Inside the Life of a Male Sex Surrogate

This article originally appears in the August 2016 issue of ELLE.

How would it feel not to have had sex for most of your adult life, due to pain, the emotional scars of abuse, or shame about your body or your own desires? These are the kinds of women who visit sex surrogate Shai Rotem, seeking a unique kind of healing.

A lot of people get paid to have sex in the San Fernando Valley. There are the street hustlers and "erotic massage therapists" who compete for johns along the rougher blocks of Van Nuys and Sun Valley. There are the spray-tanned and surgically amplified actors who grope one another in Woodland Hills mansions and Klieg-lit Chatsworth studios. And then there is Shai Rotem, a 46-year-old Israeli transplant who's neither prostitute nor porn star, but who also gets paid to have sex with strangers. Rotem is a surrogate partner—a stand-in lover for women in sex therapy.

Although female surrogates were somewhat mainstreamed by the 2012 film The Sessions—which was based on a true story and features Helen Hunt as a surrogate who relieves a paraplegic poet of his virginity—male surrogates have operated in the shadows, mainly due to antiquated views of women's sexuality. Of the estimated 75 surrogate partners in the United States, about 20 are men, according to the International Professional Surrogates Association, a small, Los Angeles–based organization. With almost two decades on the job, Rotem is one of the most experienced.

But still: the Valley. All those pornos and strip clubs and skeevy massage parlors advertising "happy endings." I can't help but feel skeptical as I wait to meet him at a Whole Foods in Tarzana; my uneasiness is heightened when Marvin Gaye starts crooning "Let's Get It On" over the PA system. Gaye, of course, also recorded that other blue ballad, "Sexual Healing." Which is exactly what Rotem calls himself: a sexual healer. "This is not just a career for me, it is a life journey," he proclaims on his website.

Although I've seen Rotem's photo online—shaved head; silver-streaked goatee; eyes the color of strong coffee—I still somehow expect the man who'll walk through the door at any moment to be garbed in a gurulike raiment, large medallion winking on his chest, a middle-aged lech of the cult-leader sort, preying on desperate women.

When he appears, however, he's unremarkable: smallish, conservatively dressed in a gray collared shirt and dark pants…and leading a tiny blond dog on a pink leash. He sidesteps my extended hand to give me a light embrace before introducing me to his teacup Maltipoo, Sunny. A little bigger than a potato chip, Sunny causes a sensation; several female customers flutter over, cooing. I make a crack about men using tiny dogs to pick up women, but Rotem regards me blankly. "What do you mean?" he asks in a soft Israeli accent. I smirk, waiting for him to grin, for us to bond over my feeble swipe at humor. But he doesn't. He announces that he's hungry and walks to the deli counter, leaving me with Sunny.

MALE SURROGATES HAVE OPERATED IN THE SHADOWS, MAINLY DUE TO ANTIQUATED VIEWS OF WOMEN'S SEXUALITY.

I'm slightly rattled. I'd already managed to offend Rotem during a preliminary phone interview, when I asked if he met his clients in hotel rooms. There was a long pause before his curt reply: "I realize you know nothing about surrogate partner therapy, Julia, but I am a professional. I meet them at my clinic." Ouch. And point taken: not a gigolo.

When he returns, I decide to play it straight and pull out my list of questions. "Are you single?" I ask.

"Poly." He finishes a mouthful of salmon-and-lentil salad before elaborating. Although he lives with a woman he calls his "soul mate"—a fellow Israeli, a clinical psychologist—he adds, "We're both well aware of the failure of romantic relationships. People lose the spark." As if anticipating my next question, he says, "She has no issues with my work whatsoever."

The other questions I've jotted down seem too explicit to ask in public, so he suggests we continue our interview at his clinic. As we walk down bustling Ventura Boulevard toward my rental car, Sunny zigzags about, lassoing pedestrians with her leash. Several throw sharp looks at Rotem, who merely saunters down the sidewalk with a quiet smile. He's also unconcerned when Sunny leaps onto my lap as I drive and then settles down by my feet.

Share: