I'd told Pam that we needed to talk. To be strictly accurate, it was I who felt the need to talk. She, to my bewilderment, didn't seem to realise there was any pressing need at all for any heart-to-heart chat.
In a previous life, before my wife died, I flew high in the corporate world and reaped sufficient benefits to be able to retire once it was confirmed that her illness could only lead to one outcome. When the end came I was at home, combining full-time nursing with single parenthood of five children aged from just thirty-three months to nineteen. At the time, I felt they needed me almost as much as I needed them.
Once my youngest was enrolled in pre-school, I embarked on my second career as a Psychologist/Counsellor. Fortuitously, I'd combined a Psych Degree with my Law Degree all those years ago. Even more fortuitous, I was able to operate from home, using my Study/Library as a consulting room.
I'm a good listener and I like people. Right now, as I faced Pam across the table, I felt reasonably confident about broaching my concerns without being overly clinical about the process.
"We both have some wonderful friends" I began. "Unfortunately, they seem hell bent on finding me a new partner. I'm guessing they do the same to you."
Eyes downcast, Pam said "Yes".
Trying to keep my tone as light as possible, I said: "It can be so infuriating because we both know they mean well. Should we feel the need to do so, I think we're both perfectly capable of finding someone new without their assistance. On the other hand, I'm never going to close my mind to possibilities and so I tolerate the perpetual match-making just in case I do find Ms Right with their help."
"And have you?" Pam asked.
"Pam, I thoroughly enjoyed the dinner and the dancing last night And I enjoy talking to you. You're a very attractive woman - I enjoy just looking at you. When you asked me to stay the night I was both pleased and flattered."
"Now, please believe me when I say that what I'm about to tell you is something I rarely speak about. But I want to tell you because I want us to understand each other and, at the very least, I want to walk out your front door knowing we are still friends."
Pam made brief eye-contact at this point and I could see doubt, pain, apprehension and sadness in her face and body language.
She did not speak, but nodded as if to give me permission to continue.
"Jennifer has been dead for over eight years now. I still miss her. We had a wonderful life together. So much in common and so well-matched in every way. We loved our children, our house, our lifestyle and - I'm not going to underrate the importance of this - we loved each other and we had a healthy and joyous sex life."
"I don't think people should discuss sex" she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
"We're no longer mere acquaintences, Pam.
We spent the night together. Neither of us was intoxicated. It was, from my perspective, purely voluntary and something I looked forward to, something my mind and body needed."
"And I disappointed you" she said.
"Men are no less complex than women, Pam. People can enjoy sexual relief all by themselves if they want to, or they can reach it by using another person's body, or they can achieve it by pleasing both themselves and their partner at the same time. Ideally, it's a two-way process."
"Last night I couldn't help but feel I failed to give you any pleasure. I regret that. And I feel selfish that I'm the only one who obtained relief, release, enjoyment ... whatever you want to call it. So I feel it's more the case that I disappointed you in some way."
"What I'd like you to do, please, is tell me whatever you can think of that might help me to understand the situation. I know I'm no Brad Pitt" (undoubtedly true) "and I know I'm not up there as one of the world's great lovers" (only partly true - I actually think I'm more than just okay in the sack!) "but I have no understanding of why you seemed so indifferent last night. I can handle hate. And I can certainly handle praise. But I struggle with indifference."
Long silence - her eyes lowered.
"Please talk to me Pam. Please."
She fixed us more coffee, sat down, focused on some space on the wall behind me and then the floodgates opened.
Through tears and occasional bursts of anger, Pam told me her story. She was raised - an only child - by very strict, cold and controlling parents. She was only allowed to mix with children of whom her parents approved and most of these, like Pam herself, were the offspring of bible-thumping, sexually-inhibited and austere members of the Church.
Puberty and the facts of life were never explained to this girl. When her first period came, it was a kindly nun who helped her out and explained what was happening. There were not many kindly priests or nuns in her early life, however, nor kindly relatives or rebellious friends, and, when she reached womanhood, her mind was an absolute maelstrom of prejudices and inhibitions about what you and I might call "the range of normal human behaviour".
She was found work by her parents in a Catholic bookshop and continued to live at home, complying with any curfews or standards imposed upon her and never really dreaming of doing anything else. She just bobbed along in a sea of highly-controlled apathy.
Then, on return from work one night, there was a stranger at the family dinner-table. A man in his early thirties - quite a bit older than Pam - a man who had recently left a seminary, having decided he lacked sufficient vocation. This guy, Paul, was the only child of wealthy parents. His parents were chronic invalids - the whole deal - trips to Lourdes, etc - and their disappointment at not having a priest for a son was tempered somewhat by the reality that he could help look after them in their declining years.
After a relatively brief courtship - if you can call Church twice a week and meals with all the family present a courtship! - Pam was told that she and Paul were to marry. And they did, moving in with his parents after the wedding.
Pam truly didn't know what to expect on her wedding night. She'd managed to read some stuff, but nothing prepared her for having a man suddenly poke something stiff inside her, thrust painfully for a minute or so, gasp and moan a bit and then roll off and go to sleep while she lay there torn and bleeding.
Fortunately, as she saw it, this behaviour occurred very infrequently. Most of her time was spent nursing Paul's invalid mother and hypochondriacal father. She nursed them till they died. She helped nurse her own parents till they died too. And then she helped nurse Paul till he died, of full-blown AIDS, when she was just thirty-two years of age.
She was left a wealthy, but lonely and embittered woman. She no longer had to work. She moved to my town and started life alone in a beautiful new house. Always intelligent (but never courageous enough to challenge the status quo) she was now able to read widely. Her reading gave her insight into what Paul was really doing on his many nights spent praying with friends.
Reading gave her too many insights, really, because she came to know what most other daughters, wives, women, couples were doing in their daily lives, and she came to see herself as something stunted and freakish.
She had learned, over time, and with no help from anyone, to "pass as normal". She learned to chat, shop, eat just for the pleasure of it, converse with people and even to laugh at off-colour jokes (while she cringed inside). She had even learned to go along with friends who urged her to invite me to dinner as an "eligible" guy.
By the time Pam finished her story, it was I who was crying.
I used my mobile, again rang my son (who was still asleep!) and told him I'd now be home mid-afternoon.
There was now no question of just walking away. Whether as a friend, a counsellor or a lover, I wanted to help this woman.
In a previous life, before my wife died, I flew high in the corporate world and reaped sufficient benefits to be able to retire once it was confirmed that her illness could only lead to one outcome. When the end came I was at home, combining full-time nursing with single parenthood of five children aged from just thirty-three months to nineteen. At the time, I felt they needed me almost as much as I needed them.
Once my youngest was enrolled in pre-school, I embarked on my second career as a Psychologist/Counsellor. Fortuitously, I'd combined a Psych Degree with my Law Degree all those years ago. Even more fortuitous, I was able to operate from home, using my Study/Library as a consulting room.
I'm a good listener and I like people. Right now, as I faced Pam across the table, I felt reasonably confident about broaching my concerns without being overly clinical about the process.
"We both have some wonderful friends" I began. "Unfortunately, they seem hell bent on finding me a new partner. I'm guessing they do the same to you."
Eyes downcast, Pam said "Yes".
Trying to keep my tone as light as possible, I said: "It can be so infuriating because we both know they mean well. Should we feel the need to do so, I think we're both perfectly capable of finding someone new without their assistance. On the other hand, I'm never going to close my mind to possibilities and so I tolerate the perpetual match-making just in case I do find Ms Right with their help."
"And have you?" Pam asked.
"Pam, I thoroughly enjoyed the dinner and the dancing last night And I enjoy talking to you. You're a very attractive woman - I enjoy just looking at you. When you asked me to stay the night I was both pleased and flattered."
"Now, please believe me when I say that what I'm about to tell you is something I rarely speak about. But I want to tell you because I want us to understand each other and, at the very least, I want to walk out your front door knowing we are still friends."
Pam made brief eye-contact at this point and I could see doubt, pain, apprehension and sadness in her face and body language.
She did not speak, but nodded as if to give me permission to continue.
"Jennifer has been dead for over eight years now. I still miss her. We had a wonderful life together. So much in common and so well-matched in every way. We loved our children, our house, our lifestyle and - I'm not going to underrate the importance of this - we loved each other and we had a healthy and joyous sex life."
"I don't think people should discuss sex" she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
"We're no longer mere acquaintences, Pam.
We spent the night together. Neither of us was intoxicated. It was, from my perspective, purely voluntary and something I looked forward to, something my mind and body needed."
"And I disappointed you" she said.
"Men are no less complex than women, Pam. People can enjoy sexual relief all by themselves if they want to, or they can reach it by using another person's body, or they can achieve it by pleasing both themselves and their partner at the same time. Ideally, it's a two-way process."
"Last night I couldn't help but feel I failed to give you any pleasure. I regret that. And I feel selfish that I'm the only one who obtained relief, release, enjoyment ... whatever you want to call it. So I feel it's more the case that I disappointed you in some way."
"What I'd like you to do, please, is tell me whatever you can think of that might help me to understand the situation. I know I'm no Brad Pitt" (undoubtedly true) "and I know I'm not up there as one of the world's great lovers" (only partly true - I actually think I'm more than just okay in the sack!) "but I have no understanding of why you seemed so indifferent last night. I can handle hate. And I can certainly handle praise. But I struggle with indifference."
Long silence - her eyes lowered.
"Please talk to me Pam. Please."
She fixed us more coffee, sat down, focused on some space on the wall behind me and then the floodgates opened.
Through tears and occasional bursts of anger, Pam told me her story. She was raised - an only child - by very strict, cold and controlling parents. She was only allowed to mix with children of whom her parents approved and most of these, like Pam herself, were the offspring of bible-thumping, sexually-inhibited and austere members of the Church.
Puberty and the facts of life were never explained to this girl. When her first period came, it was a kindly nun who helped her out and explained what was happening. There were not many kindly priests or nuns in her early life, however, nor kindly relatives or rebellious friends, and, when she reached womanhood, her mind was an absolute maelstrom of prejudices and inhibitions about what you and I might call "the range of normal human behaviour".
She was found work by her parents in a Catholic bookshop and continued to live at home, complying with any curfews or standards imposed upon her and never really dreaming of doing anything else. She just bobbed along in a sea of highly-controlled apathy.
Then, on return from work one night, there was a stranger at the family dinner-table. A man in his early thirties - quite a bit older than Pam - a man who had recently left a seminary, having decided he lacked sufficient vocation. This guy, Paul, was the only child of wealthy parents. His parents were chronic invalids - the whole deal - trips to Lourdes, etc - and their disappointment at not having a priest for a son was tempered somewhat by the reality that he could help look after them in their declining years.
After a relatively brief courtship - if you can call Church twice a week and meals with all the family present a courtship! - Pam was told that she and Paul were to marry. And they did, moving in with his parents after the wedding.
Pam truly didn't know what to expect on her wedding night. She'd managed to read some stuff, but nothing prepared her for having a man suddenly poke something stiff inside her, thrust painfully for a minute or so, gasp and moan a bit and then roll off and go to sleep while she lay there torn and bleeding.
Fortunately, as she saw it, this behaviour occurred very infrequently. Most of her time was spent nursing Paul's invalid mother and hypochondriacal father. She nursed them till they died. She helped nurse her own parents till they died too. And then she helped nurse Paul till he died, of full-blown AIDS, when she was just thirty-two years of age.
She was left a wealthy, but lonely and embittered woman. She no longer had to work. She moved to my town and started life alone in a beautiful new house. Always intelligent (but never courageous enough to challenge the status quo) she was now able to read widely. Her reading gave her insight into what Paul was really doing on his many nights spent praying with friends.
Reading gave her too many insights, really, because she came to know what most other daughters, wives, women, couples were doing in their daily lives, and she came to see herself as something stunted and freakish.
She had learned, over time, and with no help from anyone, to "pass as normal". She learned to chat, shop, eat just for the pleasure of it, converse with people and even to laugh at off-colour jokes (while she cringed inside). She had even learned to go along with friends who urged her to invite me to dinner as an "eligible" guy.
By the time Pam finished her story, it was I who was crying.
I used my mobile, again rang my son (who was still asleep!) and told him I'd now be home mid-afternoon.
There was now no question of just walking away. Whether as a friend, a counsellor or a lover, I wanted to help this woman.