—4—

I’M a terrible woman, terrible, terrible. And it’s all Your fault. Why did You make me such a focking good actress? Poor Dermot, he’s such a dear sweet man. He deserves a good wife, one who doesn’t pretend all the time.

I did mean it when I said his naked body is beautiful, so trim and strong and solid. I like to feel him inside me. I like it when he kisses and caresses me and holds me in his arms.

But I have to fake that I’m having real sexual pleasure. I’m a terrible good fake. Or at least good enough to fool him. I don’t think that woman he made love with could have been all that passionate either.

I AM passionate, but maybe not enough. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Bat I don’t think I enjoy what some other women enjoy. A lot of them say they fake it often, too.

All the time?

I started faking the first night because I wanted him to feel like he was a great lover. According to what I read in the books he does all the things a good lover should do. It’s not his fault that I’m such an iceberg. He’s kind and sweet and gentle and thoughtful—and clever, too. He knows what buttons to push, but my buttons just don’t seem to be working.

I kept thinking that I’d catch on soon, but I didn’t. Then I got so much into the habit of faking I couldn’t change. I start out with the feeling that I have to fake it.

The books say that I should talk it over with him. But how can I tell him that I’ve been acting all these months? It would humiliate him altogether, and it isn’t his fault

He tries to make me discuss orgasm, but I won’t do it because I’m so ashamed of faking. He’ll find out eventually and then he’ll blame me. He won’t love me anymore and I’ll lose him. All because I’m living a lie.

Will I really lose him?

Maybe not, but I might. He’ll be disgusted with me.

Why did You let me do this?

It won’t do any good to deny Your responsibility. You made me a faker.

I’m sorry. I don’t mean that It’s not Your fault I know that You love me and want me and me husband to be happy. I know that You ‘re always present to me, no matter where I go. But what am I supposed to do? Won’t I lose him no matter what I do now … and meself lying to him all these months?

Am I not pregnant because You are punishing me for me lies? That’s what the nuns would say. Maybe they’d be right

I know You wouldn ‘t do that.

Would You?

Am I a frigid Irish cow? Do a thousand years of inhibitions make me afraid to abandon meself to him, like that feminist woman wrote in the Irish Times this morning?

Or should I just wait and see what happens?

That’s what me ma says. I suppose You got a good laugh out of two Irish women talking around THAT subject! Still, we did all right She says I should stop worrying and trust You and that it will all work out just fine.

You know I’m not the kind to do that, don’t You?

But maybe Ma is right

Please help me.

I love him so much.