‘For many, I am a last resort’: Life as a Virgin Island-style therapist who has sex with their clients

It’s certainly a sign of things to come on a very eccentric retreat. As the participants sit warily on the floor, Dr Danielle Harrel motions for fellow ‘bodyworker’ Andre Lazarus to join her for an exercise titled, ‘Up Against the Wall’.

Things turn intense quickly; the pair maintain eye contact as Andre manoeuvres Danielle against a pillar and pushes her arms up, while Danielle’s deep, breathy moans take on an almost orgasmic quality. Some of the participants look away, others giggle uncomfortably — one, 23-year-old Emma, is so overwhelmed by the flagrant display of sexual desire that she bursts into tears.

This is merely the opening few minutes of Virgin Island, the new Channel 4 series that everyone’s talking about. As you can guess from the name, the show sees 12 virgins who have expressed difficulties with intimacy invited to a resort in Croatia, where they work with psychologists, intimacy coaches, and surrogate partner therapists, or ‘sex surrogates’, to help them face their fears of physical touch.

Together, they work through what it may be that’s holding them back, with exercises including writing down their biggest fantasies, trying out intimate positions, and even ‘unleashing their inner animal’ by rubbing against each other.

While most of us are familiar with the idea of sex therapists, the work of surrogate partner therapists is more unknown — and, therefore, potentially more misunderstood. These therapists are unique in their techniques, which include discussing intimacy, stripping naked, and practising slow, platonic touching; some of them are even qualified to have full sexual intercourse with their clients.

With Virgin Island thrusting them into the mainstream, sex surrogates are suddenly seeing unprecedented interest in their work — as well as some criticisms. So, what exactly does it mean to be a surrogate partner therapist? How do sessions work? And is working as a sex surrogate as intense as Virgin Island makes it seem?

“This line of work can be emotionally taxing”

Surrogate partner therapists are keen to set strict boundaries with their clients from the outset; an understandable move, considering the potentially difficult nature of their work.

Kaly M, a sex surrogate who’s been running London-based The Naked Room for 15 years, has developed her own protocols. She will only see one client a maximum of 10 times, with each in-person meeting ranging from two to three hours. For Kaly, this helps to build a firm relationship with clients when tackling a range of intimacy issues, such as erectile dysfunction, problematic porn use, or low libido. Each participant is sent an information pack, an intake form, and a consent form, so boundaries and expectations are made known universally from the outset.

Kat Slade, a surrogate partner therapist who worked on Virgin Island, also tells Cosmopolitan UK that all of her sessions are client-led. “The nature of touch changes as we go, but we start safely and slowly,” she explains. “It starts with hand-holding and asking what the client likes and enjoys.”

Kat Slade

“We then go to super structured tasks, so they feel safe and in-tune with their bodily needs — though if things do start to move to a more intimate space, it does need to feel organic, so the relationship and the connection you build together needs to feel real.”

Likewise for Kaly, the extent of how sexual the sessions become depends on what the client seeks to get out of therapy. Breathwork and low-level touching can then turn into sensual gameplay; one of her favourites is a sexy version of ‘Simon Says’.

“If a client is a virgin, the ultimate expectation is that they will have full sexual intercourse with me at some point,” she says. “Meanwhile, if they are divorced or having intimacy issues, there will likely be kissing or some penetration. If there is a couple seeking my services, I do not have to get physically involved, but I can demonstrate [sexual touch] on each partner.”

These boundaries are vital, says Kat, who’s been on the receiving end of a gamut of intense emotions both from the 12 participants on Virgin Island, and her wide array of clients from her two years practicing.

“There’s a lot of people who feel deep shame about not having explored their sexuality,” she says. “I’ve also seen more young people struggling with their self-image, and that can lead to a sense of embarrassment.”

Kaly agrees it’s not a suitable career for the faint-hearted. She decided to go into sex surrogacy work in her 30s after leaving her husband and giving up her corporate job; Kaly initially trained as a masseuse before a colleague recommended her for a training course where she could learn to be a surrogate partner therapist.

“I make a clear distinction between life and work, as work can be very emotionally taxing,” she tells Cosmopolitan UK. “I make sure I go to the gym or take some time to do things for me, so I have an outlet for my emotions away from clients.”

An unregulated field

Those seeking surrogate partner therapy, particularly in the UK, need to approach practitioners in caution. While sexual surrogacy is legal, it is an unregulated field, which can, and has, led to bad actors behaving inappropriately with vulnerable clients.

The problem of regulation is only exacerbated further in the UK as sexual surrogates are classed as sex workers — a common misconception that practitioners like Kaly are keen to distinguish themselves from. (Although sex work in the UK is legal, certain activities surrounding it are criminalised, which can negatively impact sex workers, as well as those associated with them.)

“Surrogate partner therapy is relational, while sex work is transactional,” says Kaly. “Our work is not about gratification, rather it is about teaching and reframing beliefs in order for people to have a more satisfying sex life.”

Kaly adds those seeking sex surrogacy should interrogate the qualifications of people they will be working with online. While the International Professional Surrogacy Association (IPSA), a dedicated surrogate partner therapist organisation, only operates in California.

“It’s important to ask therapists where they have trained, how long they have been working for, and what their credentials are,” says Kaly. “It’s no different from if you were going to go to get plastic surgery — you’d want to know your surgeon is a good surgeon.”

“That’s why I can offer an introductory Zoom session,” she continues. “I want people to have a sense of knowing whether I am the right person for them. I am constantly investing into further psychological and therapeutic training to know I can offer my clients the best.”

A vital service?

Despite its intensity, and difficulties there may be in ensuring their legitimacy, both Kat and Kaly consider their work to be a vital service, especially for those who’ve never had sex. Recent research from The Next Steps project (a longitudinal research group in partnership with University College London) found that one in eight adults over 26 are still virgins, with people increasingly fearful of intimacy.

For Kaly, helping those who feel like they have no other option when it comes to their sex lives has been nothing but deeply satisfying. “For many of my clients, I am a last resort,” she says. “I believe this is the only therapy that can competently offer physical touch that the client needs to experience. One of my first clients was a man in his 60s who was a virgin, and who insisted on going to the shops every day and buying something in cash just so he could touch the cashier’s hands. I helped him experience what physical love could feel like for the first time.”

Viewers can certainly see the benefits felt by the participants on Virgin Island. Although some have criticised the show for being “excruciating” and “wildly awkward”, questioning whether watching people navigate a watershed moment on TV was an appropriate forum, participants have been vocal about its positive effects. Speaking on the show, Islander Ben said the programme has helped to “banish” feelings of self-awkwardness, while Taylor, another participant, said that Virgin Island has “changed her life for the better”.

“I was worried about the cameras at first too, as I’m a super shy person,” Kat tells Cosmopolitan UK. “Soon, it felt like any other surrogacy session. It was very easy to just focus on the participants and forget about the pretence of why we were there. It was amazing to be a part of that.”

Whether reality TV is necessarily the right place to see people endeavour to lose their virginities, we can at least praise Virgin Island for bringing this much-needed conversation to the fore. While we’re usually taught that our first time having sex isn’t meant to be good, the programme shows that there’s no reason why it can’t be.

“It was so emotional to see both Tom and Taylor embrace their sexuality on Virgin Island in a way they both felt safe and empowered to,” concludes Kat. “So many clients feel so alienated and ashamed, and this is a healthy way for them to experience and understand intimacy and joy.”

Amended 10th June 2025

A previous version of this article incorrectly included victim of sexual assault Ella Janneh and her High Court case. We would like to issue a sincere apology to Ms Janneh for the inclusion of her High Court case against therapist Mike Lousada in reference to the themes of this article. We would like to make clear that Ms Janneh’s case did not relate in any way to sexual surrogacy or the seeking of sexual services from the defendant and that the court ruled in Ms. Janneh’s favour.

Amended 22nd May 2025

A previous version of this article stated that The College of Sexual and Relationship Therapists (COSRT) accredited sex surrogacy courses, but we would like to clarify that they do not, and COSRT have informed us they do not support or endorse therapeutic approach involving touch.

Kimberley Bond

Multiplatform Writer

Kimberley Bond is a Multiplatform Writer for Harper’s Bazaar, focusing on the arts, culture, careers and lifestyle. She previously worked as a Features Writer for Cosmopolitan UK, and has bylines at The Telegraph, The Independent and British Vogue among countless others.