9: We talk about sex
Originally emailed on Jan. 25, 1998
Hello.
Everyone wants to know why I haven't slept with Ed yet. Harriet wonders, Miriam wonders, Ed certainly wonders. Only Miss Munn doesn't wonder. Miss Munn thinks she knows.
Last week, I talked to her about Ed. "It's not that I'm not attracted to him," I said. "I am. It just feels strange to be dating a man. We go out to a movie and he holds my hand on the way into the theater, and I know that everyone looking at us thinks we're just some ordinary straight couple. I want people to know that's not who I am, but how do I make myself visible as a bisexual when I'm dating a man?"
"So," Miss Munn said, "you think the problem may be that, as a bisexual, you're ambivalent about dating a man, which is the more traditionally accepted choice, instead of dating a woman, which validates your identity as a non-heterosexual?"
I said, "Maybe. Something like that."
Miss Munn said, "Well, Ms. Reissinger, those are legitimate concerns. But, in general, I don't hear you saying you're ambivalent about Ed himself. You seem quite delighted with him, in fact."
I said, "How come we have to call each other by last names, but you get to call Ed by his first name? Shouldn't we both be calling him Mr. Weissman? Or, if that's too formal, we could compromise and call him Mr. Ed."
Miss Munn said, "Ms. Reissinger, the clinic's policy is not an issue we need to discuss today. It's quite all right, I assure you, for us to call Ed Ed. My point was that, as far as Ed himself is concerned, you seem quite pleased."
"I am," I said. "He's a good guy. I like being with him."
"And you would like to sleep with him."
"I suppose so," I said, "but this ambivalence gets in the way. And another thing--I think it's weird that our culture has shifted to the point that instead of it being deviant when a person has sex with a relatively new acquaintance, it's seen as deviant that I haven't slept with a guy I've been seeing for only a couple of months!"
Miss Munn said, "No one says you're deviant. It's perfectly normal for people to make all kinds of different choices about sex, and if you were making a decision not to have sex with Ed yet, and that decision felt good to you, we wouldn't need to discuss it. But it seems to trouble you that you haven't slept with Ed, and we ought to try to find out why. Now, I've thought about this during the week, and I want you to answer a couple of questions for me. First, when was the last time you were fully sexual with another person?"
I thought for a minute. "Sixteen months ago," I said. "September before last."
Miss Munn said, "And what were the circumstances?"
I said, "You know. It was that kid from my chemistry class."
Miss Munn said, "And what was the result?"
I said, "I got pregnant. You know this."
Miss Munn said, "That's right. You got pregnant, and chose to have an abortion rather than have the baby, even though you wanted another child. Feeling forced into this decision by your life circumstances precipitated the serious depression which led to us beginning our work together, a depression which you are in some ways still recovering from."
I said, "That's right."
Miss Munn said, "Now, can you think of any reason, other than issues having to do with your identity as a bisexual, why you might be hesitant to have sexual intercourse with a man?"
I said, "Do I have to answer now, or can I think about it quietly in the privacy of my own home?"
Miss Munn said, "Of course you don't have to answer now. Over the next few days, think about whether my conjecture feels true to you. Let me know in our next session."
I didn't need a few days to think about it. Once Miss Munn pointed it out, it seemed pretty obvious. It even made sense why I kept thinking it would have been better to date a woman--not so much because of "bisexual invisibility," but because sex with a woman is risk-free, pregnancy-wise.
A couple of nights later, Ed and I were lounging on my couch after dinner, watching Babylon 5 reruns and eating fudgesicles. I said, "Ed, can we talk about sleeping together?"
Ed grinned. "By all means."
I said, "How long has it been since you've slept with a woman?"
Ed said, "How long has it been since you've slept with a woman?"
I said, "Ed, I'm serious. Will you answer me?"
"Yeah, OK," he said. "About three months."
"You were seeing someone right before we started dating?"
Ed said, "For a little while. It was pretty casual."
"Casual, yet you slept together."
"Yes," Ed said. "I like sex, as I believe I've mentioned to you before."
"Well," I said, "the last time I slept with someone was sixteen months ago. It was very casual--one drunken afternoon with some 19-year-old boy I'd been studying chemistry with. It was stupid."
Ed said, "'Stupid' is a bit harsh, don't you think? We've all done things we thought better of later, but it's no big deal. What's the harm in a little dalliance with hairless youth?"
I said, "I got pregnant."
Ed said, "I have put my foot in my mouth. I'm sorry. What happened then?"
I said, "I want another baby, you know. But I thought the circumstances of my life--and the circumstances of, you know, who the father was--well, I had an abortion. I didn't want an abortion, but I told myself it was the best choice, and I still think maybe that's true. I don't know that I'd make a different choice if I could. But after the abortion I got real depressed, because I had wanted the baby very much. I couldn't take care of myself or my kids, and if my professors hadn't been lenient with me, I'd probably have failed all my classes."
Ed said, "And you think maybe you don't want to have sex because of all that?"
I said, "Maybe. Last time I had sex it almost ruined my life, no exaggeration. And now, maybe I don't want to take any chances, you know. I don't want to have sex unless I'm ready, you know, for whatever might happen."
Ed said, "I see."
I said, "What do you mean by 'I see'? What do you see?"
Ed said, "I mean, it makes sense to me that you'd have these feelings, after what happened last year."
I said, "And what does that mean for us?"
Ed said, "Well, I think it means, now that we might know what the problem is, that we can work on solving it."
"How?" I said. "The only way I can imagine making love is if we knew we wanted a baby, so there'd be no risk."
Ed said, "Louella, my dear, when the day comes that we get between the sheets together, I hope you're a more imaginative lover than you are a problem-solver."
"What do you mean?"
"Louella," he said, "have you actually ever slept with a woman?"
"Yes!" I said. "I have."
"Did you like it?"
"Yes, I did. But Ed, if you're suggesting I find a woman--"
Ed laughed. "Louella, did the woman you slept with have a penis?"
"Of course not," I said.
"So you didn't have intercourse, in the traditional sense of a penis penetrating a vagina?"
"Feminists," I pointed out, "prefer to conceptualize that act as a process of envelopment to emphasize that the woman is more than a simple receptacle."
"OK," Ed grinned, "but when you were lovers with a woman, you did not engage in an act of envelopment of a penis, did you?"
"No," I said. "Not of a penis."
"But you were both satisfied? You both achieved, shall we say, climax, and you experienced some, at least, of the other benefits which lovemaking brings to a relationship, to wit: a deepening of your intimacy and a sense of closeness?"
I said, "Ed, are you always this formal when you talk about sex? Because I'm just hoping that when the day comes that we get between the sheets together, what you whisper in my ear will be a little juicier."
"Answer the question."
"Yes," I said primly, "we were satisfied by the experience both physically and emotionally."
"Well," Ed said, "can you draw the obvious conclusion?"
I said, "Are you telling me that you're willing to make love without having intercourse?"
"Willing?" Ed smiled. "Nay, eager. Ella, I long to be that close to you."
I cuddled against him. "You are so good," I said. "May I think about it a little?"
"Of course," he said. "I've been thinking about it quite a bit myself, and find it to be a most pleasant pastime. You know what I want right now, though?"
"What?" I said.
"Popcorn. Popped in oil. With butter. Mary Poppins is on the Disney channel at eight and I don't want to miss it."
"Ed," I said, "I'm happy to watch a movie, but I watch kids' shows all the time. There must be something with a body count on HBO. I want to see some Ninjas get gunned down in Super Slo-Mo. The only person who dies in Mary Poppins is the elder Mr. Dawes of the Dawes, Dawes, something-or-other, and Grubbs Fidelity Fiduciary Bank, and he dies laughing."
He laughed. "You love Mary Poppins, too, admit it, or you wouldn't know that."
"They've been showing Mary Poppins almost nightly for a month. Whether I love it or not, the boys and I have seen it--or parts of it--four times in the last four weeks. Please? Can't we watch Bloodbath: Part 8 on HBO?"
"There's no movie called Bloodbath: Part 8," Ed said, looking at the TV Guide.
"There might as well be. Please?"
"Pop me some popcorn. Not in the microwave. On the stove, in a pan, in oil, and put butter on it. If the popcorn is good enough, we can watch HBO. But if you burn it, or there are too many unpopped kernels, or the popped kernels are small and tough instead of big and fluffy, or the butter is unevenly distributed, it's Mary Poppins for you!"
"No, any punishment but that!" I cried, and headed to the kitchen. I knew I would win, because I happen to make excellent popcorn, and even if I didn't, I knew I would get my way, because I happen to have an excellent boyfriend.
© Copyright 1997-2001 Su Penn. Design by David Dierauer.
