Confession Is Good for the Soul, Pt. 1

As a 70-year-old male virgin (and how many of us can there be?) I want to make a public confession. When I was 20 and a junior in college in 1967 or '68, I committed what today might be called sexual harassment.

I had met a young woman at a university mixer. To my shame, I can't even remember her name now — so for ease of reference, I'll call her Karen. I asked Karen for her phone number and later called her for a date.

This was while I was a student at Georgetown University, and she was a student at a business college. The "scene" in the Georgetown part of Washington, DC, involved numerous bars and discotheques with live music and dancing. I took Karen to one of the nicer ones. We sat at a secluded table on a balcony overlooking the stage and dance floor, and we both had several drinks. When the urge struck me — again, to my shame — I commenced to grope her breast, sliding my hand underneath her bra.

Karen and I had one more date after that. It was a double date with my friend John S. and his girlfriend. We two couples ended up making out on the double twin beds in my dorm room.

My memory is hazy on what transpired between Karen and me after that ... until the Saturday afternoon when she called me at my family's home in Bethesda. She told me on the phone that she had recently attempted suicide.

Alarmed, I drove to her residence hall and picked her up. We sat in my car in front of the residence hall and talked about why she had tried to take her own life.

I regret to say that I remember little about our conversation. The reason for that was, I today think, that I was scared at potentially becoming responsible for, and to,  a suicidal girlfriend. I imagine I may have spoken words to that effect to her. After that, I never saw Karen again.

I imagine I also tried to console her, to a degree, during that last conversation. In addition to being one pathetic and immature guy, I was, after all, also empathetic. But never mind. I cut her loose.

Had her suicide attempt been a response to my having stopped calling her for dates? Regrettably, I don't remember. It may have been. If I maintain that it was, then I'm possibly guilty of inflating my own self-importance, no? But if I say it wasn't, I'm still guilty of having severed ties with a young woman who had phoned me for psychological support.

Karen, if you're out there and you recognize yourself in this story, I need to apologize. I hope you managed to find a long and happy life. I'm sorry I didn't treat you as well as you needed to be treated.