PLAY

I went to therapy wearing my nazgul costume. Naturally T wanted to know why.

I said I was in a playful, mischievous mood. It’s about teasing authority without quite challenging its power. Or so I thought. But we worked on it a bit longer and then…

Me: It’s play as a substitute for sex.
T: Bravo! So what kind of sex would you want with me?
Me: Play sex.

Kissing, cuddling, chasing, lying on the grass, gazing into her eyes, putting my hand on her breast.
But I’m looking at T with my heart, not my eyes. It’s not T’s face and it’s not T’s body. In fact it’s my wife’s body, aged about 30. It’s a woman who will bear my child.

T: A woman who will give you everything.

In fact, I’m replaying an idealisation of what happened when I was courting my wife in my early twenties. We had time to play and explore and find out about sex together over several months.

That was only time in my life when I led with my heart and went at my heart’s pace. As we know, the first flush of love turns off the higher brain functions! The planning, critical, worrying, responsible part of the brain (the superego, I guess) is pleasantly anaesthetised.

I've had plenty of disappointments in my life, but one thing I wouldn't change is the love I've shared with my wife.

EYES

When I look at T with my eyes, I can’t see the woman I can see with my heart. In fact, I often see love withheld, though I know in my heart this is not the case. My inability to see the woman I know is distressing to me and fascinating to T. I see a poker face when she is feeling warmth and connection.

T: What kind of eyes do you have?
Me: Critical eyes. Eyes that look for fault. My mother’s eyes. It’s about time I had eyes of my own.
T: That would be nice.