Chapter 3

Case Study # 6: Juanita M.

At a nice race track like Del Mar the tote board could look intrusive, out of place. It wasn’t though, gambling is the soul of the venture. My professional tote board is the fee I charge for my services. Fees are necessary to make a living, but they also establish my value, my validity, to my clients. And to insurance providers.

Insurance covers most of my costs for many patients. Several of whom were similar to race track patrons. A two-minute thrill at the track was followed by 20 minutes or so of waiting for the next race. My clients have a week or two between their 50-minute sessions.

Bettors need time to place the next wager. Patients need time to digest the therapy, react to it. And get themselves ready for their next appointment. After talking with me, some of my clients feel complete. Like a plant that has been watered. Sometimes that felt like what I was doing, watering plants.

Juanita lives in San Fernando, California, in the San Fernando Valley north of Los Angeles. The town is surrounded by the the city of Los Angeles which annexed most of the surrounding communities. Those smaller towns wanted to take advantage of the Los Angeles Aqueduct over a century ago.

San Fernando had its own groundwater supply and elected to remain independent. The population, under 25,000, is around 90% Hispanic.

Juanita is another pro bono case for my Southern California practice. She has a full time job as a bilingual tour guide at Universal Studios, but her health insurance doesn’t cover this kind of therapy. She’s a single mother of three children, two girls and the youngest, her son.

Both daughters are married so Jaunita now lives only with her son, Ricardo.

She is short, a little portly, dark skinned, born in Ciudad Juarez. She is a US citizen and speaks English fluently. At 37, Juanita is friendly, exuberant, and I would assume, good at her job.

Her parents were undocumented workers. Hard workers, thrifty people. Her father had a knack for machinery and did well in the oil fields of Texas. Both of Juanita’s parents were frugal, saved every penny they could. He eventually accepted a job in California, in the San Joaquin Valley. In the mammoth Midway-Sunset oil field.

Her parents stayed in California until Juanita graduated from Los Angeles Valley College, a two year community college. Then he retired and they moved back to Juarez, “To a much nicer home.”

Juanita has been a widow for twelve years. Her janitor husband was shot by a policeman under circumstances suspicious enough to warrant an internal investigation. The officer was suspended without pay and received a demotion. Juanita, despite urging from several attorneys, made the emotional decision not to sue the LAPD.

“For the kids, for me, it would have been too painful.”

The life insurance helped and Juanita soon had a job at Universal. Prudent financial habits learned from her parents contributed to her staying solvent, even able to save a little every month.

Juanita is a faithful Catholic which makes the dilemma with her son tougher on her. Ricardo seems to be a chronic masturbator. Or close to it from Juanita’s description. So far as she can tell his sex life is limited to masturbation. Frequent masturbation which he makes no attempt to hide.

Jacking off as much as Ricardo does could lead to a hormone imbalance and, eventually, fatigue. Yes, she told me, he naps frequently and is difficult to wake up a lot of mornings.

After almost three months of sessions with me, Juanita finds it somewhat easier to talk about sex than when she first began seeing me. Although she usually circles around to the subject, sometimes needing a little push from me.

“Ricardo is a good boy, doesn’t get into much trouble. No gangs, no dope. Good grades, usually Bs or sometimes a C.”

“But the masturbation.”

“Yes. Every day. Several times, four, five times. Every day.”

“And it’s when you’re home.”

“Yes. He waits for me to get home from work. Naked, he’s always naked.”

Juanita is one of those patients who needs to be drawn out. She hesitates to volunteer information. But I trust what she does say to be accurate. That’s not always the case with many patients. And trust between a therapist and his patient is one of the requisites of effective treatment.

Another factor is the patient’s feelings. My office isn’t a courtroom. Things don’t have to be proven. Sometimes what is felt, sensed, is more vital than what a patient actually knows.

What I learned over my time with Juanita was that Ricardo was almost always in the nude. Before he left for school. When Juanita came home from work. He masturbated in front of her. Obviously her presence enhanced his pleasure. She understood that. Didn’t like it, but recognized the fact of it.

Yet he was respectful when she had visitors. Juanita was popular with her neighbors and had friends over quite often. Ricardo was always dressed, always courteous.

The open masturbation had begun shortly after his second sister married and moved out, leaving just Juanita and Ricardo in the house.

According to Juanita, Ricardo never attempts to touch her physically. He ejaculates into hand towels, never leaves a mess. Which is not the case with some mothers I treat. He watches what Juanita assumes is porn on his cell while he jacks off. But she never checks, too embarrassed.

The first time he appeared naked in front of her, Juanita was completely startled. When he started jacking off, she went into shock and slapped his face before she realized what she was doing. The first and last time she did that. Now they’re at an uneasy stasis. He masturbates. She watches.

She said, “He won’t climax unless I do. So I watch. Get it over with.”

Juanita said Ricardo is average in appearance. His penis is not particularly large nor small. Nothing special about the amount of semen either.

While he eats breakfast, she fixes his lunch. When he says, “Mama,” she looks at him so he’ll climax. She gets home from work around 7 and simply waits until he has his first cum of the evening. The first of three or four or five.

Ricardo does his share of the chores, helps out with grocery shopping, mows the little lawn, washes her car. Naps a lot.

Juanita is too embarrassed to talk about his masturbation with her friends. Too ashamed to mention it to her daughters. Wouldn’t dream of saying anything in Confession. Although that bothers her, a lie of omission. Watching Ricardo used to mortify her. As she became somewhat used to it, it began to annoy her. Annoyance turned to resignation.

These days she’s sometimes even a little amused. “I get home Tuesday night, he just touches it. Bam!”

While the activity no longer distresses Juanita all that much, she realizes her son needs something. Needs help. He refuses to meet with me, is adamant that he won’t. Ricardo wishes his mother didn’t see me either, understandably so.

So Juanita has begun looking for alternative outlets. A willing girlfriend. Maybe even a prostitute. “Can he get a disease from a mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Juanita is considering becoming a sexually enabling mother for different reasons than some of my other patients. It wouldn’t thrill her, wouldn’t titillate her. But she hopes it could break the cycle of dependency.

After several sessions, I felt I knew Juanita and, from her descriptions, her circle of Latina friends fairly well. I talked her into discussing Ricardo with a woman named Silvia. One of her closest friends. Silvia was a mother of six, four boys, so she’d probably seen a lot.

“Juanita, it’s not instead of talking with me. I want you to continue seeing me. But another woman, a mother, will give you a certain perspective.”

I didn’t add, because I knew it was unlikely, but perhaps this Silvia would be more than a friendly ear. Perhaps take matters into her own hand, so to speak. Hey, even professionals can fantasize.

Silvia was sympathetic. In her case, her husband lived at home so she’d never faced a situation like Juanita’s. Few had. Silvia knew Ricardo, knew he was basically a decent kid. And she knew that masturbation was just an everyday facet of a boy’s life. Maybe not so frequently as Ricardo, but certainly a part of every boy’s day to day experience.

Silvia not only showed compassion, she mentioned a neighbor who had given one of her sons blowjobs for doing work around her house. She told Juanita, “Yolanda is a bit of a slut, but I like her. She asked me about blowing Carlos before she did it. And he isn’t the only boy in the neighborhood she does.”

Yolanda is 52 years old, still attractive. And to teenage boys, sexy.

Juanita offered to pay, but Silvia advised against it. Silvia introduced Juanita to Yolanda. Juanita told me, “Her house was clean, smelled fresh. That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s clean, but I felt better.”

Yolanda seemed more amused than anything else. And she readily agreed to meet Ricardo. Maybe to blow him. Once. Then see how it went.

There was an immediate snag, one I would never have anticipated. Naturally Ricardo was amazed and delighted at the possibility. Enthused. But he insisted that his mother be there. To watch.

Juanita was really pissed and refused. Then at our next session, “Why do I get up on such a high horse? What difference does it make? I watch Ricardo jerk off for months. Every day.”

“So you watched Yolanda.”

“Why not?”

Since then Juanita’s world has settled into a more tolerable routine. She’ll still watch Ricardo masturbate, but usually only once every day or so. Sometimes not even that often. It occurs when she first gets home from work in the evening. He’s dressed other than that. And he visits Yolanda once every couple of weeks to do chores around her house. And to receive a blowjob without his mother watching.

My tacit approval of Yolanda’s action with an underage boy was one of many compromises I choose to make in the course of my counseling. Without any direct access to Ricardo, I was unable to talk with him, to attempt to modify his behavior.

So, yes, I condoned an illegal act. And will do it again when the circumstances and the best interests of my patient call for it.

I believe that Ricardo will eventually outgrow his Juanita phase. She still comes to see me every other week, but it’s more of a pleasant habit for her than a need. She still mentions her son every time, but we talk a lot less about him that when we started our sessions.

When Ricardo moves on from his exhibitionism, I’ll gradually cut back on Juanita’s sessions. Although like everyone else, she has more than one concern.

Case Study # 7: Annie G.

I meet with my psychiatrist friend, let’s call her Diane, once a month or so to discuss our patients. Usually we meet for drinks in North Beach. Or Nob Hill. Diane treats three enabling mothers whose activities contributed to the composites in “Case Studies.”

We also go over my would-be screenplay. Diane, not an editor, has become an editor for me. A writer who is not a writer. Amateur Hour.

At our last get-together I told her about my Berkeley hippie, Katie T. “She and her sister fuck side by side. Bethany does Katie’s son, Adam. While Katie fucks her sister’s husband and his friends.”

Diane just smiled and shook her head. She’s as unflappable as I am.

“In her last session, Katie told me she and her sister like to be fucked in the same position at the same time -- missionary, doggie, cowgirl. Whatever the men fucking Katie do, Bethany mirrors her sister.”

Diane was careful to use appropriate professional jargon in our discussions, “Your hippy chick is fucking nuts.”

Of the seven women profiled here, Annie is my favorite. I appreciate her openness, her candor, her self-awareness. Her ambitious visions for her son and herself.

She’s another pro bono case, Annie.

Even though she lives in Topanga Canyon, over the Santa Monica Mountains from Los Angeles and Hollywood, Annie is a stage mother. Smart, tough, determined. A San Diego native, she was drawn to Los Angeles, to the Industry -- movies. She was gorgeous, still is. But the camera didn’t love her quite enough. And in a town full of gorgeous, that wouldn’t cut it.

But she found work. A moderate success as an uncredited B-movie screenwriter. Annie could do quick, she could pencil in changes on the fly. She got a part time job evaluating unsolicited screenplays. She sewed costumes, did makeup. Did location scouting in Southern California. Took part in crowd scenes. Scored a few lines in a few TV shows. Annie was usually on the periphery but always around the business she loved.

She was still on the fringes, and still plugging along when she saw me for her first ever therapy session. Her on-again, off-again boyfriend sometimes lived with her, usually didn’t. Mason was his name.

Annie looked like the prototypical Southern California beach bunny. Tall with long legs, blonde, tan, great boobs. Wide mouth, white smile, bright blue eyes.

Annie told me during her very first visit, “I fuck everyone I think could help me. Producers of course. Most of those assholes just award the title to themselves to get laid. But I fuck them anyway. Never can tell. Writers even though they’re at the bottom of the pack. A director whenever I can. Agents of course. Actors, men, women, children. I’d fuck Rin Tin Tin if I thought it would do any good.”

“Has it helped you any, the old casting couch routine?”

“Nope, not yet. Good thing I like sex. Oh, I’ve gotten some work along the way. But not the big break I need.”

“What kind of work?”

“It runs the gamut. Last month I had four lines in a slasher pilot. I blew the costar and his brother about every day.”

“His brother was also in the pilot?”

“No, he was just hanging out.”

“What else?”

“Shit what haven’t I done? Back before I moved up here, my mom would drive me up from San Diego for auditions. I remember one, I didn’t get the part, but it was worth it anyway. The director told me I could go with his location scout, learn something about that.”

“Did you?”

“Yep. I went with him and learned enough to land a gig once in a while. Of course I had to fuck that scout every night, but hey, it was show business, right?”

Over time, Annie told me about the variety of work she did to keep afloat. Early on her mother turned a blind eye to the sexual situations she left her daughter in.

“In ... let’s see, eighth or ninth grade I was getting steady work as a fluffer on porno sets. $200 a day, not bad. But mainly I was hoping to meet a director, a producer who would cross over into legit films.”

“And your mother drove you there?”

“Yeah, she didn’t want any details. Just my promise not to be in front of the camera.”

“And you weren’t?”

“No. I keep my word. Of course when I moved up here full time, well then I started being in sex videos. Everyone does.”

Annie had a lot of friends in and around the movie / television / streaming / stage business. And it wasn’t all due to sex. She was gregarious, witty, smart, self deprecating.

At 27, she was now ambition-fucking on behalf of two people -- herself and her son, Asher. Annie hadn’t made it yet, she was determined Asher would.

Why Topanga Canyon, why not West Hollywood? Her indulgent father in San Diego gave her his getaway house. A small, two-bedroom home surrounded by trees. “The Ash and I can run around starkers, no nosy neighbors nosing around.”

“So you practice nudism?”

“Naw, we just get naked. Builds up his self confidence. I praise him, tell him he’s got a great bod. Which in fact he does. And I let him know that his cock is gorgeous, that’s important to the male species. Sort of like boobs for us.”

“How does he react?”

“Laps it up. What boy wouldn’t? Drives Mason crazy though.”

“Your boyfriend doesn’t want you naked in front of Asher?”

“No, he’s cool with that. The Ash has a larger cock.” A fact that pleased Annie immensely. She wasn’t that enamored of her boyfriend. And she did love her son, that was obvious from her very first visit with me.

She had moved to Topanga the week she graduated from high school. At 17, she lived by herself and made the rounds in the same VW she still drives ten years later.

Her mother had been taking her to casting calls and auditions since Annie was 5. And she got some parts, more in plays than on camera. By the time she moved out on her own, she’d been offering her body for years. “My mom knew it and didn’t know it. Know what I mean?”

“I do. She looked the other way.”

“She never said anything to Daddy. But I’m sure he knew too. I mean how many 11, 12 year old girls spend that many nights in hotels? Of course I don’t guess he knew where I was, exactly. Just that I wasn’t home.”

“Did you feel loved at home?”

“And how! Unconditionally loved. Spoiled. I was lucky to be an only child. Although I think I’d have liked having a sister.”

Annie showed me dozens of pictures of her growing up in San Diego. It was always sunny, she was always smiling for the camera. In several of them, she looked like a 10 year old with boobs.