Wendy Shute the
primal therapist
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
I still
remember her grip and my spasm of fear…………….
But let me recap.
I was living in Paris in the permissive 70s and
one day, reading the newspaper Le Metro, I saw in
the personal column an advert for a workshop in
English on Janov’s primal therapy.
I was interested, though apprehensive, as I hated
screams or shouting in my face. However, I was
lonely and the thought of meeting up with a
British therapist was of interest.
Wendy was a mature English primal therapist who
lived in Grenoble but had come to Paris to give
the workshop. We got on well and so she invited
me to stay with her and her extended family in
Grenoble.
Wendy lived in a large flat with her young French
lover called Paul and a very attractive older
French man called Jean Pierre, who was the image
of my former Anglo-French fiancé Philippe in
London.
We all sat down at the large rustic dining table
in the kitchen diner for a communal meal. We got
on well but Wendy, who wanted to go to bed,
excused herself and left the room with her toy
boy trailing behind.
I was left with the attentive attractive
Frenchman. He came over to me and said, right in
my personal space,
that we should not loose time with trivial
conversation when we could be together making
love in his bedroom.
Well he was very attractive so I yielded and
passed an enjoyable time in his bed. The next
morning Wendy was furious as it transpired she
wanted him too!However, at that time she did not
let her desires be known.
We were leaving early on the Saturday morning to
drive to Geneva for another workshop. Coming from
Vienna it was called Be Yourself. I recall all
the students, of all shapes and sizes, had to
stand in a large circle joining hands to unite us
while someone played the piano in dissonant
chords creating a haunting ambiance. Then one by
one you had to bravely go into the middle of the
circle, standing alone being scrutinised by
everyone awaiting their turn. You had to Be
Yourself without inhibitions. My man was very
experienced at being himself and like a maniac
jumped up and down shouting in French saying I
don’t know what. I didn’t know how to
react. I just strode in like the Queen that I am,
and silently held my head high turning round and
round for everyone to observe. The ordeal didn’t
last long and I felt very stupid.
Later I remember we all had to be topless with
just our panties on and move silently around the
room. Wendy got quite aggressive with me. Perhaps
she didn’t like my body!
That night, with her boyfriend as witness, she
pounced on me violently getting me in a
paralysing grip - definitely a therapy technique.
Both men had to separate us. I was in shock when
Wendy announced she wanted my man!
‘I am not a piece of meat’, he cried
out.
With that the four of us quickly went our
separate ways to bed.
Back in Grenoble Wendy ignored me and so from
being originally her guest, I became Jean Pierre’s.
He was the French leader of the Be Yourself
movement. We spent the rest of the week together
in lust.
Time to go back to Paris. Jean Pierre took me to
the station kissing me ‘au revoir’ and
saying he would come to Paris to see me so I was
disenchanted when a week later he wrote to tell
me he had finally slept with Wendy.
I never wrote back and closed the book on Being
Myself forever.
Written
at Nightingale 16/11/24
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