The Psychologist

The Psychologist

Mason Maynard

All rights reserved.

It was early June 1970, and I'd just finished a bachelor's degree in psychology at Ohio State University. I'd done well and had already been accepted for the master's program in psychology and counseling with an assistantship. I had reason to be optimistic for my future. But in the short term, I was in financial trouble. Maybe because I didn't have a car, I was having a hard time finding a job. I was having a run of bad luck.

Desperate for a few dollars, I went to the plasma center to donate blood, but they refused to accept it because they said there were traces of an infection, probably the infection I'd had when I was fifteen. I'd been tested for it several times since then and given a clean bill of health, but the traces of it disqualified my plasma. Then I signed up at a sperm bank and went through the procedure, but they rejected me, too, saying my sperm count was zero.

"Are you sure?" I asked the clerk. "Can you test it again?"

"I'm sure. Look at the report. But you can come back next week and we'll re-run it."

I went back the following week and got the same result. Then I remembered that after I recovered from my infection that they said there was a risk of infertility.

I saw an ad in the paper for a laborer working for a small construction and remodeling company. That didn't seem like a good match for me, but I applied anyway. The head of the company, Russell, seemed really disagreeable; he couldn't even have a polite conversation with an applicant, but I had no other options for that summer. I admitted I didn't have any remodeling experience, but he said that didn't matter and that I could learn painting in a day.

Unfortunately the work site was out of town. It was at a convent in a small town outside Columbus, so naturally I wondered about transportation. I asked the other crew members at the site if they lived in Columbus, and Jack, the foreman, said he did. We talked about the details, and he agreed to give me a ride. That seemed to be the end of my bad luck streak.

The convent had two wings, one inhabited and the other being remodeled for other purposes. Sometimes Jack and I were the only workers on site, and sometimes it was just me, cleaning up the mess made by the others or doing interior and exterior painting. I had a day of training for the painting, and after that I was on my own.

Jack turned out to have the opposite personality of his boss. He was pleasant and seemed to have an understanding of how to get along with people. We had plenty of time to talk in the car every day. When it came out that I was studying psychology, he had a lot to say.

"You notice how rough Russell is?" he said. "It's hard to know which came first, but he doesn't get along with his wife. I wonder whether that's because she's just crabby or because he's mean to her, and that's why she's crabby."

"Sometimes it's hard to figure out how those situations happen," I said, avoiding terminology used to described dynamics of interpersonal relationships.

"For me," Jack said, "having a happy wife is super important. It's the key to household harmony. I guess if women are unhappy in bed, they're unhappy with everything. It's not like they feel free to speak up and get what they want, like men."

"That's really interesting," I said. "It sounds like you're on the right track." I really got to admire Jack for saying things like that.

After a couple weeks on the job, with Jack happy with my work, my streak of bad luck returned. OK, I admit I was feeling kind of light-headed that day, and maybe that's the reason I fell when I was doing some ceiling painting. It looked like I sprained my ankle and my wrist. Nobody wanted to call an ambulance, and Russell sure didn't want me to file for workman's compensation, so he went to the head of the convent, Mother Richards, who called her doctor for advice. He said I needed to stay off my feet for two or three weeks and not move my right arm. Russell and Mother Richards wanted to avoid compensation involved in a lawsuit, so they arranged for me to stay in one of the just-completed rooms in the wing we were working on and agreed that they'd check on me and bring me meals for three weeks until I recovered and could get back to work. I was in pain with the sprains, so I accepted the arrangement.

The nuns who brought my trays on the first day weren't very friendly, but I didn't much mind. On the second day, though, my lunch tray was brought by someone I thought I recognized: Sister Mary Rosaire, who'd been my sixth-grade teacher at Our Lady of the Rosary school. She recognized me, too.

"Mason, is that you?"

"Sister Rosaire?"

"Yes, that's me," and her blank expression turned into a big smile. "Mason, I'm so glad to see you. Look, you're all grown up now." It was eleven years later, so we'd both changed quite a bit.

"You were my best grade-school teacher ever," I said, and I meant it. I'd admired her a lot when I was eleven and thought she was by far the most pleasant and effective teacher I'd ever known. She was also the most attractive.

"That was my first year teaching," she said, "and I can tell you this now, you were one of my favorite students. In many ways it was my best year ever. What are you doing now? Painting?"

"That's just a summer job," I said. "I just graduated in psychology, and I start graduate school in September."

"That's great," she said.

"Can I ask you a question about something you said eleven years ago?" I asked with a smile.

"Sure, but I'm not sure I'll remember it."

"You said you thought it was fairly easy to lead a moral life," I said, "and I've often wondered whether that's true and whether you still think it."

Her expression turned serious, almost sad. "That was a bit of editorializing on my part, and I'm not surprised I said it. In those days I was in a really supportive, understanding environment. The other sisters were so kind, and we got along really well. It was just the opposite of where I am now. These people just don't get along at all. They all seem so unhappy and angry all the time. I'm having a hard time staying focused and keeping a good attitude."

"I'm really sorry to hear that," I said.

"Two of the sisters have recently left, and others are thinking about it."

"How about you?"

She looked very distressed. "I hate to admit I'm questioning my vocation. It's really, really hard living with these people."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," I said. "But for now you have a psychologist you can come and talk to whenever you like."

She held back tears as she said, "Thank you so much. I think I'll do that. Right now I need to get back."

Every day for the next week, Sister Rosaire brought my dinner tray, and each time, she was able to stay and talk for a while. We first talked about the year when she was my teacher and how she managed with two groups in one classroom - the "smart class" of sixth graders and the "dumb class" of seventh graders. We even talked about some of my individual classmates. We surprised each other at how well we remembered them. Sometimes we talked about it as a wonderful year and came close to tears.

Other days we talked about what had happened to us since that time, where we had been, what we'd studied, who we'd worked for, and how our views had changed. Really, we did one of the things people did before television: we talked about our lives and got to know each other better. By the end of that week, we felt we were really good old friends. More than that, I had strange, unexpected feelings towards her, and I suspected those feelings were mutual.

One day in the second week, when she brought my dinner tray, she told me more about the women around her and how unhappy and difficult they were. We discussed the situation, and I told her there was no easy solution. She put her hand on my good hand and said, "I'm so glad I have you to talk to."

I should mention that Jenny, as she asked me to call her, didn't wear the full habit. Instead of a coif and veil, she didn't wear anything on her head. And instead of a long tunic, she wore a gray or black blouse and skirt. The other nuns dressed the same.

"I can stay a little longer today and talk some more," she said. "The superior is so afraid that more of us will leave that she's relaxed some of the rules. That's happening everywhere. They're desperate to keep the order intact and stop people from leaving. They're dispensing people from their vows left and right."

When she brought my breakfast tray, she also brought a radio and a couple of books from the convent library. They were classics by Freud and Jung, certainly not recent, but good books that I was glad to see and enjoyed reading during my stay. The radio also made a difference for me, too.

"I hate to think of you lying in bed all alone every day bored," she said.

"These presents are so helpful," I said. "Plus having your company is really nice, too."

When she brought my lunch, we ended up having a very personal conversation, practically crying on each other's shoulders. I told her about my streak of bad luck, including being rejected at the plasma center and the sperm bank, and she told me more about where she had been assigned and how she ended up in this terrible place. At one point, with both of us practically in tears, she stroked my good arm, and we briefly exchanged kisses.

Listening to the radio that afternoon, I heard the first reports of the pandemic. The scientists were able to identify it and count the dead but not much more. For lack of a better term, they called it VP-70, viral pandemic 1970. They knew it was highly contagious and had a very high mortality rate, but they didn't understand how it spread except that the propagation pattern seemed to be similar to the flu. When it reached Ohio, people rushed to the grocery stores to stock up, because they realized that the only defense against VP-70 was isolation.

Jenny had heard the news, too, and said they planned to stay completely isolated and that I could stay where I was, because sending me out could be a death sentence. She was distressed when she brought my dinner tray, but she also said the news meant we'd be able to spend a lot of time together. After I finished my tray, she put it on the desk and sat on my bed next to me. We exchanged a few kisses, and she put her hand on my chest. Then she saw that I was getting excited, so she put her hand down there and held me for a moment. For me, with no sexual experience, what had just happened was earth shattering, but I tried not to react except by kissing her more intensely. After a while, I told her that having her hand there was a wonderful feeling and that she could move it. She didn't know how to do it, so I guided her and she continued until she could see that my excitement had peaked.

"I never dreamed that anyone could be so nice to me," I told her afterwards.

"And I never dreamed of finding anyone so understanding," she answered. "I feel sorry for you lying in bed all day with nothing to do. I know you have needs, and I'm glad you showed me how to help you."

The next day, she said she couldn't stay long when she brought my breakfast and lunch trays. But she had more time at dinner. After I ate, we exchanged a few kisses and she said she had a "very big favor" to ask me. I was so grateful to her that I promised to do whatever she asked. "It's not simple," she said, "and it might not be easy." She went into the attached bathroom and when she came out, lifted her skirt up to her waist, and got in bed under the covers with me. "You showed me what to do for you," she said, "and now if you're willing, I can show you what to do for me." "I'm happy to learn," I said.

Then she guided my good hand to below her waist and had me first rest it there. She seemed very happy to have it there, and then guided it to make some small movements. Once I could do those movements on my own, she took away her hand and asked me to make the movements smaller or larger, slower or faster. It wasn't hard to see that what she was asking me to do was very similar in effect to what she'd done for me. Only for her, it took much, much longer, so long that my hand was getting tired. I had to stop for a moment, but when I did, she asked me in an urgent voice, "Please don't stop. Keep going." So somehow I resumed and finally succeeded. She was very emotional after that and gave me a lot of kisses.

After she left, I realized that we now knew exactly how to make each other happy in this vale of tears and loneliness, and I thought we'd continue like that.

When I finished eating dinner the next day, she again sat on the bed next to me and said, in a smiling but serious voice, "Mason, you know we're going to be here for a long time, maybe for months according to the news, and there's something that we can't ignore. Besides the fact that I was your teacher and you were my student, and the fact that we're now really close friends, there's the fact that you're a man and I'm a woman. I think we need to accept that fact. And there's another fact, and that's that we don't need to use birth control."

Hearing her say that made me a bit nervous. Of course I knew what she was talking about, since I'd seen it, vaguely, in movies. "I've never done that," I said. "We can figure it out," she said. "I'll help you."

She checked that the door was locked and then took off her clothes, still sitting on the edge of the bed. Seeing her do that truly set me on fire. We kissed and touched each other for a long time. Her breasts seemed so soft and wonderful to touch and kiss. Then she helped me off with my clothes, being careful not to touch my sprains. After that, she guided my good hand to the top of her legs, and she opened her legs and asked me to stroke her thighs and then move a finger to the very top of her thighs and into her. She felt very moist, and I knew that she was ready for more. When I came on top of her, she moved her legs farther apart and raised her knees. Despite some pain in my wrist and ankle, I slowly pushed into the area where I'd felt the moisture, and suddenly I felt as if I'd ascended into heaven. She asked me to go slow, then fast, and then she stopped talking. After a long while, she arched her body up and let out a little shout. I stopped pushing for a moment but then resumed and went faster, as she asked, until I came to a climax. After that, I came out, since I couldn't push anymore. And I understood exactly what she'd meant when she told me, "You're a man and I'm a woman." After a while, she said she needed to go back, so she got dressed and gave me some very affectionate kisses. Jenny and I understood that we'd crossed a big barrier and that everything would be different for us now.

When she brought my breakfast tray, she seemed like a new woman. She was as cheerful as when I'd known her eleven years before and said she felt able to withstand the daily horrors of living with the others in the convent. After I ate dinner, we made love again, but this time we knew what we were doing and were more confident about it. I also had more time to enjoy watching her undress and touching her beautiful body.

We continued like that every day for a couple weeks, and it was a very pleasant routine. One evening, though, there was a knock at my door while Jenny was in bed with me. It was Mother Richards asking for Jenny in a loud voice. Jenny quickly picked up her clothes and went into the bathroom to put them on. I got dressed quickly, too and answered the door. As soon as Mother Richards stepped into my room, she headed straight for the bathroom. At that moment, Jenny had just finished dressing, but the truth was obvious. Mother Richards and Jenny left together.

I was so glad the next day to see that Jenny brought my tray.

"We had a long, serious talk," Jenny said, "and Mother Richards said the last thing she wanted was for me to leave the convent, so here I am. I also told her that you're a psychology student and that your treatment had done a world of good for me. I was so persuasive that she now wonders whether the same treatment could be applied to the others. She said she'd do whatever it took to keep the convent intact and prevent others from leaving."

So I wasn't too surprised when Mother Richards herself brought my lunch tray the next day. I was a little intimidated, but I spoke up.

"I have a degree in psychology and have been accepted in a program for psychology and counseling," I said. "I think I have an idea of what's causing all the unhappiness here, and I also think I have a treatment for it."

"What exactly is that treatment?" she asked. It was exactly what I'd hoped she wouldn't ask.

"I'd rather not talk about that yet," I said. "For right now, I have a question for you: Are you willing to do whatever it takes to improve the environment in this convent?"

MR (as she asked me to call her) hesitated but finally said, "Yes, I am. But I would never ask my nuns to do something I haven't done myself."

That almost sounded like a dare. MR was very serious, almost stern. I wondered how to turn her around, to bring her from acting like a cold fish to telling me with tears in her eyes that I was wonderful.

"It won't happen immediately," I explained. "It could take several hours over several days or weeks. Can you commit to that?"

"During the pandemic, we all have time to apply to important things," she answered.

"Then please, when you bring my lunch tray tomorrow, plan to spend an extra hour or two."

She agreed. By the way, I knew that I'd be seeing Jenny in the evening, and I didn't want to interfere with our usual meeting time. That's why I asked MR for afternoons.

The next day, while I ate lunch, I made casual conversation with MR and tried to break the ice. The ice was thick, but I persisted. After she took away my tray, I pursued a line of questions with her - casual at first, but working into the kind of penetrating questions that psychotherapists ask when they want to get into the root of a patient's problems. I was so persistent that after about an hour MR broke down in tears and said she'd always hoped that no one would ever ask her that question and she'd hoped to take her secret to the grave with her. She confided other things to me, and after a while I asked her to sit on the bed. I wiped her tears, promised her confidentiality, and told her I'd do whatever I could to help her. We cuddled in bed for a while, and I asked her if she was willing to resume the next day. She agreed.

When Jenny came, I told her I'd seen MR but didn't want to tell her any more than that. After I finished my dinner, Jenny and I made love as usual, and she told me that she was very happy with me and was so glad I'd changed her life.

When MR came with my tray the next day, she started in a rather serious tone by saying, "No matter what the treatment is, I absolutely cannot risk have any pregnancies in my convent."

"I'd would never risk that. You can erase that worry from your mind."

She didn't seem completely reassured, so I told her I'd explain it later. What that concern told me was that she was on the right track in guessing at the treatment. Anyway, we picked up the conversation from last time, and at one point I asked her to sit on the side of the bed. I took her hands and kissed them at a critical moment, and she seemed touched by that gesture. Then, of her own free will, she leaned over and gave me a quick kiss, apparently surprised at what she'd done. I gave her a kiss on the lips and then another, and I knew we were making progress.

She didn't protest as I reached up under her skirt and pulled her panties down and off. I explained that there was no risk of pregnancy as I reached under her skirt and touched her vulva as Jenny had showed me. Then, avoiding looking her in the eyes, I moved my fingers in exactly the same way Jenny had shown me. It took over half an hour, but she finally came to a climax and then another one. She lay there quietly for a moment and then said, "That's wonderful, and I can see how that won't lead to pregnancy. But the fact is that we're in bed together, and you're a man. The inevitable will happen, and I or one of the others will end up pregnant."