DR THOMAS STUTTAFORDThe late Dr Anthony Storr, an Oxford psychiatrist whose liberal opinions were supported by a solid foundation of great clinical experience and a sharp analytical brain, maintained that nearly everyone’s curiosity is aroused by nudity. This tendency, he taught, was more marked in men than women, but few people of either sex go past someone dressing or undressing without glancing.
A greater tendency for men to be inquisitive about female nudity than vice versa is thought to be because they are more aroused by visual images; women rely more for sexual stimulation on touch and emotions. This male characteristic prompted Dr Storr to suggest that some women invite attention from men by dressing and undressing with needless publicity.
His observation may explain the reader’s neighbour’s behaviour, but the reader can’t be certain that this isn’t only the action of someone who is disinhibited through age. His neighbour is rather older than most female exhibitionists. It is more common in young, attractive women such as the patient who once asked me about her fantasy of slowly undressing on a hotel balcony while men stopped, gathered into a small crowd and were carried away by her performance.
Another patient lived in a block of flats in Central London that faced another flat occupied by an young couple in their twenties. Most evenings they would slowly strip down to their black underwear in front of the window. Then they would begin to make love while bathed in a coloured light before disappearing from sight, presumably on to a bed. The worry the patient had was that she might be a nightly audience of only one. Months later she heard from a neighbour that many other occupants of the flats had watched occasionally and that there was a devoted fan club who had looked forward to it each night.
In George Melly’s book Paris and the Surrealists he describes a similar experience when he was staying with a friend called Alex at a hotel in the French capital. Each evening a beautiful young man, naked except for his dressing gown, appeared on the balcony of the room below Melly’s, ignored any audience and performed a small act, no longer than a cabaret, before disappearing back into his room .
Exhibitionism is an obsession that obsesses men. In men, exhibitionism is intended to shock and to cause revulsion in women; and it is the women’s confusion and horror that gives the man his pleasure. Conversely, women who are less commonly exhibitionist than men don’t usually derive sexual pleasure from displaying their bodies. They are nude or near nude not for inherent kicks but with the intention of attracting the admiration and interest of men.
The reader asks if he should follow up on his neighbour’s presumed lead. He must make certain that it is an advance and, if an advance, that any display is meant for him not the man next door. Women of all ages indulge in sexual display as a means of showing their intentions but not many at 70 are brave enough to chance total nudity.
If indeed the neighbour’s evening parade is intended for the reader’s pleasure and not just because she has forgotten to draw the curtains, or no longer worries about privacy and decorum, he would be almost ungracious not to make a move himself.
SUZI GODSON
If you’re sure that the striptease is an intentional come-on, that you are the target, that her actions are not just the result of forgetfulness in the curtain department, or an indication of general exhibitionism, then there’s probably no harm in inviting her out to tea.
No one should ever let the opportunity to make a new friend pass them by, but don’t be surprised if you find out that the only thing you have in common is a postcode. Though you are both in your seventies and both available, this, in itself, is rarely enough to sustain a relationship. Single people with a bus pass are as fussy as anyone about who they fall in love with.
In fact, arguably, the older people get, the more set in their ways they become and women, in particular, can be surprisingly unwilling to meet a guy halfway. I know this from personal experience. A few years ago, when I was a columnist on another newspaper, I became frustrated by the number of lonely hearts letters I received from people over 50 who couldn’t get back into the dating scene.
Many agencies stop putting women on their books once they hit 40 and many older men are too shy to try to meet a new partner, so, in a flash of naivety, I convinced myself that if I could introduce my older readers to each other they would find love and live happily ever after.
The following week, I turned my column into an experimental one-off dating service, solely for people over 50. Participants were asked to fill in a detailed questionnaire about themselves and my bright idea was that I would personally vet each application and pair each person off with someone I felt would be suitable.
Easier said than done. I received so many applications that my house disappeared under an intimidating pile of printouts which I paid my kids to sort by region, age, gender and interests. Because the process involved e-mail, there were fewer applicants over 70 so I started my unenviable task at the top — the over-eighties — and worked my way down.
I was pretty confident — arrogant, actually. I felt sure that if I introduced gents of 80 to spring chickens of 78 that they would surely find some solace in each other. In bed, at night, I entertained self-congratulatory fantasies about becoming a bridesmaid. Not a bit of it. All I received was a litany of complaints from elderly women who were hugely disappointed because the man they had been introduced to had grey hair, wrinkles, an ex-wife or a little run-of-the-mill emotional baggage.
At first I felt annoyed that my altruistic attempt to play Cupid had been sabotaged by an unexpectedly robust sense of entitlement. However, it eventually dawned on me that while the men who had e-mailed had all expressed a desire to find a new partner (read wife), the women, many of whom had been married for 30 or 40 years, might have been looking for company, or even sex, but they certainly weren’t interested in finding another husband. They had done enough cooking and cleaning and mating of socks to last them a lifetime. They wanted a bit of fun: a handsome escort; someone to pay for dinner; someone to do a striptease for when Morse wasn’t on the telly.
So reader, nothing ventured, nothing gained, but don’t expect too much, and meet her on neutral territory in a public place (in case she’s a nutter). Peter Jones would be perfect. Nice café at the top. Roller blinds on the ground floor.
Do you have a sexual dilemma for Suzi Godson and Dr Thomas Stuttaford? Send your e-mails to www.body&soul@thetimes.co.uk or write to Body&Soul, The Times, 1 Pennington Street, London E98 1TT. The authors regret that, although your letters are much appreciated, they cannot respond personally.
