I was young, 12, maybe 13. I had not begun to develop, no pubic hair, no budding breasts. I was traveling by myself on the bus, changing buses in San Bernardino, on my way to Los Angeles, where my Uncle Harry would meet me and take me to Pasadena for a visit with my cousin, Mary.

I was in a sort of park area waiting for the bus. A man, probably in his 40s, but who seemed old to me at the time, asked me to let him put it between my legs. I knew what “it” referred to from dirty jokes my friends had told me at school. I walked away to wait inside the terminal.

My emotions were a jumble of conflicting feelings that have taken time to sort out. I was flattered, aroused, surprised, confused, exasperated, disgusted, offended, horrified, afraid, embarrassed and ashamed. I even felt obligated, although fortunately I didn’t act on that feeling. I was ashamed because I didn’t understand the flattery and arousal components of my reaction. The disgust and horror part made sense.

Now I have an old man of my own (although he is a few years younger than me). I still have a similar jumble of emotions when it comes to sex. I want to please him, I want to be pleased, etc.

Beyond sex, living with a significant relationship is an emotional rollercoaster at times, because we both trigger each other in ways that are not apparent on the surface. During the first decade, approximately, of our relationship and eventual marriage, we would get into screaming fights that made no sense considering the passion of our love.

I must have been reminded of my father’s intelligence and wit in conversations with Jim, and perhaps that is part of the attraction. But when he is unhappy about something and airs his grievances to me, I find myself reacting as if I were a child being scolded by my father. I didn’t understand it until very recently. When my father was unhappy and manifested that bitter, winy tone of voice, I would be scared, angry, desperate to say something, anything, that would get me out of a beating. I knew I would be in a world of pain. 

That doesn’t happen anymore. Jim has never hit me or touched me in anger. My elaborate defense is totally unnecessary.