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Fig Leaf Fever

Jerry & Tippy Case

(Excerpted from 1981 July-August Worldwide Family Spirit magazine)

This was the article we were both I looking forward to writing. We'd been through all Marriage Encounter's insights, we'd gone to zillions of talks about sex, we'd read various books about it and we were ready. We sat down, with reams of paper and a dozen pencils-and nothing happened. There were either too many things to write about, or there really wasn't anything to write about. We sat and looked at the blank pieces of paper and at each other, and we wondered why.

The thing we kept saying to each other over and over in different ways was, "We have nothing to say” And it finally dawned on us that our self image was somehow involved. We didn't trust what we had to say, didn't think it was important, and didn't think anybody would care. We remembered hearing someone say "Everything in Marriage Encounter is either a decision or a parallel',' and there it was. What was the current, June 1981, state of our self-images, and what was our perception of ourselves as sexual beings, involved in a sexual relationship.

Something in me still insists that every sexual act that Tippy and I engage in be successful - and that the ultimate success, or failure of it depends on me. It isn't too much of an exaggeration to say that if credits were to roll across our bedroom ceiling they would read, "This sex act was brought to you by Jerry Case; costumes, lighting and special effects by Jerry Case; based on an idea by Jerry Case; written, produced and directed by Jerry Case.”

I don't quite know exactly what "success" means, it isn't techniques, it isn't climax, it isn't anything I could put a word to, but an elusive and pretty undefined something that measures the essence of "it"; a way we should have been together. It seems very important that it be right, though, and something in me says "It's up to you',' and the notion of being the director, or the choreographer, takes over.

Because I'm convinced that sex is an important part of our relationship, I don't want to leave anything to chance. It's too risky to wait for Tippy to initiate sex; I'm not convinced that she places the same importance on it, and it might just drift away into fond memories if left to her. So I'd better keep a watchful eye on the calendar, and I'd better see to it that sex is physically, psychologically, and spiritually successful so there'll still be a basic attraction to it for her.

At the same time I carry around a notion that intimacy is private, and in spite of saying quite the opposite, I'm one who sees sex as belonging in the bedroom and with the lights out more often than not. I am embarrassed and uncomfortable with intimacy, but at the same time I long for it and want it desperately. My feelings are in a turmoil over intimacy, and I feel safest making love in the dark where the longing in my face and the need I have for Tippy won't show so much and leave me so vulnerable.

I guess intimate to me means personal, and personal often means one person; so while I don't want to have my own "intimacies" out for inspection by Tippy, I don't necessarily expect her to reveal her "intimacies" to me either. And, I sometimes feel so reserved and civilized that I can't stand it. I'd like to run around our house naked, whooping it up and having at it in the garden or in the kitchen, but I can't let go of the dark very often.

I can remember how much the phrase "They were naked and unashamed" meant to us on our weekend. We took it in a much deeper sense than physically naked; as we realized all the different ways we can hide from each other and cover ourselves up. We hide our feelings, first of all, because we really are ashamed of some of them, and I don't quite trust that Jerry won't maybe raise his eyebrows or chuckle a little when he thinks I'm not looking.

We hide behind busyness – that running around that says "Don't stop me now” and we cover ourselves up with anger, or hurt feelings, or clowning around; all the little ways we have of saying, "I don't want you to get too close; I won't expose myself to you because I'm not sure I want you to see all of who I am today.” We have a whole tree full of fig leaves to choose from if we want them.

So what does that have to do with sex? Just that we can't separate sex from sexuality. We are a man and woman, and our sexual relationship lasts 24 hours a day, not just when we're in bed. We can't talk to each other only during commercials then try to make up for the distance with a torrid love scene that night. It just doesn't work that way. If I hold myself back from Jerry or hide from him in shame during the day I can't expect the freedom to give myself to him when we make love. Naked and unashamed; it goes far beyond skin deep.

Yet lately that phrase makes us think more and more of the physical parts of us we were once so eager to explore. First of all I think of our eyes: I remember an old Veronica Lake movie on TV, and her saying that kissing with your eyes closed is like watching a play with the curtain down. Yet, we often make love with our eyes closed. We're completely shutting off one of our senses, then, and perhaps our nakedness and our awkwardness with our bodies is the reason.

Or maybe it is that fear of intimacy. If I look at Jerry, I will see how much he wants me, and I'll have to respond to him. Or, he'll see my desire in my eyes and know that I want him. Naked. And stuck with the old attitudes that somehow women don't get turned on by sex; that it's a man's thing, while women seek a "purer" more "spiritual" love. So, we're ashamed of our desire.

Or, how about "naked" talking? We say that sex is a way of communicating, and yet we're ashamed to talk about what we're feeling, what our needs are, and what pleases us in lovemaking and what turns us off. If we really want to be intimate, we should talk about what we're trying to say to each other in this act of love. Maybe we've had an argument, and it's a way of saying, “I'm sorry.” Maybe we’re feeling playful, and it's a way of saying "what fun is it to be married.” Or maybe we're feeling lonely, and it's a way of saying "I need you tonight."

For each of us the ultimate in naked and unashamed is our bodies. Is there anyone out there who thinks of himself or herself as a perfect 10? Each of the two of us is utterly and completely aware of every sag, every wrinkle, every bulge-and sure that the other is as well. How can I feel feminine and sexy and eager to give myself when I'm convinced that I'm ugly or flabby? We hold back then, in the perfect image of an Aldonza.

The lingering question is always, "Am I enough?" Man enough, sexy enough, physical enough, spiritual enough, everything enough to bring to Tippy what she needs when she needs it. And my answer fluctuates from day-to-day, from month-to-month, and from year-to-year. I'm "OK" when Richard Kiley is dreaming impossible dreams; I'm less certain of myself when Rod Stewart is screeching "Do You Think I'm Sexy?” I easily convinced that he is, but I'm not.

It's hard to pinpoint precisely where the doubts lie. Do they stem from the physical? Is it regret over passing years, watching the 28 waist go to 30, then 32? Is it having my son say, "Easy, Dad, I'll get it," as we haul the old refrigerator down to the street for clean-up day? Is it an unexpected weariness after a fairly normal day? Do I think I'm physically over the hill - and wonder how Tippy will respond to that?

Or does the base lie in the more spiritual; the inside stuff? Am I as uncommunicative as I sometimes judge? Why is that? Have I lost the capacity to love constantly and fiercely, bogged down by some deep-rooted self-centeredness? Do I really find value in the sharing of self and feelings? Am I really glad I learned how to cry, or do I feel less because I'm into tears now?

Do my doubts come from the knowledge area? I have no idea what a flange is, or what the money market is, or how to do much more than hang a picture straight in the house or change a tire (maybe) on the road. Shouldn't a real man know all this neat stuff?

No matter where my doubt comes from, I have no right to assume or decide or suspect or believe that I'm not man enough for Tippy. Only she can assume or decide or suspect or believe that - and she never has yet.

If sex is a celebration of our oneness, a total giving of ourselves to the other, then we'd better like what we're giving or it's not much of a gift.

I'd better listen when Jerry tells me that I'm beautiful to him and believe that it's true.

And, I'd better be comfortable with myself as woman - not just with my body, but with the qualities that I display during lovemaking.

For instance: I've known since our first encounter with self that I'm the middle-management type; I assert myself, I'm eager to take the lead and I'm straight forward; so those are the same qualities I bring to lovemaking. Yet, they're not qualities that spell "feminine" to me. How can I feel sexy, glamorous and desirable when I have all these aspects of me that I associate with masculinity?

But it's the world that has set up this norm of what's masculine and what's feminine, and what's desirable and what's sexy, and it tries to tell us how we're supposed to be in our love-life. We think that's overstepping. I'd rather spend my energy listening to Jerry telling me what it is he likes in me, and believing him, than to spend my time trying to turn myself into Revlon's or Glamour Magazine's or Jordache Jeans' idea of what sexy is.

My willingness to share myself and give myself totally depends very much on my image of myself as beautiful, special, desirable and lovable. Another example is my efficiency. I'm proud of my ability to work out mental lists and to make schedules and sort through priorities and arrange approaches so I'm able to move two or three mountains in an average day. Yet if I'm pressured that mirror shifts and becomes distorted, so I don't see myself as energetic and efficient, but as a robot; a machine that whirls and clicks and spews out the products: a clean house here, a child chauffeured there, a committee meeting, a talk written, a dinner made - "whir" "whir," "whir."

Then that machine stops, switches to another gear labeled "sexy," "alluring," "soft and feminine." I find it very hard to make that switch, as long as I see my value in being productive and efficient. I find myself wanting to run us the same way I've run the house all day.

There are other examples, too. Some days I listen to my own voice rasping out orders, hollering to the kids down the street, screeching at the dog in our flower bed, and I think to myself, "Good grief, you sound like a banshee.” Then I want to take that banshee person and hide her away in the attic. How can I present her to Jerry as someone he should admire and treasure?

As we examined our qualities, and how we judge them, many things fell into place.

Over the years a lot of people have said to me, "You should have been a comedian.” I like to hear that; I can be amusing; I can make people laugh pretty often. So I've filed that as a quality. AMUSING. But in our sexual relationship I'm leery about pulling out that quality from the files. Who the heck wants an amusing sexual relationship? But that's my judgment, not Tippy's.

Tippy sees herself as overly serious about sex. She's looking for some lightness, some sense of foolishness and fun. "Son of a gun" – maybe she's looking for some amusement and maybe, just maybe, my quality is exactly what would bring her to life to make her feel better about herself. Not feel better about me, but about herself. So maybe I have a gift to bring her after all. If only I can stop thinking about me.

It’s easy for me to become uncertain about my qualities and how they apply to our sexual life. I'm a thoughtful, logical person, but that doesn't seem terribly exciting. The National Enquirer would not scream a headline, "Case's Logical Approach to Sex Sets Country on Ear." So I cast about for other qualities I possess, hoping that they'll apply. What else am I? Determined? Yes, but that sounds plodding and grim. Methodical? Rest easy, Robert Redford, there's no competition coming out of Centerport.

What happens to me is that I don't look on sex as a celebration because when I'm down on myself I'm not sure what we have to celebrate. When I don't think I have much to offer, everything I do give becomes a burden to me. I'm resentful of having to give – in lovemaking as well as everywhere else.

Once we described it like going swimming. You're hot and sticky, and the water looks good - maybe it will help, but it's so much trouble. I don't want to go to all the bother of getting wet, when I'll just have to dry off again. And what if it's cold, or there's seaweed? Maybe it's just not worth it. Then I get mad at myself for being such a stick in the mud. It's the same way in sex. I get wary and hesitant: it's too much trouble, and what if it's cold? I don't see the fun in anything, because I can't enjoy being me.

Yet, what of "no power” and "skin-to-skin” and "life-giving?" What of "belonging" and "unity" and "sex as communication?" What of "two in one flesh" and "sex as celebration"? What of all the good things we've heard from our Encounter family? Is it real? Do the Cases, fairly average stuff, have a right to it all? You bet your buns we do! Is it ever all present and accounted for, every cog meshing, every word and phrase in place and alive? Yes, it is! And not that rarely, either. Tippy still looks, and is, just right for me, and I for her and our act is together much more often than it isn't.

But our focus seems more often to be on the negative. When things are not going so well (a hasty remark, a careless act or oversight, an unexpected bristling) we're all too ready to accept the negative state as our natural state. And when we're up and feeling good, we seem to be waiting expectantly and with foreboding. "This can't last; this is too good to be true.”

But we're learning, and trying, to believe more in our individual and couple sexuality. We've got it. All we need to do is trust in it and believe in it. The devil must hate sex; he certainly goes out of his way to distort it. And God must really dig it - after all, it was his idea, He's the one who thought up all the feelings, all the desires, all the ways to answer them and all the little ins and outs that make up man and woman.

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