sex clinic only to walk out again without speaking. It was so embarrassing.

Welp. Might as well get it over with.

“I’ve lost all sexual desire. And interest. And… functionality? Ever since my wife died. I guess that’s to be expected for a while. Only it’s been two years now. And… I don’t know. A friend of mine thought I should see someone about it. He found you guys and said you came highly recommended. So. Here I am.”

Halloran made a note on the pad in front of him. “It’s been exactly two years since your wife died?”

“Two years and one week.” The date was etched on his brain. Kathy had died the day before Brent’s thirty-seventh birthday. And he’d just turned thirty-nine. Even thinking of that day caused his insides to ache with a dull, sickening dread. Why did I come here? What is the point of getting my sex life back?

It was Sean’s idea. Brent had finally been honest with him, hoping to stop the constant attempts to set him up with one of Sharon’s girlfriends.

Come on. It doesn’t have to be serious. Annette’s a fun girl. She’d be fine with something casual. Dip your toe back in the water, bro.

You don’t get it, Sean. I don’t have any interest in that anymore.

Jesus, the look on Sean’s face—as if Brent had admitted to cutting off his own balls and preserving them in formaldehyde. It had almost been funny. Almost.

“Do you masturbate?” Dr. Halloran asked.

Brent felt his cheeks heat. “Not recently, no.”

“Have you at all since your wife’s death?”

Brent shook his head. “Or the last year of Kathy’s life, really. She had ovarian cancer. It was slow and painful and—” He swallowed. “—messy.”

Yeah. Somehow, the urge to jerk off just hadn’t been there while his wife was in their bedroom dying.

“So it’s been approximately three years since you ejaculated?” Halloran pressed.

Brent gave a sharp nod. “That’s pretty unusual, I guess. For a guy.”

“It depends. There are many things that can dull the sex drive. From injuries to depression to drugs to disease. I always like to rule out medical reasons first. I’d like to do a physical at the end of our appointment today. Take some blood, if that’s okay.”

“Sure. But I don’t think there’s anything physically wrong. I’m just… I can’t seem to get over it.”

Halloran looked up from his notes, eyes kind. “Have you been to grief counseling?”

“Went for three months. It was useful, I guess. Kathy’s gone. I know that. I’ve accepted it. But the way it happened….” Brent trailed off, his throat dry.

Halloran put down his pen and leaned his forearms on his desk. “I know it’s not easy to talk about. But the more you can tell me, the better I’ll be able to help you.”

Brent liked Jack Halloran. He was slightly built, probably weighed around one sixty. But he had an air of confident command about him, of inner strength and competence. He didn’t seem like he’d judge. Hell, he was a therapist. He was paid not to judge.

Haltingly, Brent told him. He spoke about the things they don’t tell you when a loved one is diagnosed with cancer. About the smells. About the incontinence as the cancer ate into her bowels. The unfathomable suffering. The way her personality changed under the influence of the medication. The denial and forced optimism that finally cracks open to reveal utter despair. The taste of hopelessness when you realize there’s nothing you can do. Not a damn thing. The way you’d do anything to stop her suffering.

The guilt when you just pray for it to be over.

“It was like a horror movie.” Brent’s hands were over his face. He forced himself to lower them. “There was no dignity. No serenity.” He swallowed hard. “It was the goddamn Exorcist.” He blinked at the dry heat in his eyes. Even his tears were fucked up. Instead of ever crying for Kathy, the love of his life, his eyes became the Sahara desert.

“I’m so sorry, Brent,” Halloran said quietly. “And I know you’ve probably heard too many people say that, and it means nothing. But no one should have to endure that. Not your wife and not you.”

Brent said nothing. Because they had. They had endured it. Only that wasn’t the right word. Kathy had endured. Brent had merely survived.

“You were her sole caretaker?” Halloran asked.

“Not exactly.” Brent cleared his throat. “Kathy wanted to be at home, so we had nurses come in. But I was there and I helped. Through all of it.”

“I’m sure that meant a lot to her.”

Brent honestly had no idea anymore.

“How long were you married?”

“Nineteen years. Kathy and I got married right after high school. We were eighteen. Our parents weren’t happy about it, but it worked out.”

Halloran gave an interested hum, a slight frown between his brows. “Have you ever had a sexual partner besides Kathy?”

Brent blew out a breath. “Two girls before her, during high school. Wild and crazy guy, right?” He chuckled self-deprecatingly. “No one else after we got married though. I never cheated.”

“Have you tried dating at all since she passed?” The calm, clinical tone of Halloran’s voice helped, like he was asking routine questions on a survey.

Brent shook his head. “Friends keep trying to set me up. I’ve gotten really good at making excuses. You wouldn’t believe the number of colds I’ve been getting over. I could be a plague ship.”

Halloran’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

“And, um, I own a bunch of coffee shops around town. Kathy and I built that up together. She jokingly called it our empire.” He smiled. “Since she passed, there’ve been a few women involved in my work that have made it clear they’re interested. I’ve also gotten really good at pretending I don’t notice.”

Halloran made a note. “Tell me about your sexual urges. You said you haven’t masturbated in a few years. Have you gotten an erection, possibly in the mornings?”

“Honestly, pretty much zilch. I can’t remember the last time I had morning wood. And if I do start to feel anything—” Brent hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Say I see a really attractive woman, or think about sex, and where in the past it might have gotten me going, you know? At least a warm feeling. But now I get a kind of nausea, like a nerve twinge or a bruise or something, and I feel…” It was hard to put it into words. “I just remember how awful it was. Those last few months…. Kathy’s poor body. And that’s… that’s just the end of any sexy feeling.”

The weight on Brent’s chest became unbearable. He shouldn’t have come here. Nothing was worth reliving this, not even his sex life. “It’s really uncomfortable to talk about this.”

“We don’t have to talk about the past,” Halloran said easily. “Let’s talk instead about what we can do to help you.”

“Do you honestly think you can?” Brent hadn’t meant to sound so cynical, but he had doubts.

Halloran nodded. “Yes, I think we can. I’d recommend weekly therapy sessions. We can discuss your positive sexual experiences in the past and explore what things you’ve found arousing. Discussing sex openly in a new context can help take it back from its negative associations, and it will give me a better idea of what to suggest you try. You might also consider seeing one of our surrogates.”

Brent licked his lips nervously. “I saw something about that on the website. But if I can’t even, you know, get it up—”

“That’s exactly what a surrogate is for.” Halloran smiled kindly. “Not necessarily right away, but when you feel you’re ready for more intensive therapy. A surrogate provides a safe space and a trained partner, so that you can explore touch again, and relaxation and sensual play, with or without an erection or orgasm.”

The idea left Brent cold. “Maybe at some point.”

Halloran opened his desk drawer and took out a colored brochure. He opened it and laid it on the edge of his desk, facing Brent. Brent leaned forward to see it clearly.

There were four photographs with bios underneath. The first two were women, Andrea and Emily. They were attractive enough. The two photos and bios on the right were of men.

Michael Lamont

River Larsen

Brent sucked in a quick breath, then coughed as spit went down the wrong way. He hacked into his fist. Halloran watched him, patiently waiting.

“Sorry,” Brent said, recovering. “I didn’t expect…. I guess the guys are for female patients?”

“No. This brochure is for our male patients.”

“Oh.” Brent’s cheeks flamed again. Well, duh. Of course the clinic had gay clients as well as straight ones. For fuck’s sake, this was Capitol Hill. “Sure. That’s great,” he said lamely.

“We hopefully have an offering that suits everyone,” Halloran said easily.

Well, duh again. Just because there were guys in the brochure didn’t mean he had to pick one of them. His face burned hotter.

He stared at the brochure, reading over the bios without really seeing them. Certificates. Degrees. Soothing phrases like “incredibly rewarding working with clients” and “comforting atmosphere.”

His gaze kept being drawn to the right side of the page.

The male surrogate named Michael had a thin, long face with thick, dark hair, bangs practically covering one eye. He was interesting. But it was the other photo that Brent could not stop staring at.

River. Like his name, the headshot had a hipster vibe. It was a black-and-white brochure, but it looked like his hair was blond and it was tied back. He was quite handsome, with a beard and very gentle eyes. They almost seemed alive, staring through Brent right from off the page.

Brent glanced at his bio. Tantric massage and energy work. Certified massage therapist. Licensed Reiki healer. Trained at the Sacred Triangle tantra ashram in India.

Wow. Interesting guy.

Brent blinked and forced himself to sit back. “I’m sure they’re all very good.”

“They are,” Halloran agreed with feeling. “There aren’t that many clinics that deal with sexual healing in the United States. So when I say we’re able to hire the best of the best, I’m not exaggerating.”

“That’s great. I’ll, um, I’ll think about it.”

That nervous, nauseous tugging began low in Brent’s belly. Hell, even the idea of getting sexual with someone was uncomfortable. A wave of hopelessness washed through him. But he was so used to that feeling by now, it was hardly notable.

“Take the brochure home. And while you’re considering it…” Halloran gave a reassuring smile. “I suggest you not discount the men automatically. Sometimes straight men find it easier, less stressful, to work with a male surrogate. Especially if there is any kind of performance anxiety. And River is really quite special. Some of my clients claim he’s a miracle worker.”

Brent chewed his lip. Halloran had apparently noticed Brent staring at River’s photo.

“Think of it like this,” Halloran continued, “when you go to a physician, it doesn’t matter if that person is a man or a woman, only that they’re good at their job, that they have the training and the aptitude.”

“That makes sense.” Brent had been to a male masseur before. In fact, he’d preferred them. “But, um, the tantric stuff… that’s sexual. Right?”

“It can be. It depends on how the massage session goes. But ideally, yes, eventually your work with a surrogate would help you get back in touch with your sexual desire and, ultimately, achieve an erection and orgasm. It’s a process, however. It can take time, and that’s okay.”

Brent’s gaze fell once again to the brochure on the desk. To River’s face.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Just one other thing….” Halloran leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. “It’s far too early to give you a diagnosis, but a few of the clients I’ve treated over the years have had reactions to witnessing physically traumatic events involving genitalia. One example is husbands who attend live births, but I also had a male patient whose husband had testicular cancer and afterwards my patient had difficulty not thinking about that during sex. It’s not something people chose. It’s not just them being assholes. But the subconscious is a tricky thing. Experiencing physical desire—or not—isn’t something we can control.”

Brent knew exactly what Halloran was talking about. “Yes,” he said, his voice coming out a whisper.

Halloran tapped his pen on the desk. “The good news is, that sort of mental association can be treated. We can go over techniques to redirect your thoughts away from those memories when they come up during arousal. And working with a surrogate who understands those triggers can be useful. When and if you’re ready, of course.”

Brent swallowed. “I’ll think about it.”

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