Carolyn had a baby, named Jeffrey, but she didn’t show you his picture or brag about a new tooth or a first step. The only way I knew about him was the director mentioned something in relation to Carolyn being on maternity leave last year. That’s when I found out she had a husband and a child. I asked Carolyn how come she didn’t talk about her baby.
“I want him to go to Stanford and become a doctor or engineer. Until then, no reason to brag.”
Carolyn was like that, cut-and-dried, no nonsense. I’m not saying she wasn’t a good mother, but let’s put it this way, I wouldn’t want to be her child.
The telephone interrupted my thoughts. “Personal Change Center, may I help you?” I could barely hear the faint voice at the other end. “Could you speak up a little louder, please?”
“My name is Bonnie MacGregor and I’D LIKE TO SIGN UP FOR THE ASSERTIVENESS TRAINING GROUP!” the woman shouted.
I reached for a folder. “I’m sorry, but that group is full.”
“This is the second time I’ve tried to get into Assertiveness Training and it’s been full. Oh shit! This really pisses me off.”
“Would you be interested in another one of our groups?”
“Just forget it. This just isn’t my day. And to top it off, I’m out of Valium.”
“Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”
“It’s not your fault. What else have you got?”
“Let’s see, there’s one space left in the Pre-Orgasmic group. I mean, if that would be appropriate.”
“Yeah, go ahead and sign me up. What the hell, maybe I’ll learn how to assert myself in bed.”
Carolyn walked into the reception area lugging her briefcase. Although she was only pushing thirty, she looked matronly in her drab pants and top.
“Have a nice weekend.”
She shook her unstylish bob. “Relatives coming from China.”
“I guess you’ll be doing a lot of cooking then.”
Carolyn shook her head again. “Uncle own restaurant, go out every meal.”
“I heard that.”
“What your weekend plans?”
“I’m going to be looking at an apartment, down in the Haight tomorrow. I might end up living right near the corner of Haight and Ashbury. Imagine me living where it all happened!”
Carolyn groaned. “Decent people don’t live in the Lower Haight.”
“Where do you live?”
“Richmond District, very respectable.”
I’d gone with Traci to Peg’s Place, a lesbian bar on Geary Street. Traci had said it was in the Richmond District.
I bet Carolyn didn’t know about her local lesbian watering hole, I thought. But who was I to burst her bubble? “Yeah, but it’s flat, out in the Richmond.” I frowned. “No hills, no views.”
“Don’t need views if you have inner peace.” Carolyn pointed to her head. “Best views inside here.”
Sterling washed dishes and I swept the floor. He liked to wash dishes so that he could use Palmolive. He swore it softened his hands. What can I say, we were into roles. After a childhood spent being the only girl, I was all too happy to be relieved of dish duty to sweep and mop and take out the garbage instead.
“I’ve got my eye on this fine-ass Mexicano, darling. Muscles like you wouldn’t believe. Works in the mailroom.”
“Latino, huh?”
“Sí, señorita. If they fine, they mine.”
“I have a feeling you move fast and you might need the entire mansion to entertain. I don’t want to cramp your style.”
“You’re not, so don’t even trip. Take your time looking.”
I felt relieved that Sterling didn’t want me to take just anything. “They wanted a hundred and sixty dollars a month for a studio, and it was a dump!” I complained as I slid the broom under the kitchen table.
“Honey, sometimes it’s harder to find an apartment in this town than a job or a lover,” Sterling declared.
I sighed. “The killer was, there were ten people ahead of me. I couldn’t even get it if I wanted it. I’m young, black, haven’t established any credit.”
“You gotta uphill battle.”
“Carolyn says no decent people live in the lower Haight, anyhow.”
“Don’t tell me you came to San Francisco to be surrounded by decent people?”
“Hell no,” I laughed, sweeping up the trash.
I awakened from a nightmare and sat up on the couch. I recalled my dream. “I’m really a good person! I’m really a good person!” I’d shouted. “No, you’re not!” An angry mob had insisted. “You’re a lesbian!” Then they scurried away, grabbing their children as if fleeing a plague.
I wondered why I hadn’t told the people in the dream that I wasn’t a lesbian. I didn’t see a lesbian when I looked at myself in the mirror. I just saw me. I was attracted to men. I’d even received a postcard from Buster. He wrote that everything was cool. He was working hard and making good money. Buster told me to “stay sweet” and to tell Sterling, “hey.” I missed him. Buster had shown me that I could be satisfied by a man.
But I still felt torn. I didn’t want to go back to Traci. But I hadn’t forgotten that holding a woman’s body had felt like floating on a magic carpet. And sucking a woman’s breast had calmed me more than soft music and candlelight. I wanted some more.
Later that day, I was at my desk, bright eyed and bushy tailed. The women were coming in for the first meeting of the Pre-Orgasmic group. Most of them seemed nervous and a little stiff. They were all white, in their twenties or early thirties, except two of them were considerably older. My heart really went out to them. All those years without “getting a nut,” as Sterling would say.
Suddenly, this hip young woman with long blonde hair came bopping in, smiled at everybody, real comfortable-like. Turned out she’s the facilitator. She looked to me like she could have multiple orgasms, the way she radiated. Everybody was gazing at her and you know they were all thinking, I hope she can help me.
I spoke to the blonde. “Hi, I’m Stevie. I’ll be leaving, but the door automatically locks.”
The group leader smiled and said her name was Cynthia and in the same breath asked, “Don’t I know you?”
I looked at her, puzzled. She looked familiar, but damn if I could place her. I wouldn’t have minded knowing her; she was kind of cute.
“Didn’t we dance together before, at Wild Side West?”
I shook my head. I’d only been to Wild Side West once. I only remembered dancing with one person, and she wasn’t blonde.
“I colored my hair; I used to be brunette. Now do you remember me?”
I remembered her now, but I felt embarrassed, so I barely nodded. I could see women looking at me with new interest. A few were smiling. A black woman who’d danced with a white woman was their friend. It was like I was Casper, the friendly ghost.
“Oh yeah,” I mumbled. “It’s a small world.”
“I thought you were beautiful.”
I felt a surge of attraction. I couldn’t help but blush. Hopefully, my brownness covered it up.
“Still do, as a matter of fact,” Cynthia carried on shamelessly in front of her group members. “Don’t any of you worry,” she reassured them. “I have experience with guys too. I’m bisexual. This group is for women of all sexual preferences, just like the flier said. I know a lot of you are straight.”
“Yeah,” an older housewife type groaned. “Men are such lousy lovers.”
“I’ve heard there are no frigid women, just clumsy men,” a serious young woman wearing a polyester pantsuit and Coke-bottle glasses added hopefully.
Cynthia smiled. “Well, most men need to be trained. But first, you have to discover what feels good to you. That’s what this group is about, doing it for ourselves.”
I watched as the new recruits trooped in behind Cynthia.
I decided not to leave after all. Why not catch up on some paperwork, read the personnel policies, and straighten out the brochure table
?
Two hours later, I was thumbing through the annual report when the conference room door opened. “Remember, you have to take responsibility for your own orgasms.”
The air bristled with excitement as the group of chattering women entered the reception area.
“And also, remember to draw your vulvas for next week. And don’t forget your clitorises.”
I stifled a laugh as the newly confident army marched out.
“You’re still here?” Cynthia winked.
“I just had some work to catch up on.”
“All work and no play makes Stevie a dull girl.”
I glanced around the room. We were indeed alone. “I like to play.”
Cynthia walked toward me seductively. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna play with me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Damn, Stevie, we were on a roll.”
“It’s just that we’re at my work.”
“So?”
“I just thought it’d be nice to be more comfortable.”
“Fuck comfortable.”
“OK, repeat the question.”
“You wanna play with me?”
“If you think you can handle it,” I answered boldly. I was surprised by my own bravado. But I felt a rush of adrenaline. No more Ms. Nice Guy, I chuckled to myself.
Cynthia pursed her lips. I could finally relate to Sterling. I just wanted something hot.
“I think I can handle anything you can dish out.”
“Whoa,” I raised my eyebrows. “I’m scared of you.”
“Don’t be, I don’t bite. Unless you like that sort of thing.” Cynthia winked.
“I’m not into pain.”
“What are you into?”
I gave Cynthia a soulful look. “Right now, I’m into you.”
“What do you wanna do about it?”
Go for it, I told myself. This is no time to be coy. But my throat felt dry and I couldn’t find my voice.
“You wanna get it on with me?”
I was speechless but I managed to nod.
“Then let’s get it on!”
Cynthia put her arms around me and I kissed her. I felt another rush of adrenaline when I tasted her tongue. Cynthia sucked my earlobe and made me shiver.
My heart was beating fast. It was like a movie. This was so unlike me. I couldn’t believe that I was doing whatever I was about to do, especially at the office. It was so daring, so brazen, so hot!
“Come on, Stevie, sock it to me.”
Cynthia had brought out the dog in me. I flicked off the light switch and backed her up against the wall. I rubbed my body up against her like my high-school boyfriend did to me in my basement.
Cynthia sighed. “I love being woman-handled by you.”
I kissed her, long and hard. She ran her fingers through my natural. I cupped Cynthia’s plum-size breasts through her crinkly cotton shirt. I ran my thumbs across her firm nipples.
Cynthia helped me to pull off her top. She moaned when I lowered my lips onto her saluting breasts.
I rubbed my pelvis against hers while sucking her breasts.
“Yes! Stevie, you are turning me on! I am getting so turned on!” she gasped. Cynthia pulled my Afro so hard that I thought of reminding her that it wasn’t a wig.
I ran my fingers down Cynthia’s thighs. She kicked off her Birkenstocks and loosened her drawstring pants. I pulled them off, revealing a nice bush. She wasn’t wearing panties and that was all right with me.
I couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough.
I squeezed next to Cynthia on the couch.
“Look at us,” she pointed. “We look so beautiful together.”
I admired the contrast of our nut-brown and peach-ice-cream–colored bodies. Her blonde hair draped over my breasts.
“I wish somebody could take a picture,” Cynthia cooed.
“It’s cold in here, let’s warm each other up,” I suggested. I climbed on top of Cynthia and our vaginas made squishy sounds as I rubbed into her.
My hot fingers felt her soft, moist bush. I played with it for a while. Cynthia moaned as I inched my hungry finger inside of her.
I wasn’t sure how many fingers she took. But when my middle finger moved easily, I inserted my index one as well.
“Yes! Yes!” Cynthia shouted. “It feels so good to have you inside me! It feels so good!”
I fondled Cynthia’s clitoris while I finger-fucked her. She guided my hand. I worried that Cynthia thought I was inept. Then I remembered that she believed in taking responsibility for her own orgasms.
Suddenly, the building began to shake. I paused. I’d heard of feeling the earth move during sex, but this was frightening.
“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Cynthia begged.
“But the windows are rattling!” I protested.
“It’s just an earthquake.”
“Just an earthquake!” I shouted.
“It’s not the big one,” Cynthia panted. “Trust me, I’m a native. Don’t stop, I’m just about to come!”
I continued to play with her, but I jumped when I felt a sudden jolt underground. Cynthia’s body jerked into spasms as the earth shook for a few seconds. I could hear my heart racing.
Cynthia hugged me. “Don’t worry. It was no more than a three-pointer.”
“I’ve never been through an earthquake before.”
“You’ll get used to them. They’re usually pretty mild.”
“It was a nerve-wracking experience,” I confessed.
Cynthia kissed me. “Thanks for hanging in there. I had a great orgasm. Let me make love to you now.”
“That’s okay. I’ll take a rain check. I’m still a little shook up. I don’t think I can really relax right now. There might be aftershocks.”
Cynthia patted my shoulder. “I understand, it’s your first earthquake. You need to process it.”
Sterling was so proud that I’d actually “gotten me some.” “It’s a happy day!” He declared as he went around dusting the living room while I vacuumed. “Cynthia’s orgasm registered much higher on the Richter scale than that earthquake,” Sterling insisted.
“You act like I won a lottery or something,” I shouted over the sound of the vacuum cleaner and the disco music.
Sterling attacked a cobweb with his feather duster.
“Admit it, don’t you feel better? Less clogged up.”
“OK, I admit it, I’m human.”
“You worked it, girl!” Sterling yelled, popping his fingers with one hand while he dusted the windowsill with the other. “You knew how to ride! You got it up and down and then you got it from side to side!” he added, dropping his duster and doing a series of snaps.
“Sterling, you know you’re the first man I’ve ever known who could see dust,” I marveled.
“I’ve been like this ever since I can remember. Being able to see dust was probably the first sign that I was gay.”
16
Bonnie was early for the Pre-Orgasmic group. She was putting the final touches on a crayon drawing.
“What do you think, Stevie?” I glanced up from my desk at the paper Bonnie held in front of me.
I glimpsed the picture of Bonnie’s vulva and turned away. I was a little embarrassed to be staring at a drawing of her genitals. It seemed disrespectful. The woman was old enough to be my mother.
“My clitoris isn’t too big, is it?”
I hesitated. “You’re a better judge than I am. I mean, at least you’ve seen it. Not that I want to see it. I mean, nothing personal. I’m sure it’s very nice.”
Bonnie giggled, “I meant as clitorises go.”
I glanced at the picture again. It looked like a hairy pyramid with a red jelly bean inside of it.
“I’m no expert.” And you’re no artist, I thought to myself. “But I think it’s probably in the normal range.”
“I just didn’t want to overemphasize it and have people in the group think
, you know, I was showing off. Although I doubt Fred could find it if it were a Mack truck.”
“Well, show him the drawing.”
“He’s only interested in the Forty Niners.”
“At least your clitoris is red and the Niners have red uniforms.”
“I’ll point that out to Fred,” Bonnie laughed.
Cynthia surprised me with a kiss on the cheek. I looked up from my novel. I’d been so engrossed in Zora Neale Hurston that I hadn’t heard her come back into the office.
I smiled and laid Their Eyes Were Watching God facedown on the desk. “What’s happenin’? Your group isn’t over yet is it?”
Cynthia shook her head and leaned over me with her chin resting in her palm. Her peasant top revealed her cleavage.
“The women are looking at themselves,” Cynthia reported. “I thought I’d give them a little privacy.” She hoisted herself on top of the desk. Her short denim skirt showed off her legs.
“Looking at themselves how?” I asked with mild concern.
“They’ve stuck plastic speculums inside their vaginas. They’re examining their cervixes with flashlights and mirrors.”
“Sounds so clinical,” I teased.
Cynthia shook her head. “It’s really empowering for them. So many women are intimidated by pelvic exams. And some doctors are such assholes. They think they’re fucking gods, with their big hands and cold metal speculums. A lot of them make women feel stupid if they ask questions.”
“I’ve never even thought about looking at myself like that,” I admitted.
“Maybe you should be in there. I have an extra speculum. I don’t think they would mind if you joined them for this.”
“I’m not about to gap my legs open in a roomful of folks, I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean? We’re all women. I’m surprised to hear you talk this way. Wouldn’t you like to see your cervix?”
“I used to sell Our Bodies Ourselves in the campus bookstore. So, I’m upon the downstroke.”
“But, you’ve only seen pictures. Don’t you want to see the real thing?”
“I don’t have a burning desire to.”
“I wonder if your cervix is darker than the other women’s in the group.”
I felt embarrassed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice Page 23
