Chapter 5

On the next date I decided to try another tack. Instead of going straight to the cinema I suggested we go for a drink first. Once we where settled at a table with our drinks I tried to talk to her about how I felt for her, how she felt for me and what type of relationship she wanted us to have. But instead I found myself talking to her about sex. Why couldn’t I talk to her about love without mentioning sex? It was as if my desire for her was so strong and I was so frustrated, after having my hopes raised and dashed so often, that all my energies seemed to be channelled into lustful thoughts.

But she had no qualms about talking about sex. Just as long as the conversation didn’t get too personal. And I didn’t say anything that she could interpret as either asking to have sex with her or implying that we were having sex.

I can’t remember what strange twists and turns our conversation must have taken during our first drink, but half way through our second we ended up talking about masturbation.

“So what would you tell your twelve year old son if you found him masturbating?” I took a sip of my drink.

“Well…” I felt she was going to just shrug it off, but she didn’t. “I’d tell him what it was all about. What it was for.”

Visions of her inaptness at doing any thing for me came to mind and I wondered how she was going to tell her son how to masturbate properly. I doubted if she knew that there was more than one technique. So I asked, “What do you mean?”

“You know,” she smiled. “About the birds and the bees.”

I wanted to explain to her that I meant if she had discovered him masturbating after he’d been told about the birds and the bees. I wanted to know if she would tell him that it was a sin and that he shouldn’t do it. But I felt that the guy sitting at the end of the next table was beginning to take an interest in our conversation and I didn’t want to discuss this in front of an audience.

I decided to change the conversation again. Most people in Ireland, regardless of religious or political persuasion, believe that the sex education in Irish schools is inadequate. Though when it comes to the question of what should be done to improve it opinions differ widely. Which is probably why so little has been done about improving the situation.

“Well I’m glad you’d tell him,” I smiled. “Because if you left it up to the schools he’d not find out about anything.”

She seem surprised. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “We had very good sex education classes in our school.”

“I thought you went to a nun’s school,” I said.

“I did,” she nodded.

“And they had sex education classes?” I didn’t believe it.

“Of course,” she smiled. “Didn’t you have them.”

“All the priests told us was that it was immoral to masturbate. And that you shouldn’t get your passions inflamed as it might to be difficult to control them and you’d end up getting a girl into trouble,” I smiled then at how silly it had seemed. But when I think now of the stupidity of it makes me so angry.

She laughed with me. “Really?” she asked.

“Really,” I stopped laughing.

“We were taught all about sex,” she said.

“By the nuns?” The thought of a nun being explicit about sex was incredible.

“Well it was a lay teacher that gave the classes,” she conceded. “But the nuns must have known what she was teaching us.”

“What?” I asked. “All about contraception. And how to make love. Or even masturbate.”

“Don’t be disgusting, Kevin,” She looked away.

“Disgusting?” I smiled. “Which one of those was disgusting?” I thought, you sure find the thought of making love to me disgusting.

“They don’t teach you that sort of thing in school,” she said.

“I know,” I replied. “I went to school as well.”

There was silence for a moment. “So where are you supposed to learn about that sort of thing if they don’t teach you in school?” I asked.

“Well,” she replied. “Where did you learn about it?”

“From books and magazines,” I said. “And late night television programs.” I smiled, “Particularly channel Four.”

We laughed. And I noticed she’d finished her drink.

“Do you want another?” I asked.

“No, Kevin,” she shook her head. “I have to make an early start in the morning, so I think it’s time I headed home.”

“O.K.” I knocked back the remains of my pint while she put on her coat. I think she was going to leave without me, but when she saw me putting on my coat she waited for me.

We walked back down towards O’Connell st. I thought that we’d be going back to her place as usual. But she stopped and took hold of my arm.

“Listen,” she said. “There’s just enough time for you to catch your last bus home. Isn’t there?”

I shrugged, “Yeh. The stop’s just down the road. The last bus isn’t due to leave for another half hour.”

“Well,” she hesitated. “It’s just that I have to get up early in the morning to catch a bus home,” she looked down. “So I don’t think that you’d better come back with me tonight.”

I felt a familiar disappointment. “O.K.,” I said. What else could I say. “So you’re going away for the rest of the weekend, then.”

“Yes,” she looked up, but offered no other explanation.

I put my arms around her and leaned forward to kiss her. She kissed me quickly and stepped away.

“I’ll see you then,” she said. Then she looked down again. “You know it was a very interesting conversation we had tonight,” she turned and hurried away.

And left me with a lot to think about. I’d certainly achieved my goal of finding more about what she thought of sex. But I’d failed miserably in finding out just what she felt about me. I had this unshakeable believe that she didn’t know how she felt about me. That she was unwilling to look at our relationship and decide what she felt about me. Because if she knew she’d surely tell me.

But at least I now knew some more about her attitude to sex. It was no wonder she knew fuck all about sex. If she thought what the nuns were likely to have told her was all there is to know she must have been in a bad state. I don’t mean that they wouldn’t have taught her anything. I’m sure that she knew a lot more about menstrual cycles, gestation periods and even genetics than I did. But I’m equally sure that she knew little about contraception. And she definitely knew nothing about making love.

And she didn’t seem to have come to terms with the guilt of wanting sex yet. I know that guilt, I was raised as a Catholic. And even now I’m not sure that I’ve come to terms with the guilt that was instilled in me at having normal feelings and emotions.

So I spent the next few weeks thinking. The poor little kid, feeling all these desires that she was not supposed to have. Not knowing what to do with them and so repressing them. No wonder she couldn’t make up her mind if she wanted to have sex or not. Or rather, that she wanted to have sex, but she couldn’t admit it, least of all to herself.

And all the time I ignored all the trouble I was having with my own uncontrollable desires. Ironic justice?

Chapter 6

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