the patient could bear. Her legs trembled. Then Dorotea slowly licked the inner lips, around and around, and finally, slowly, circled the clitoris again.
Oh, my God! said the patient. I can’t stand it!
Dorotea took the clitoris back into her mouth, sucked it, flicked her tongue at it, fast, faster, a furious ululation: lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo …
The patient felt her insides contract. Tighter.
Tighter.
Until the muscles could hold no more.
And a wave of contractions moved through her; her entire pelvis: vibrating in time with Dorotea’s tongue.
Lo-lo-lo-lo-lo …
Finally, she was too sensitive—on the verge of pain. The patient cried out: Stop! Oh, stop! Don’t touch me anymore!
Dorotea stopped, but held on to her, both hands on her ass. And when the patient became still, Dorotea placed her tongue gently on the patient’s clitoris. Oh! the patient called out, as another wave of contractions began. Then another pause, another gentle touch of the tongue—Oh, God! She was still coming—pause, touch, pause, touch, contractions slowing each time, down and down to a single last one: Dorotea licking all the orgasms out of her.
She tumbled onto the bed.
And now you, said the patient after a few moments, reaching out for Dorotea.
Are you mad? said her friend. Enjoy. Rest. Recover. There is plenty of time. All night. Why don’t we shower, see what will happen then?
I nearly cried, the patient told Dr. Schussler. This was all I’d ever imagined in being with a woman. But all those years of obeying … what? Some proper way women were supposed to have sex. My turn, your turn. You haven’t even enjoyed your orgasm for a minute when it’s time to turn around and take care of her, pretend you’re still hot, excited, when all you feel is a longing to … enjoy, rest, see what will happen later.
The patient paused. A sob escaped her.
This means so much to you, said Dr. Schussler gently.
Oh, God. Yes.
She paused.
I was beginning to think I was not really a lesbian, since I didn’t really enjoy the sex. And now …
She sat quietly for some seconds then said:
We showered, played with the soap, emerged from the bathroom still half-wet and trembling. I made love to Dorotea as best I could, but I felt my lovemaking was crude compared to hers, inept, inexpert. The women I’d been with were like adolescents compared to her, still learning how to love. And here was this full-grown woman, free, open to receiving whatever I could give her. At that moment, I think I understood what a teenage boy must feel the first time he has sex with a real woman: a trembling, fumbling excitement.
We slept and then made love again, and again. Hands, mouths, positions, we tried all we could think of until we were exhausted. Finally we fell back on the bed, shouting: “No more! Don’t touch me! I can’t take any more!”
Hours later, Dorotea woke up, told me to sleep, she had to pack. She was leaving on a morning flight. She kissed me, left me her card, with a sexy note on the back.
You must have been disappointed, said the therapist.
By the note?
No, said the therapist. By her leaving.
There was a pause.
No, said the patient. I already knew she’d be leaving. Somewhere in the night we’d discussed it. We’d agreed we would see each other the next time Dorotea would be in San Francisco, which may or may not happen. I know how these things are. But the note … I was fine.
What was in the note? asked the therapist.
There was a pause.
Oh, said the patient. I don’t think I can say.
She paused again.
(In the silence, I struggled to keep myself from imagining what else the patient and Dorotea could do with their mouths, their hands, what positions and actions could be more than the patient could say.)
All right, said the therapist. I do not want to embarrass you.
The patient laughed.
This may not make sense to you, she said, but after I read the note, I fell back and touched the sheets, with all the evidence of our lovemaking, and right then—then—I decided I had to find my birth mother. Don’t you think that’s strange? the patient asked Dr. Schussler.
There was a long pause.
(I wanted to shout: Yes. It is strange. Do not do it! Only grief will come of it! Dr. Schussler is not up to the job of guiding you!)
I do not think it is strange at all, the doctor finally said.
(Damn you!)
I think you had found something you always hoped would exist, said the