I didn’t know what to do except respond. I had not expected this. I had come up with dozens of scenarios, but none of them had included Lindsey kissing me.

Being kissed felt good, the warmth of her hands on my cheeks nourishing. After Cordelia and the easy touching she offered, the absence of it felt stark and lonely. Maybe I didn’t desperately want Cordelia back, maybe I just wanted someone to hold me.

“I think you’re a very handsome woman,” Lindsey said, breaking our kiss for the moment. Our lips were still almost touching. One of her hands traveled from my cheek, down inside my shirt, pausing on my collarbone, but promising other destinations. The other hand found its way into my hair. She again pulled me to her, her mouth opening and the play of her tongue more forceful.

I put my arms around her, aware for an instant of the difference in her size and shape. I had gotten used to holding Cordelia, tall and broad, her breasts full, stomach rounded. Lindsey was smaller, her shoulders not so wide, her waist perfectly trim.

Yet part of me was saying, No, I don’t want this.At least not yet. There were things I wanted to talk about, to release from the rattling cage my brain had become. Maybe afterward, she’ll hold me and we’ll talk.This time I saw that bargain for what it was: I’ll have sex with her, it feels good, why not? But more importantly, if we have sex, if she gets what she wants, it will connect us, and maybe I can get what I want. If I refuse the sex, I risk her rejection, that she won’t listen to me, and then I won’t even have her touching me.

Lindsey shifted, breaking our kiss long enough to lay me down on the couch, then began kissing me again, this time her tongue was deeply in my mouth. Her weight and warmth on top of me was a powerful reminder of how much I wanted to be held and made love with.

So what are you complaining about, I chided myself? Isn’t this the therapy fantasy? To have a stunningly beautiful shrink take you on her couch? Wasn’t I enjoying having Lindsey on top of me, kissing the hell out of me? Yes, of course. But it also scared me and made me wonder if this was all she wanted from me.

My hands kept moving, pressing her close to me, as if desire and the physical could banish my uneasy thoughts. Lindsey’s hand slipped under my shirt, coming up from my waist. Her fingers encircled my breast, teasing and pushing it, until she suddenly sat up. She took off her blouse, laying it over the back of the couch, then her bra. She gently tugged my shirt up and over my shoulders, laying it on top of hers.

“That’s much better,” she said as she spread herself over me.

The full warmth of her breasts on mine was a contact so directly erotic that the physical did take over. It became a given that we were going to make love. Our kisses were sloppy, wet and open-mouthed. She sucked on my tongue, taking it into her mouth. My hips rose against hers, and my hand cupped her ass, pulling her into me.

“Yes, that’s it,” Lindsey murmured. Her lips moved down my throat to my breasts. She kissed them with the same fervor she had used on my lips, her tongue leaving long wet streaks, sucking on my nipples until they were full and very hard.

I had my hands in her hair, holding her to my breasts. She pulled away from me for a moment, holding herself up on one arm as she undid my pants.

My hips again arched as her fingers slid under the waistband of my underwear. She traced my outer lips, then moved her hand to my thigh, then back between my legs, her whole hand covering, pressing in on me. One finger slowly slid between my inner lips, teasing around my opening.

Then Lindsey took her hand away and said, “Take your pants off.”

I raised my hips to accommodate her tugging them off. She pulled my pants down all the way to my ankles, then left them there.

“You, too?” I asked.

“Not yet. Spread your legs for me,” Lindsey instructed. This time her fingers weren’t teasing. One, then another, entered me, pushing deeply inside. At first she moved slowly, all the way out until just the bare tips of her fingers remained in me, then deeply in until she could go no further. Then she stopped, holding her fingers inside, and began kissing me again. Her tongue was in my mouth like her fingers were in my cunt. She began moving both her fingers and her tongue, playing inside me in two places. My hips began arching in answer to the probing of her fingers. Finally, I had to pull my mouth away from hers to let out a moan.

“I want to make you come,” Lindsey whispered to me. “Should I keep fucking you? Should I go on your clit? Hard? Soft?”

“My clit,” I breathed out. “Around it.” Then I gasped as her fingers found where I wanted them to go.

Her head lay on my breast. I tightened my arms around her shoulders, letting myself fall completely into her touch, feeling her fingers as they thrust deeply into me, moaning after them as she withdrew, only to plunge in again. She quickly fell into my rhythms, riding the arch of my hip, playing with my clit, then off for a moment, until orgasm convulsed through me, wave after shuddering wave.

When my spasms subsided, we lay still. Off in the distance a horn honked, in the office the ticking of the clock, these seemed loud with our passion now stilled.

I looked down at Lindsey as she lay on my breasts, her hair tousled. I brushed a strand of it back into place and wondered, Is this a beginning? Will we hold each other again? And suddenly, I wanted a new and perfect starting place, where I didn’t have to look back on my mistakes and false steps.

“Hey, your turn,” I said softly as I ran my fingers through her hair.

“Um,” Lindsey replied, slowly lifting her head. She kissed each of my breasts, then said, “I’ve forgotten how much fun it is to make love to a woman.”

“Who do you usually make love to?” I questioned, with a feeling I wouldn’t like the answer.

“I consider myself bi. It’s been a few years since I’ve had sex with a woman, though.”

“Oh.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No.” But it did, so I changed it to, “Well, maybe.”

“Why?” Lindsey asked.

“I guess I’ve had too many so-called straight women dally with me, then run screaming back to their safe little heterosexual lives.”

“You’ve been hurt by it?”

“If every bisexual woman admitted, ‘Yeah, I’ve fucked a woman, too,’ to someone other that the woman they’ve fucked, we’d have a revolution.”

“You’re probably right,” Lindsey agreed. “We change the world one piece at a time. For what it’s worth, I’ve tried to be honest about who I am, in more places than just the bedroom. I do have a few, dropped jaw, gaping mouth level shocks notched on my belt. More than anyone else I know.”

“I guess it counts for something,” I said. “But I’ve got you beat in the shock department.”

“Yeah?”

“There are several dictionaries, in which if you look up self-righteous, you’ll find the picture of my Aunt Greta.”

“And you’ve shocked her at every family gathering?”

“From the time I was ten until I was eighteen, I lived with her and my Uncle Claude. On good weeks, I could shock her seven days out of seven.” I wondered why I was bringing up Aunt Greta at a time like this.

“Must have been hard on you. How do you feel about her now?”

“You’re in an awfully compromising position on your couch to turn into a shrink on me.”

Lindsey laughed, then said, “That’s true.”

“Why don’t you take off your pants and get on your back?”

“Okay,” she said, hesitating before continuing, “But it’s hard for me to be on bottom. And…perfect Lindsey ends at the waist.” She stood up, and matter-of-factly took off her pants, watching my face for any emotion. Stepping out of them, she got tangled and lost her balance. I reached out to steady her.

“Thanks,” Lindsey said, resting her hand on my shoulder, letting me look at her.

On one leg a scar ran from her hip almost to her calf. On her other leg there were several deep scars, the longest ending just above her knee. Some of them were the jagged, tearing scars of an accident, others cleaner, precise man-made scars from operations.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be. I survived.” It was a short, closed reply. Lindsey picked up her pants and threw them over a chair. “Lie down. Let me get on top of you.”

“I could go down on you,” I offered.

“Um, no,” Lindsey said as she pushed me back down on the couch. “I haven’t been very celibate lately. I’d prefer to stick to the safer stuff.”

“Oh,” I replied, nonplussed. Lindsey got on top of me. “Are you seeing someone?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“You just did,” I retorted shortly. But she was lying on me, and I still wanted her.

“Does that change things?” Lindsey asked.

“Everything changes all the time,” I muttered noncommittally.

“Do you want to stop?”

No, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to stay here, with her spread over me, her breasts meeting mine, where nothing mattered but touch and desire. But my reply was, “That hardly seems fair. I got mine, you don’t get yours.”

“Life isn’t fair.”

“How profound.” Then I said, “No, we don’t need to stop.”

“Are you sure?”

“Let me make love to you,” I offered. It was all I could think to offer, to keep her touching me.

“Thank you,” she said and kissed me. She let up for a moment to say, “My legs don’t work very well, but everything else down there is fine.” She shifted again. “Sorry, I’m trying to get comfortable.”

“Can you sit in my lap? Would that be a more comfortable position?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Lindsey slid off me and I sat on the edge of the couch. She got back into my lap, sitting astride me. “I think this is okay. I’m not too heavy on you, am I?”

“No, you’re fine. Relax, I can hold you.”

“Hey, this is kind of fun,” she said as she eased into me. “Bend your face up, I want to kiss you.”

At first our kisses were gentle explorations as if some die had been cast that said, retreat, go back to the beginning, and start over again. Then we began deeply kissing. My hands ran down her hips, her thighs, as she played with my breasts. Gingerly, I brushed against one of the scars, letting my hand move down her thigh. Lindsey didn’t flinch or move away. She almost seemed relieved that I didn’t avoid part of her. I explored her legs, from her ankle, up to her calf, then her thighs and hips. I circled closer and closer and finally, I ran my hand between her legs, massaging her outer lips in against her clit. Lindsey gasped and broke away from our kiss. I moved my mouth to her breasts, running my tongue across an already hardened nipple.

“Yes, oh, yes,” Lindsey murmured as my fingers found their way to her inner lips. She lifted one of her breasts, feeding it into my mouth. Her other hand was on the back of my neck, holding me to her.

I finally lifted my head and whispered, “What do you want? How do you want to come?”

“Give me everything,” Lindsey gasped.

“Everything?” I offered.

She moaned in reply.

I reached one arm around her thigh, putting my hand between her legs from behind. I let two fingers circle the rim of her cunt, before I slowly went up her. I gave her a few deep strokes, then I moved my thumb to her ass. Lindsey shifted slightly, opening herself to me. I slowly worked into her ass, hearing her gasp, then feeling her open herself even more as I entered her. I let my other hand play around her clit. I fucked her in the ass and the cunt, until her juices were dripping down my hand onto my thighs. Then I went slowly in and out, taking her clit in my fingers, flicking directly against it. I did it slowly, making her thrust against me. I kept the rhythm unhurried and steady, feeling her get huge under my fingers.

As she came, she clutched me in a spasm, then let out a cry that slid into a low moan. Her hips rocked into my fingers, then away. I kept the pressure up and Lindsey came several times.

Finally, she leaned away from me, letting out a throaty laugh. “Let me catch my breath,” she gasped.

I slowly took my fingers out of her cunt and ass. They made a wet, sticky sound. Lindsey shuddered at the movement. Then she kissed me deeply. I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding my slick hands away from her.

It was a moment of connection, perhaps not as shining and perfect as I had thought a few moments ago. But maybe there was a beginning here that could stretch into the future. I wondered if you could make love to a person without having, at least for an ephemeral moment, some primal connection that nothing else could offer.

Her intercom buzzed. “Lindsey?” Amanda said, “Peter called. He lost his keys and needs yours. He’s on his way over here. I thought you should know.”

“Okay, thank you.” Lindsey said evenly. She disentangled herself from me and stood up. She took a box of tissues off her desk, grabbed several and put them between her legs, then offered the box to me.

Without a word, I took some, wiped my hands, then got several more for between my legs. Lindsey cleaned herself, then threw them in the trash can.

“Sorry for the rude interruption. I thought Amanda had left by now.”

“Isn’t it a good thing she didn’t? Otherwise Peter might have shown up knocking on your office door,” I replied sarcastically. “Or am I jumping to conclusions about Peter?”

Lindsey picked up her clothes, leaning heavily on the couch to balance herself. “Well, at the moment, we live together,” she finally answered.

“Oh.” I grabbed my clothes and pulled them on.

Lindsey hobbled to a chair and sat down before trying to put her pants on. I didn’t offer to help. Her slowness in getting dressed prevented me from storming out. After watching her try and fail several times to get her bra fastened, I finally came over and did it for her.

“Does he help you get dressed, too?”

“Sometimes, if I ask.”

“Does he know you like girls?”

“I’ve told him I’m bisexual.”

“Does he know you do it on your office couch?”

“I don’t tell him everything. I never gave him complete access to my life.” She put on her blouse, then said, “I’m sorry that this happened. I know you’re upset.”

“Who’s upset?” I retorted. “It was a quick, easy fuck. That’s what you wanted, that’s what you got. You’re not the first married woman I’ve screwed.”

“I’m not married.”

“You just happen to be living with a man.”

“I do, yes. I didn’t mean to mislead you.”

“But you just wanted sex with me.”

“Is that such a bad thing to want? Can’t we be sexual without having all sorts of baggage attached to it?”

“Maybe you can.”

“And you can’t?”

I let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, I can. It’s what I do best. Sex and nothing else. How asinine of me to want to change that.”

Lindsey was dressed. I opened her office door and stalked out.

Amanda was still at the reception area, working on the computer. I shoved my hands into my jacket pocket as if I could hide where they’d been. Amanda was probably used to Lindsey’s trysts here at the office.

“I hate computers,” she said. “They never do what you want them to.”

“Yeah, something like that. I’m late for an appointment,” I muttered as I rushed through the waiting room.

“See you around,” Amanda called after me.

I could feel the heat of a blush on my face. I hurried out the door and to my car. Not likely, not fucking likely, I thought.

I grabbed a napkin out of my glove compartment and wiped my hands again. Then I started my car and pulled out. The first thing I did was find a burger place where I washed my hands. I soaped them several times, scrubbing up to the elbows. After I finished in the bathroom, I stopped at the counter and got a soda, taking a deep gulp of it to wash the taste of her kisses out of my mouth.

Then I just got in my car and drove. I’ve slept with bisexual women before. I’ve even slept with married women, although it wasn’t something I was comfortable doing. Sleeping with men didn’t appeal to me, I felt no erotic charge with them. But that was me and my life and I didn’t feel a need to impose it on anyone else.

Lindsey had wanted sex and I had wanted, if not love, at least a connection. She had gotten what she wanted and I hadn’t. That was what made me so angry. We hadn’t been equal and we hadn’t been honest. At first, I blamed all the dishonesty on her, then I realized that I, too, hadn’t been completely truthful. My dishonesty might have matched hers, my power didn’t. We were on her ground, in her office, with her diplomas hanging on the wall. Lindsey wasn’t insensitive or stupid. Her life was people’s emotions and their troubles. She knew that I had recently broken up with my lover and that I had just been accused by a woman I had thought to be a close friend of being responsible for her daughter being sexually abused. Even I knew that my nonchalant answers weren’t meant to fool anyone into believing I really didn’t care, they were signals not to probe or ask questions, because, in truth, it still hurt too much to talk. If she couldn’t, on some level, realize the turmoil I was in and how vulnerable it might make me, she shouldn’t be charging money to listen to people.

Well, at least I’m not blaming myself this time, I thought. I guess that’s progress.

I had driven out of the city. Only a faint glow remained in the western sky. The lonely stretch of road I was on opened into one of the small fishing villages that dotted the bayous. I was a good twenty to thirty miles beyond New Orleans.

My heart had been hurt, but not broken, at least not by Lindsey. I wondered what I would say to her if I ever saw her again. Did I even want to see her again? I remembered Warren Kessler and his story of confronting the uncle who had abused him. Suddenly, I wanted to see Lindsey McNeil again. I wanted her to know what she had done.

The dark country road slowly took me back to the lights of the city.

Chapter 30

Bright sunshine edged into my eyes, waking me up. The cool clouds with their threatening rain, had lifted. Today was the money exchange day.

Joey had left a few semi-panicky messages on my answering machine last night, reminding me (as if I needed it) of how important this money was and how much money we (we, kemo sabe?) could make. I had finally returned his calls and left him with the less than reassuring “I’ll do what I can.”

I took a long shower, then made a several-hours-of-waiting pot of coffee. After that, it was the ubiquitous daily chores while waiting for the phone to ring.

Karen didn’t call until after four p.m.

“I have it,” she said, her voice strained and tired. It sounded as if she had made a lot of phone calls to a lot of people and given a lot of made-up explanations.

“Where are you?”

“Out in Metairie. Can we meet at my place?”

“No,” I said. I wanted to meet in an open public space. “Why don’t we meet at the zoo parking lot? Far end of the row by the main entrance. I’ll be there.”

“The zoo. How appropriate,” Karen answered dryly. “I’ll be there.” She hung up.

I called a cab, giving it the address of a corner grocery store a block away from my apartment. I had the taxi take me to a rental car place in the CBD. I didn’t want to be driving my noticeable car, and I still had enough money in the bank to afford this.

The first car they offered me was a sporty red model that I turned down with a lame excuse, mumbling something about not liking red. The clerk ever so politely put the keys back and found a color more to my liking, unnoticeable navy blue. I only took the time to orient myself to the basic car functions, steering, gas, and gear shifts, and the lights, as it would be dark soon, before zooming uptown to meet Karen.

The rental car was fast and quiet and, unlike my car, had a radio that worked. Not wanting to leave Karen sitting in a parking lot with fifty thousand in cash, I sped up Magazine Street to the zoo. Even so, Karen was there, waiting for me.

The zoo was closing, the parking lot quickly emptying. There were several open spaces surrounding Karen’s car, its red color turning to crimson in the setting sun. I pulled up next to her and stepped out of the car. Before she had the chance to do more than recognize me, I opened the passenger side of her car and got in.

“You got a new car?” She looked at it over my shoulder.

“Rental. Mine’s still parked in front of my apartment.”

“Oh,” Karen said, then she asked, “Is this dangerous?”