“What is your age?”
“Forty-one.”
Honest. “Are you Single? Married? Separated? Divorced? Widowed? Engaged? Recently estranged? On the rebound? Other?”
“Single. Never married. Between relationships at the moment.”
“Have you ever had an affair outside a primary relationship?”
“I went around a boyfriend in college.”
“With male or female?”
“Both.”
“Are you a virgin?”
“Not technically.”
Anorgasmia, primary. “Trouble with orgasm?”
“Yes. How’d you know?”
“A hunch. You’ve never had one?"
“No! I mean yes! That's why ...”
“Don’t worry. You’re not alone, and it is fixable. Do you know that 10% of all American women have this problem?”
“No.”
“Are you on anti-depressants of any kind?
“No.”
“Drink? How much?”
“Occasional glass of wine.”
“Birth control?”
“Pill.”
“Prescription drugs?”
“Only that.”
“Smoke?”
“No. Yuck.”
“Any handicaps, diabetes, MS, or other conditions?”
“No.”
“Did you ever hurt yourself down there, say, riding a boy’s bicycle?”
“You mean traumatize nerve endings? No.”
“Do you consider yourself attractive?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“Yes.”
"Did you like your lover physically?”
“God, yes. He was a rower.”
“Did he treat you well?”
“He was young and still learning in the sex department, but a gentleman. He had a nice tongue, if that’s what you mean. He didn’t mind using it.”
“Good. So you’re beyond plain vanilla. Toys?”
“I've tried them. Our Bodies, Ourselves, a hand mirror, all that. I know where the little man in the boat lives.”
“Your parents. Were they strict?”
“Not really.”
“Uptight? Prudish? Unhappy in their marriage?”
“They were pretty unhappy before the crash.”
“Crash?”
“I was driving. I had my learner’s permit. They were arguing bitterly, Mom in back, Dad in front. The light turned green and I pulled out. A delivery truck ran the yellow. Plowed into the passenger side. I got broken ankles and ribs, a few cuts.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“Who’d you live with afterwards?”
“My grandmother on my father's side.”
"Was she strict? Fire and brimstone? Churchy?”
“She was Christian Scientist.”
“Did she ever withhold medical help when you were sick, or tell you it was your fault?”
“My ankles took awhile to heal. These “practitioners” kept coming around to pray with me and argue my "bad thoughts" away. They said a failure of faith caused my ankles to hurt, and that I had impure thoughts.”
“Did you like boys then?”
“I had a crush.”
“But that ended?”
“He got tired of coming around. I don't blame him. After the practitioners left one day, my grandmother made me walk before I was ready. Let's say it set me back. I had to stay in bed for another 2 months. I still have a limp.”
“Do you think she was angry at you?"
“She probably was. I was the driver and I survived.”
“Did you try to work this out with her?”
“No. She passed away shortly after I went off to college.”
"Are you OK?"
"It wasn't my fault. I know that."
“Any sexual traumas? Rape? Abuse?”
“Nothing other than the usual forgetting to knock and finding mom in bed with a man not your father.”
“Your father. You mean your father.”
“Yes, mine.”
“That’s not so usual.”
“Oh. Say, this is starting to sound like a therapy session.”
“Is it? What did your father look like?”
The questioning continued for another 30 minutes ….
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