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My Unfulfilled (and Unfulfillable?) Fantasy
By Mark Bernstein
Published July 2004

Last Fall I spent a month as a volunteer neurosurgeon and teacher in Indonesia. I went alone; my wife and three daughters remained in Canada. It was a fabulous experience to leave my privileged world in Toronto and do some philanthropic work with those less fortunate and I will be doing it on a yearly basis. I didn't have a lot of time to do much sightseeing but my hosts took me on some short excursions. One turned into a memorable event.

One weekend one of the senior residents, "L", took me to his family's country home - a simple but lovely bamboo home in west central Java, nestled in rice fields and small mountains near a town called Garut. On the way we stopped at a hot swimming pool fed naturally by a hot spring. On the way out of there, L chatted up a fellow in the parking lot and then whispered to me: "We'll get a massage". I love massages but my initial suspicions quickly turned into worry as we followed the man down long narrow alleys. I felt like I was in a "B" movie, and one that might end badly for the protagonist. I whispered nervously to L: "This is just a massage right?" and he waved off my concerns. The man eventually led us to an open-air room crudely furnished with an old couch and a television. It gave onto two small rooms each with a bed and a bath. We were handed off to another young man who made a call on a cell phone and beckoned us to sit down.

Three minutes later two attractive and seductively clad young ladies appeared. I asked L to explain to them that a regular massage was the order of the day and I added a few graphic hand gestures to clarify for good measure. L went into one room with one young lady and left me with the more exotic and beautiful of the two. She called herself Mickie and I found out she was 24 - the age of my oldest daughter. That's about all the verbal communicating we could do.

Mickie was quite gorgeous. She had a tight little body, a very beautiful face somewhere between Chinese and Philippina, and mid-length black hair. I found myself tantalized and drawn by her enigmatic beauty and it reminded me that I have always been more than a little fascinated by Asian women. My first wife was the middle daughter of a Japanese father and Irish mother and her delicate elegance and beautiful but understated sexuality was a magnet, along with her gracious personality. My many travels to the Orient and India in the last 20 years have reaffirmed my attraction for Asian women. And every day in my hospital I work in intimate life and death situations with a large number of skilful, compassionate, and ineffably sexy women who have emigrated from the Philippines and China. So the sexual tension was already high when I walked into the little room with Mickie and the door closed behind us. I was both nervous and excited but I knew the only outcome there could be.

The room had peeling paint and was about 95 degrees Fahrenheit with no air movement. I asked for a towel and she giggled as she handed me a washcloth and closed the door. I carefully undressed in front of her and flopped onto the bed on my front with the tiny towel on my buttocks. I heard a belt buckle rattling. I peeked over and saw her shedding her clothes to reveal a skimpy translucent black bikini-style bra and panties.

She poured herself onto the bed and gave me a body rub with a cheap cream. But it was clear this was not her primary area of expertise. When she did my legs she sat between them and the leg she worked on was supported on her thighs as she was in a sitting crouch. The small towel over my genitals slid around precariously. When she did my back she crouched facing my feet so her tight little bum was six inches from my face. Once or twice she made suggestive glances and gestures and almost touches but when I waved my hand "No" she respectfully complied. Being disloyal to my commitment to my wife has never been an option for me, and that combined with the fear of communicable disease shoved any thoughts of "I wonder what it would be like…" out of my mind. But I certainly wondered for a brief moment and I enjoyed every second of the delicious sexual tension that filled the room like the hot humid air.

But besides these good reasons for not having sex with Mickie there was another important reason. I would have had performance anxiety. I was alone with a beautiful young Indonesian woman less than half my age that had been with countless men and I was afraid I could not measure up to her expectations. Here I was a 53-year-old uptight Canadian neurosurgeon with all kinds of insecurities about myself and even if I had been an unfaithful type, I probably could not have gotten it on with Mickie if I had tried. In fact, while I was incredibly turned on during our entire time together (and still get turned on just thinking about it again), not once did even the beginnings of an erection try to emerge.

After about 30 minutes of what was supposed to be a one hour session, I thanked her awkwardly in Indonesian and after I declined an invitation into a bath, she got dressed, then left me alone to do so. Afterwards I joined her on the couch to wait. Every so often she smiled at me and sweetly caressed my thigh or arm as if to say: "Thanks for not being another one". It was quite touching because instead of seeing her as an experienced prostitute, I saw a vulnerable young woman, someone who could have been my daughter. I thought of the numerous physical and psychological violations she had suffered by strange men entering her body, using her only as a means to an end.

L eventually came out and we paid the bill. Both girls giggled and Mickie hugged me warmly and kissed me gently on the cheek. As we walked to the car, I did not ask L what sort of "massage" he had received. I did not want to know the answer. Many people had told me that marital infidelity by males is extremely common in Indonesia, especially among members of the medical profession.

That day I felt happy to escape but now I can say something that many men may secretly fantasize about: "I've been in the company of a prostitute". But the afternoon graphically reminded me of my fascination with Asian women and it also made me confront my sexual inadequacies and even cowardice. I can tell myself and others that I didn't fuck Mickie for fidelity reasons and health reasons till the cows come home (and its absolutely true!) but in the final analysis I couldn't have fucked her even if I had wanted to. Is that pathetic or is it a good thing? I think I've figured out the answer to that question but I'll never be sure.

Mark Bernstein is a neurosurgeon at the Toronto Western Hospital and Professor of Surgery at the University of Toronto. He and his wife Lee (a native Los Angelina) have three daughters and two pet labradors. He has written extensively in the medical literature for over 20 years and for the last few years has been trying his hand at non-medical writing. He is the world's second worst saxophone player.

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