Pleasure, Meet Patrice
Patrice, Meet Pleasure
For February 14: A Chocolate Valentine
Pleasure wants to be shared. Introducing someone to a particular pleasure is a joy beyond the original pleasure, for it’s a confirmation of our commonality. They say that misery loves company—but happiness loves company, too! Humans connect in many ways, including sharing pleasure.
If you love a sport, you probably remember the first time you tried it, and you may also recall a time you introduced it to somebody else.
I remember the first time I sat in a kayak, in a pond upstate. I was watching my neighbor practicing Eskimo rolls, a terrifying sight to behold, as it involved him literally rolling the kayak and himself into the water and, ultimately, up again, dripping and gasping. After he had done a few of these, he asked if I wanted to try paddling the kayak. He pulled off the kayak’s rubber “skirt,” adjusted the footrests, and I got into the kayak’s embrace. It didn’t feel like I was in a boat; it felt like I was wearing it. I could feel the quiet water just beneath the bottom of the boat, and I silently paddled the kayak. It was love at first sit.
Thirty years later I found myself helping my Aunt Sally, then 94, onto a double-person, sit-on-top kayak. She had never been on a kayak before, and hearing my mother, then 91, rave about the experience, she wanted to try it herself. The conditions were ideal: the water was calm, like a mirror, and the sun was just starting to set. Of course, we wore life vests. Despite her age, I didn’t feel it was a risky endeavor.
As we set off, she marveled at how smooth the ride was, and how quiet. As we moved forward, I could hear her sighs of happiness behind me. Soon, the sky and sea turned orange. We turned the kayak, and now the sky and sea were a luminescent turquoise. We gently paddled home. Yes, she worked her paddle, too!
I don’t know who enjoyed the ride more. “That was absolutely marvelous,” she said after she was helped off the boat. But I had pleasure of her pleasure as well!
About 18 months ago, I had the fun of introducing a friend of mine who writes financial reports on a freelance basis to ChatGPT. Surprisingly, she had never used it before. I went to the site and asked her to give me the title of her current project. Then I asked for 750 words on the topic. My friend burst out laughing when she saw it typing out what turned out to be a very coherent and informed essay. “It’s unbelievable,” she said. She kept giggling. Then she said, “It would be great if I had a graph to illustrate this.”
So I gave the AI another prompt, and once again my friend rocked with laughter when she saw the perfect graph emerge. Then she assured me she wouldn’t submit the work as it was. She’d verify the facts and add her own beginning and end. She’d make the language more memorable and cite other examples. And I’m sure she did. I’m also sure her job now takes a fraction of the time it once did. What a privilege it was to make the introduction!
If I take a friend on a hike she hasn’t been on before, it’s thrilling to emerge from the trees into an unexpected view of the mountains, or view of the lake. At that point, I’m not watching the scenery, I’m watching her face.
When love is new, lovers often share erotic moves. One almost loses track of who is teaching, who is learning, who is sighing, who is moaning. Here, perhaps, is vicarious joy at its most intense: when your lover’s pleasure, strangely, is your own.
This is a good one! I feel this way to such a degree that I actually have trouble truly enjoying beautiful experiences in the natural world by myself. I have always thought of that as a personal flaw, but at least I understand better now the positive impulse it comes from.
In my upcoming novel, “Age of Consent,” I wrote a scene where my 16 year old protagonist takes the teacher he’s having an affair with on a hike in a nature preserve and shows her the sights. It was immensely fun to write this scene involving role reversal.