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Tuesday, September 1

Classes started today. Actually yesterday but today was my first one. Back to the eternal, tedious ritual of passing out of syllabuses and introducing class members and scheduling office hours and assigning papers. Back to sitting in plastic bucket seats with fold-back linoleum desks and trying to look attentive. Am I ever going to grow up and get off the academic schedule? I'm almost 30 years old, for christsake!

Today it was Child Psych, which should be fun if Jim Hamilton's complete lack of personality doesn't induce total desertification. This guy worked with kids? Thursday will be the color class, Sex and the Single Therapist with Solana. She's also my practicum adviser this semester--that I'm looking forward to.

It's probably good that my free floating single girl life is coming to an end, or at least getting scheduled a bit. I really have been watching an awful lot of TV.

Steve called. He wants me to go bowling with him and some friends. Bowling? People still bowl? I said hmm, mm, well, I guess. I don't seem to have any good reason not to.

Wednesday, September 2

Today put my problems in perspective. Charlene called me to say that a student named Tracy had called to make an appointment and said it was urgent. Tracy? Tracy Miller? She needs to see me? I mean I talked to her every week for two months last spring and it seemed completely pointless. It was the minutia of the life of a social-climbing sorority girl whose peak experience in life so far has been cheerleading and who thinks that therapists are there just to listen to every petty little problem a girl has ever had. But I'm supposed to be available and it's part of Practicum so what could I do?

So there we were. She still had the pink lipstick and the pearl necklace and the perfect glossy blond hair pulled back in the velvet hairband. But she did in fact have something important to talk about. All of last semester she had this horrible thing going on and she couldn't manage to tell me. A slimy bastard of a professor pressured her into having sex with him. No, that's not quite right, it's worse than that, he manipulated her boyfriend into pressuring her to have sex with him. When she went away for the summer, she hoped it would all blow over, she broke up with the boyfriend, but now they're both back at her, the ex-boyfriend spreading the story to all her friends that she's a disgusting slut and the professor sweet-talking her that he can arrange an easy ride for her if she just comes back to his office. Over the summer she swore to herself that she would never see him again but now she doesn't know if she can stand the pressure. She believes what Frank, the scummy ex-boyfriend, is saying, that she's a slut and lower than an intestinal bug.

It occured to me that she might have been completely docile with this guy and never told him she wasn't enjoying herself. She said she wrote him a long letter over the summer explaining why she couldn't do it anymore, and he wrote back telling her she didn't know her own mind, that he was the best thing that ever happened to her and would do great things for her. And I think that at some level she believes that if she was a better woman, that would be true, she would give the great man what he needs and she would thrive and prosper as his mistress and the fact she can't do that is her fault. He must know that, that he has this leverage, and he's gonna use it to the max. He must be one hell of a control freak. I asked her if she had the letters and she said yes but he never signs them. In a weird way it gives me something to be thankful about, that the guy who did this to me at least had the decency to feel guilty and leave me alone after he fucked me. At the time it felt incredibly shitty to have him pretend I didn't exist when we were in a room together, but now I see it could have been worse.

I feel bad for thinking so little of her last semester. That ugly strained look she'd always get wasn't the spoiled self-absorption I thought it was. Could I have seen through it if I hadn't been so judgemental? Would she have told me if I had been warmer? The whole practicum looked at the tapes and didn't say anything, they thought I was dealing with her OK, wondered why she was wasting my time just like I did, but maybe they were just being polite, or maybe they're just as clueless as me. I should have been paying more attention.

I've heard of this professor, Allan Bennett, though I used to get him confused with that hyperventilating book of virtues guy. Our Prof. Bennett is in pretty much the same racket, drumming up support for the Great Books and the Great Ideas and the Great Dead White Men of Western Civilization and attempting a last valiant defence of them from the barbarian feminists and multiculturalists. He's married (of course). He's must have a bit of the cult leader in him, if he can collect starry-eyed young republicans like Tracy's Frank and then manipulate them into procuring their girlfriends for him. A small price to pay for the cause, I suppose.

I've been having fantasies about marching over there and confronting him, maybe in the company of a few hundred women and a very sharp knife. No, make that a dull knife, why make it comfortable for him. Kelly and I dreamed up several scenarios--I just had to talk to her about it even though it's a private thing, I just didn't name names. But I can't get too caught up in fantasies. It wouldn't do Tracy any good, would probably do her real harm, for me to confront the bastard. I need to go through all the b.s. of filing a sexual harassment complaint and getting Tracy taken care of by the proper authorities. She definitely needs to get away from the crowd she's living with now. I'm really worried about her, she feels like dirt, like she's let everyone in her life down, and like no one will believe her unless they do it in order to blame her. It's a recipe for disaster, especially if I don't come through somehow on my promise to help. So that's my project for tomorrow.

In the meantime I'm not sure if I'll sleep much tonight. I guess this is my first test, to see if I can handle a real life-or-death problem. I've been worrying since I started on this degree that my interest in therapy is too abstract and intellectual, that when it comes down to difficult people and messy problems me heart won't be in it. Or maybe it's just that that's what mom says. Now we'll see.

Thursday, September 3

Sex class started today. Even though I was distracted by Tracy's situation it was pretty fun. Dolores came into the class in her usual power woman outfit with the miniskirt and black tights and red toreador jacket and she looked around and started her spiel, very seriously, except of course in her odd accent, "Thees eez Advahnced Human Sexsuality. Eef that eez not the clahss you are heere for, please do leave now." Brief pause. "Otherwise I want you all to know that all the rumors about thees clahss are true. Now eef you weell all remove your clewthes we cahn begeen," and she unbuttoned her jacket, slipped it off and draped it on the back of the chair and looked around expectantly around the room for a moment. Most people (like me) stared back blankly, a few shifted in their seats, the guy next to me looked sideways at me and fiddled with his buttons. Then she laughed and said, no, it wouldn't be necessary, at least not on the first day. She went on and passed out a syllabus and laid out her plan for the class. It should be interesting, certainly unconventional. She said her goal, as much as to teach us to understand the sexuality of others, is to get each of us in touch with the breadth and the shadow of our own sexuality, rather than have us find it on our own at the expense of a client. She warned us that there would be times when we would have to discuss very personal things and we better get comfortable with her and the rest of the class. She told us it was important to understand all sorts of sexual persuasions and "perversions" (she made the little quote gesture in the air), that value judgements were not going to be part of the class. The assignment for the couple of weeks is to browse internet sex sites, and each of us will make a presentation on something--different fetishes and kinds of pornography directed at different audiences.

We had to introduce ourselves around the class, as if most of us haven't done that with most of the rest of us 10 times already. But she started right in asking some pretty personal questions--what was our sexual orientation, were we in a relationship, had we ever been sexually abused. She said as therapists we needed to be comfortable talking about these things with our peers. It was strangely matter of fact. Sometimes it verged on a twelve step meeting, "Hi, I'm John and I have a problem. I've been obsessed with nuns since I was 13." Yes there is a John in the class who has a thing about nuns, which he thinks may be why he's gay. I'm sure we're going to be hearing a lot from John.

She spent a long time on me. I was kind of flattering, actually. When I said my name she looked puzzled and asked if she hadn't seen to me before and I said yes but I just got a radical haircut and she said, ah, that's it. When I said that I had just ended a long relationship she asked if that was why I cut my hair and I said yes and she thought it had been a good idea, which is a strange thing to say in class. Then I had to say, yes, I had been abused, I was seduced as a teenager by a youth minister who was also a friend of my father. Needless to say it's weird to share that with semi-strangers (actually strangers might be easier than classmates who I have to see every week). But she's right, if my job is going to be talking to people about this kind of stuff I should get past any feelings of shame about sharing my own story. She wanted to know if I told my father, and how it made me feel about fathers in general, and how I thought it would affect the way I'd deal with a client. The last question is really hard. It must affect the advice I'd give, how could it not? But as to how, how should I know? I've never been a person who didn't have this story, never as an adult, at least, so what do I have to go on? I just said I'd probably expect people to fail to do the right thing or fail to face the ugly truth, which felt like a kind of shallow answer. It just now occurred to me that maybe she wanted to know how I would deal with someone who was vulnerable to me. Yes, I will soon be on the other side of the equation. Already am, in fact. What a strange thought.

After class I followed her to her office and I told her about Tracy. I was just a little way into the story when she muttered "It's Bennett, isn't it," and I said yes and she started cursing, mostly in Spanish, but I did catch "shit-eating fascist bastard" in there somewhere. She pounded her fists on her desk and kicked her file cabinet. I guess this is what they mean by hot-blooded Latins. It turns out this isn't the first time Bennett has done this, and so far he's always managed to discredit and humiliate any girl who tries to bring a case against him. Just for good measure he's denounced Dolores in the faculty senate and tried to drain money from student mental health, claiming it promotes "victimology." I think it's fair to say that he and Dolores are arch-enemies.

After she stopped cursing I asked her what I should do and she apologized for being so upset but said she was really at a loss. She couldn't put another girl through the humiliation of trying to nail him. The girl just has a pile of unsigned notes, yes? Yes. How about sending Tracy back to him with a tape recorder, youthful indignation wanted to know. Dolores smiled and said wouldn't that be nice, but the Provost told her in no uncertain terms that if such a thing was ever done action would be taken against the therapist involved, not the harasser. Apparently the Provost, the shit, has been one of Bennett's main allies, though he is supposed to retired so maybe things will get better. But she pointed out that Tracy doesn't sound like someone with a lot of confidence and it would probably backfire, sink her deeper in despair, and get us all in trouble. She was tactful enough not to tell me that I must be watching too much TV, to want to wire the girl so we can nail the perp. I said I was afraid Tracy might do something radical if nothing was done to help her, could we at least get her moved to a new dorm and Dolores said yes, she could arrange that, but maybe we should just suggest she go to another school. That was really hard to hear, the resignation of it, it made me mad, and I shot back something like is that really the best we can do here, send her away so she doesn't cause any more trouble? Dolores sighed and reached over to put her hand on mine and said that I had to trust her, that she had really been through this a lot and she wanted to do the thing that would be least damaging to Tracy even if it was totally unfair. She asked if I wanted her to handle it from here and I said, no, I have a meeting scheduled with Tracy tomorrow and I want to do it. She said fine but she would need to talk to Tracy briefly after I was done.

I'm still trying to get my mind around the idea that this guy is so untouchable that someone like Dolores would completely back off in a case like this and hang a student out to dry. I'm dreading the session with Tracy tomorrow.

Friday, September 4

I met with Tracy. I told her we could move her across campus, and she looked at me blankly, assuming I guess that that was only the beginning. I told her that it wasn't the first time Bennett had done this and that it so far hadn't been possible to officially discipline him, that I knew it wasn't fair but in the past it had been very hard on the girls who had tried to accuse him. She blinked her teary doe eyes at me and asked if I really thought he wouldn't find her on the other side of campus, and I might as well tell her to leave school and I gulped and said my adviser had told me that might not be a bad idea. She started sobbing, in between sobs gasping out how she had worked her whole life to get into this school and how could she explain to everyone that she had to go without telling them all about what a disgusting slut she was, and that she'd rather die. I sat and felt like worm and tried to say bland reassuring-sounding things. The sobbing went on forever. I stopped saying anything and just held her hand and handed her kleenexes.

When she finally collected herself I described to her the procedure for making a complaint. I told her she could move today into Collins if she wanted to, or she could stay in the infirmiry for a while if she would feel safer there. I told her that we could take steps against Frank if he kept spreading rumors about her. I asked her what she wanted to do and she said she'd move over to Collins but she didn't want to file a complaint against Bennett or Frank. Then she looked up at me and asked plaintively if I could talk to him. The little hopeful look in her eyes broke my heart, I searched frantically in my head for a way to say yes. Partly to stall I asked her if she had ever mentioned to Bennett that she was going to student mental health. Yes, she mentioned it once and he laughed and asked her if she wanted to grow up to be a victim too. I said that's what I had been afraid of, that if I or anyone else from SMH approached him it would just make him more aggressive. She looked down and muttered that she understood. She looked completely defeated.

I brought Dolores into the room and introduced the two of them. Dolores was subdued but friendly. She was wearing a long dress for once, she can sure put on an air of comforting authority if she needs to. She pretty much just verified what I had already said and made a little speech about how, no matter what happened, we would be there for her, that we couldn't stop Prof. Bennett from sending her notes but we could make sure he never did anything worse to her. Tracy, do you want to file a complaint? No. Will you move to another room? Yes. OK, Cheryl will help you, and if there's anything else I can do or anything you need here's my card and my home phone number.

I have to say the university can be pretty damned organized when it wants to be. Dolores gave me the keys to a university van and told me where to get boxes and Tracy and I drove over to her sorority and packed her up and drove over to her new dorm and there was a very nice resident adviser with a key and we moved Tracy's stuff into her new room and her cheery roommate came in and said hi, I'm Heather and this is where to plug in your phone and this is the computer connection and the bathroom is that way and this is the coolest dorm! and the r.a. said there would be an ice cream social that evening and she hoped Tracy would come and she was so glad to have her on board!

Most of the time, driving and packing, we didn't say much. I made some efforts at small talk--what classes are you taking? Oh, interesting... Is the professor good? Yeah, I hate it when they do that too... Couldn't keep the ball rolling very long, though. The only thing she said that had anything to do with the big issue was when, out of nowhere, she said "She's not so bad."

"Who?"

"Dr. Solana"

"No, she's very nice."

"Prof. Bennett calls her a castrating bitch."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised. They don't really see eye-to-eye."

"No, I guess not."

It was tempting to start deprogramming the poor girl, but it clearly wasn't the right time, so it stood at that.

I was pretty wiped out this evening. Kelly and I sat around and fumed and then turned on the TV to watch a Roseanne rerun and fantasized about locking the bastard up in that living room with her for all of eternity.

Sunday, September 6

Tracy called me last night at a little after midnight. It took me a while to figure out who it was, a strange little voice saying is this Cheryl? In her mailbox that day she found a note from Frank saying "Slut, you can run but you can't hide" which had had the intended effect of making her hysterical. She said she didn't know if she could go on, what was the point, she was a complete failure, why not end it all.

That made me nervous. I started rifling through my purse for the number I got from Monica, that nice r.a. I asked Tracy what she meant. She said she had pills, and she could do it just like her friend Kim did. It was easy, she said. She kept saying that, that it was easy. I had a very tense few minutes while I kept Tracy talking and at the same time called Monica on my modem line. Monica was home, thank god, but I needed her to hang on while I talked to Tracy and not to go barging in there, so I had to mute Trace for a moment here and there and bark something to Monica.

I told Tracy I was coming over and she needed to wait for me, that I couldn't let her take the pills. She must have known that, because she only put up token resistance.

I hung up Tracy's phone and told Monica to watch her door, that nothing was going to happen, that Tracy wouldn't have called if she really planned on going through with it. I called Dolores at home. No one there, left a message. It took me about 8 minutes running my fastest, but then I was completely winded. Monica buzzed me in. I stood in the hall and panted for a minute or two, I didn't want to barge in huffing like an elephant. Monica had her r.a. manual and asked me if she wanted me to call the suicide emergency number and I said no, just write it down for me, and keep an eye out for the roommate, but please try not to let a crowd collect in the hallway. Then I knocked and Tracy opened up.

There was a bottle of pills and a can of diet coke and a strip of notebook paper with SLUT YOU CAN RUN BUT YOU CANT HIDE scrawled in wobbly caps. What could I say to her? I asked her to tell me about Kim, which at least got her talking for a while. Then after a silence she asked what do we do now? I told her we had to go to the infirmary, that I couldn't leave her alone for the night. I left her to pack an overnight bag and went to Monica's room. Heather, the roommate, was sitting on her bed looking grim. Dolores had called, so I called her and she told me where to take Tracy and said she'd meet us there. I told Monica and Heather that everything was going to be OK and to please please keep it to themselves.

We trudged across campus. I carried the bag and Tracy shuffled along looking at the sidewalk. Then we had to go down what seemed like a few miles of hospital corridor, and that's such a depressing place in the best of times, and finally there was the clinic and there was Dolores and a motherly nurse named Nan who was obviously a veteran of this kind of thing. I helped Tracy settle in to a little bed in a little room, and Nan bustled around comfortingly, talked her into taking "a little something to help you rest."

There were various formalities. We had to call Tracy's parents, even though she was horrified and begged us to at least wait till the morning, but the rule is a call must be placed immediately on admission. Dolores made the call, which was astonishingly brief because her mother didn't take it seriously and thought it was just silly Tracy acting out to get attention. That explains some things.

She seemed as good as could be expected today. Nan had been replaced by Martha, who's equally motherly and cheery. Monica sent up some flowers, which was nice except it made Tracy paranoid that everyone knew and I assured her no, only Monica and Heather knew. I told her that her mother wasn't mad that we called and she said, yeah, she talked to her, she was OK with it. I asked her to tell me a little about her family. Well, mom is on her third marriage, to a guy named Winston who develops resorts. We were lucky we reached her at home 'cause she's usually in Hawaii or Mexico. Dad's a CEO. She doesn't see him very often, he works really hard plus he just started his second family a few years ago. I'd say her goal for both is to disturb them as little as possible. Why did I just find out about this? Couldn't I have noticed last spring that she never mentioned her mom or dad?

We had a meeting, Dolores and me and the nurse and a psychiatric M.D. Despite the circumstances it feels good to be included and Dolores is great about treating me as a colleague rather than as a student. We all agreed that Tracy probably isn't suicidal, just desperate and highly conflicted about the bad options open to her. The blasé parents are clearly an issue. If they'd raise a fuss and insist that something be done about Bennett, the root problem, or if they just came out and took her away, the mess could be resolved. As it is it looks like they've just parked her out here, so it's our problem. Dolores will have to approach the (unsympathetic) Provost and we'll see what happens. She will at least have the Dean of Students haul this jerk Frank in and confront him with the note and try to scare him into backing off. Since it's handwritten it actually gives us some leverage.

Monday, September 7

Today I did something completely irresponsible and probably really stupid too. I sat with Tracy for a while, we talked about Kim and her parents and even a little about Frank but not about the eight hundred pound gorilla, because it seemed like such a dead end. When I left I decided that the best hope was to make sure that he knew about the suicide attempt and to put the fear of God into him that if he's not careful his name might appear on a suicide note.

I called his department and found out he had office hours this afternoon, so I rushed into action before I lost my nerve. I went to Marshalls and got a white pleated dress, mid-thigh, a powder blue blouse with poofy shoulders and a matching hairband, and white sneakers. It hurt to pay $70 for this shit but that's life. I got some pink lipstick and blush and mascara, and I suited up. The clothes and makeup worked seamlessly with my old Georgia accent and pretty much screamed bimbo. To complete the look I should have bleached my hair, but that's a bit impractical. I felt incredibly conspicuous walking across campus, and guys definitely looked at me differently.

His door was open and there was nobody waiting. Jesus! Was I just gonna walk in there? I had expected to wait, at least. I did a lap up and down the hall, tried to control my breathing. I knocked on his door. "Professah Bennett?"

"Yes, come in."

In my mind I had pictured pudgy and balding, but in fact he's tall, a bit gangly, with an unruly nest of curly black hair and a seaman's type beard with no mustache. He's in Classics, so maybe to him it's Homeric. He wasn't the disgusting snivelling little man I expected and I froze in the threshold, looking at him. He smiled at me and looked me over head to toe. I grinned and blinked foolishly, thought about turning and trotting my little white tail down the stairs, but got a grip and launched into my spiel.

"Professah Bennett, I'm heah about a slahghtly delicate mattah. Mahght I shut the do-ah?"

He waved and dipped his head.

"Professah, mah name is Cheryl ___. Ah'm a student intuhn in the mental hailth centah. Ah know it's hahghly irregulah fa me tuh come heah lahk thiyus, but Ah've been seein' a guhl called Traceh Millah," he scowled at the name, "and she's in a bit o' trouble." I paused, he just looked at me, scowling. "Weyul, no sense beatin' arouyund the bush, she trahd to kill huhself layust weekeyund. It has us all prettah shakin' up."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear that. Tracy was in my class last year. She's a nice girl. But how does this concern me?"

I explained that she had developed an obsession over him, and I thought it was important for him to know about it. Furthermore, I thought he should know that there were some in my department who were inclined to blame him for what was going on, and though I knew he was an honorable man (my father has told me what a great man he is), I thought he should know that there might be trouble coming his way, even at the risk of getting into trouble myself for coming here.

He told me that Tracy and her boyfriend had been very dedicated students, used to come in together regularly, but he had no idea of an obsession. I told him that if he ever saw that boy Frank again he should tell him in no uncertain terms that there are ways to be a man and ways not to be a man. What could I possibly mean by that? I explained that Frank had left very nasty notes for Tracy and was definitely part of the problem. He said he didn't think it was his place to give students personal advice but if it came up he'd try to gently guide Frank in the right direction. Had she seriously intended to kill herself or was she just seeking attention? I lied that we were just lucky her new roommate found her passed out so we could pump her stomach. Was there a note? Yes, I lied again, but it was destroyed unopened when it was clear she would live. Would it help for him to speak to her or send her a note? Absolutely not, she already has trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality and for him to contact her would merely reinforce the fantasy. If he should see her in public he should be courteous but professional, and then call me so I could check up on her.

He thanked me for coming by. I said my father would positively flip when he heard I had talked to the great man himself and he said I was a very caring person and I smiled and looked at the floor. I relaxed a bit at the thought I was almost out the door unscathed. I started to get up to go.

"Cheryl, there's one thing I'm curious about before you go."

"Yes, suh." I froze half way out of the chair. Had he seen through the story? It's a good thing that a bit of nervous anxiety and flightiness is consistent with the disguise, because my heart was fluttering and I must have been pretty wide-eyed.

"You seem like a very nice girl. Forgive me for being blunt, but what exactly are you doing in that um... unorthodox department?"

I sat down again and crossed my legs. "That's a verah good question." It turns out that my boyfriend Steve came here to business school and I wanted to get a certificate as a social worker and everyone said it was a very good program so I thought what could be more perfect? And I do truly like working with the students here, even if some of the faculty have very strange ideas. Prof. Solana, for instance? Yes, certainly her, she's something else! You wouldn't believe what we're doing in her class now! He said he would believe anything, but what was it? Why, we're actually supposed to look at pornography, really perverted pornography, and talk about it in class! That set him off on a tirade, he went on and on about how it disgusted him and how he had been trying to clean up that mess for years and how the last thing the world needed was more "empowered" victims, and on and on, and I nodded politely through the whole thing.

Wouldn't it be great if a student (for instance, you) sued them for harassment, turned their own weapons against them? I demurred. He supposed he understood, but please, could I think it over and call him back if I changed my mind. He'd make sure nothing bad happened to me. I said I would, and I gave him the clinic's and my home phone number (well, the modem number, actually). He said, with a little leer, that he'd look forward very much to seeing me again, and (pulling a book off a stack and signing it) here's something for your father. I thanked him effusively, waved, and as I was going he stressed that I should call or drop by anytime.

I think I pulled the wool over his eyes, I think he bought the whole thing. I hope I didn't go too far in distancing myself from Dolores--it did sound pretty bad the way I described the pornography thing to him.

The book is something, a pretentious Limbaugh-wanna-be screed called "Sense and Nonsense in Higher Education." The blurb on the back says it's "a scathing exposé of dunce-cap-and-gown academia." It's sitting on my dining room table as tangible evidence of my afternoon's adventure. What the hell am I going to do it?

It took me a while to face up to the fact that I have to tell Dolores what I did, and that, unless they banish me from the department, I'll also have to tell Tracy that I talked to Bennett and told him I thought she was making it all up. I couldn't quite face the prospect of talking to Dolores on the phone so I sent her an e-mail instead. I haven't heard from her, but it's not that late yet. Uh-oh, there's the phone...

Tuesday, September 8

Dolores was furious about what I had done but then something happened that at least partially redeemed me. Bennett called in late afternoon to tell me he had an idea. If I didn't want to sue the department, would I at least be his little spy in Solana's class? I said maybe, I'd think about it and he asked me to come by his office on Thursday to talk about it and I said I probably could, would have to check my schedule. I called Dolores right away and she said since I wanted to be Ms. Secret Agent she'd let me lead him down the garden path and that I should go ahead and meet him if I thought I could take care of myself. We're going to meet tomorrow evening to formulate a plan.

I went to Tracy with good news and bad news. The good news was that I talked to Bennett to try to get him off your back. The bad news is that I told him you were a liar. Of course I didn't put it that bluntly. It's a little hard to read her, since she's lost so much control she's gotten even more passive. But I think it did register that I had gone out on a limb for her, and that I was at least trying to confront the disease instead of the symptoms. I did the Georgia belle act for her and she thought that was funny, she said I was a good actress and I said not really, that's the way I grew up and her eyes got wide. You? From Georgia? Really? Hey babe, look who's talking, you're a valley girl. No, actually it was nice to see her laugh.

We've agreed that I'll check her mailbox for her. There was a laser-printed note in it that must have been dropped into campus mail before the weekend: "Tracy-Stayed late for you yesterday but was disappointed. What's keeping you away? We have a lot to catch up on. I'm waiting anxiously but I can't wait forever, so be a good girl." The shit. Be a fucking good girl, what a way to threaten someone.

In the meantime I had to go to Child Psych completely unprepared, I had to cancel on Steve yet again. This Bennett/Tracy thing has taken over my life.

Wednesday, September 9

One hell of a weird evening scheming with Dolores. She thinks that I can maneuver Bennett into a compromising position. Her plan is "simple." She gave me a fake assignment sheet purporting to be from her class. It admonishes the students that they must be sexually competent if they are to be able to help clients with sexual problems. "Developing and demonstrating this competency will be a central theme of the class." The students will be led through a "graded series of sexual stimulation exercises documented on videotape." The first exercise is self-stimulation. Future exercises will involve stimulation of members of the opposite sex, so students should begin searching for a partner. Homosexual students, with the consent of the instructor, may be excused from partnering with a member of the biologically opposite sex. A room will be made available with videotaping equipment. Also in that room are detailed instructions and a video demonstrating the competencies. Students can sign out a key one hour at a time.

Her hope is that Bennett will want to check out the room and the video himself, and I'll reluctantly let him talk me into taking him there. And then he'll lose control and I'll get him into a compromising position, and we'll get it on tape.

Me: What exactly do you mean by compromising position?
Her: We'll see, something good. The more incriminating the better.

Me: And what position will I be in?
Her: If you play your cards right you'll probably be able to keep most of your clothes on. But you can take it as far as you want (gee, thanks).

Me: What if he realizes that such an assignment could never, ever, possibly be given?
Her: He believes that I'm capable of anything (from my conversation with him I'm inclined to agree). But you should work up to it, and make sure he's buying it before you show him the piece of paper.

Me: What if he doesn't need to come to the room but just goes straight to denouncing Solana's den of iniquity?
Her: Then it will probably turn out that you are a psychotic compulsive liar and you will probably get kicked out of school but I will help you get into some other place. But you started this ball rolling, so what are you complaining about? You'll have to make sure he's distracted by your ass and not thinking clearly.

The weird thing is, the studio already exists, off a hallway behind an unmarked door in the basement of the hospital. We went there, it's a "sexology research lab." There's a futon sofabed and a one-way mirror. There's a TV and VCR, though they're going to have to rig up something so the VCR is locked and I can honestly say I can't get the tape out of there.

She wanted to do a dress rehearsal, to see if I was going to be up to it. To that end she brought along Henry, her husband, a stocky little Brit with stringy hair down to his shoulders. I knew she was married, and it's a bit of department lore that her husband is a big-time stage director, but I would never have pictured this chap. She told me I was going to show him this videotape, which starts with people demonstrating how to masturbate and goes on from there, and he was going to come on to me. What she wanted to know was (a) could I stay in character and (b) did I have the guile to coerce him into making his intentions clear while giving up as little as possible myself. She warned, or consoled, I'm not sure which, that her husband would be a lot harder to manipulate than Bennett. Also, I should be prepared for the fact that he would be touching me while she watched through the one-way glass. Was I going to be able to handle that? If not, we'd better call the whole thing off now.

It makes me wonder if that other bit of department lore is actually true, that Dolores started out in the sex business as a prostitute. I've always thought it was gossip or hype, but after the cavalier way she decided to put my body on the line I'm not so sure. I looked at Henry, sitting on a sofa in a red plaid shirt and old brown corduroy pants, twiddling his thumbs. This guy is gonna fondle me? While his wife watches? Is this me here? Am I dreaming this? Have I been dropped into a twisted Woody Allen movie?

I can't say I wanted to do it, but my pride wouldn't let me back out.

So we all went out into the hallway and she gave me the key, and she went into the observation booth and there I was with Henry. He put his arm around my shoulders, which seemed awfully premature, but it was actually to try to make me more comfortable: "Allright Cheryl, I know this is a dash awkward..." He told me to take a deep breath, that we'd just make chit-chat for a while to settle into the scenario, that he wouldn't bite, that he'd wait for me to go into character to start things off, that I should take my time, etc. It helped to see that he knew what he was about and was really very professional. The thought triggered a little internal dialogue:
I was fondled by my teacher's husband while she watched.
No, how awful!
Oh, it's OK, he was really very professional.
It made me smile. He said that's good, have some fun with it.

"The room's raht heah, sah."

"And everyone in the class has a key, is that how it works?" The British accent was gone, which startled me and I skipped a beat.

"No, suh, theah's onleh one key. We sahn out the room and check out the key."

We went in and he walked around and checked out the room, pondered the furnishings with semi-rhetorical questions. I guess that was the small talk part. He asked if the mirror was one-way and I said for the life of me I didn't know about such a thing, and he said he wanted to see and asked who else had keys and I allowed as I wasn't sure but probably the faculty but they wouldn't be around now and he insisted on looking and wouldn't let me deflect him so we went out into the hall and used my key to open the door to the booth. Dolores was in there looking dour but he ignored her and just looked around, commenting on how devious these people were.

Back in the "lab" we turned our attention to the VCR. Had I seen the tape? No. Well, let's take a look. There was an FBI warning and a title banner, "The Art of Pleasure, Vol. 1," and then pretty soon we were looking at a lovely blond lady in a silk gown. The voiceover was a bunch of banalities about how if you wanted to pleasure yourself you needed to make a safe, sensual space, get comfortable, perhaps put on some music (there was some tinkling new age stuff on the soundtrack), give your fantasy free reign, etc. During this the lovely blond lady lay down on a couch and pulled back her silk gown and ran her fingers up and down over her belly and breasts. Henry spit out that it was absurd what people needed to be told and I concurred.

Pretty soon she got down to business and we got the gynecologist-eye view. Henry grabbed the remote and spit out something about filth and started to cue forward. The lady's fingers flew over her clit and then she started thrashing madly. Then, abruptly, we were confronted by a handsome man in a robe, tall, wavy black hair, cleft chin, lightly furry chest. Henry went back into play and wondered out loud what brilliant instructions the man was going to get. Turned out to be pretty much the same, he lay down and uncovered his soft dick, began to stroke the balls and it pretty quickly came to life. Henry stopped the tape and apologized that I had seen such a thing and I said that as a therapist I could not be squeemish so he needn't worry, but if he wanted me to step out of the room.... He pressed play again, the man squirted some oil on his hand (the narrator stressed that lubrication was crucial to full enjoyment) and began to go at himself in earnest. Henry muttered Jesus! do they have to show the whole thing? and began to cue forward again. The man whomped madly on himself, despite the narrators admonition that full enjoyment required slow, deliberate strokes, and then his lovely stomach muscles bunched up and then ssssfffft, there were strings of milky glop laced through his chest hair. I'd never seen that before in quite that way, it did get my pulse going a bit and when he came I couldn't help but exclaim Lordy! The man was gone and we had two women, the one from the first segment and a slightly pudgy oriental lady. At cue speed they were on the couch in no time and Blondie was spreading Oriental Lady's soft brown legs, then nibbling on them, then licking her black-bearded cunt.

Henry hit the stop button. He started his windup. Do you really have to go through with this? Well, yes, I guess you could do the first one on your own but didn't you say that there's more and you have to have a partner? Will your boyfriend help you? No? Well, a lovely girl such as yourself shouldn't, just hypothetically speaking, have any trouble finding a partner. I said gosh golly gee.

He pitched. His hand came down on my knee. He said he thought he could help me. What do you mean, sir? Oh, come on, you wouldn't have brought me here if you didn't want me, now would you? And it's very bad for a girl to lead a man on and not come through. A good Georgia girl like you knows that. His hands went to work, he stroked my knees first, then he brushed the hair off the side of my face (You are such a pretty girl!). My mind was racing. Dolores is watching, what does she want me to do? Am I supposed to get him to chase me around the room, is that compromising? Will we be undressing in this dress rehearsal? Isn't it compromising enough for him to be STROKING MY BREAST?

I pushed his hand away and wailed what kind of girl do you think I am? He said "My girl," pinned both of my hands to the back of the sofa quite firmly and, as I struggled, put his mouth to my ear and whispered, in his real voice "Cheryl, don't resist so. Try to lead me on, move about, make it a game." He slid his hands up my arms, very deliberately, over my shoulders, still keeping me firmly pinned, until they came to rest squarely on my breasts. He kissed my cheek and, back in character, mumbled into my ear that that didn't feel so bad, now did it? Honestly, that little contact with the strength and control of the real man brought me dangerously close to swooning. I might have. But not with Dolores behind the glass. I took his thumbs and slipped myself out from under the hands. I told him he was making a very attractive offer, but really, he was going awfully fast. As a therapist I just had to remark that the right way to do this was not so fast. I got up and walked around the back of the sofa and leaned over next to him and smiled. I happened to know that our next assignment was to stimulate a member of the opposite sex by hand. Did he want to help me with that? He said how could he do that, he'd be recognized and I said we wouldn't have to film his head and he didn't have to say anything, and would Prof. Solana recognize that part of his body? Well, no, he said, and then Dolores's voice came through a speaker. "OK, that eez enough."

Henry got up and smiled and clapped his hands and said bravo. Dolores came in laughing and patted me on the back and asked, what did I think of her charming husband, eh? and I could only stupidly sputter gee, he's something! and Henry said Lola you've lucked out, she's a real natural. My face lit up like a stoplight.

We had a brief debriefing. They both said I had done well, except I needed to be more evasive and less resistive, that I should draw him out more, but that Bennett would almost surely be more nervous, tentative, and clumsy than Henry. They told me to keep in mind that, whatever he might say, he was going to be horny as hell once he saw the tape. Dolores wants to spring the trap as quickly as possible, she thinks the more time that passes the more likely something will go wrong, that if I could get him in here this weekend that would be perfect.

Thursday, September 10

Met with Bennett today. He totally went for the fake assignment. It just confirmed everything he had always know to be true about Dolores and her ilk. He reveled in the perverse details, for him they gave the whole thing a ring of absolute authenticity--the special dispensations for gay students ("of course the fags get to do whatever they want!") and the phrases "biologically opposite sex" ("what the hell other kind of opposite sex is there?") and "self-stimulation" ("christ, even Jocelyn Elders could manage to say masturbation!"). Had I been to the room? Not yet, just got the assignment today, but it's in the hospital somewhere. Did I think I could take him there without it being to conspicuous? I didn't know but I'd go check it out and call him. He said don't call me I'll call you.

He called at about 8. I told him it would be easy to get him into the room, that no one had signed up for time yet. We talked for a while about the best way for him to get there without anyone seeing and worked out an elaborate plan, where I go first and block open the outer door so he can just slip in 15 minutes later. We almost agreed on late tomorrow night but then he remembered that he'd have to sign in at the front desk at night, so we agreed on Saturday afternoon. Afternoon feels safer, anyway.

After I got off the phone with Bennett I had another slightly surreal conversation with Steve. The boy is nothing if not persistent, I've told him no or cancelled at the last minute how many times? Several in the last couple of weeks, anyway. But he's always back with, we're going bowling tomorrow night, or we're going for pizza later, or we have an extra ticket to the baseball game. Always "we," which is a little strange. Is he afraid to be alone with me? I feel bad saying no so much, and I don't think I want him to go away, so I end up keeping him on the phone for a while each time, we have this innocuous little phone friendship now, sort of filling each other in on the other's life. That's the surreal part, my life through this weird peephole where all the dark stuff is off to the side out of sight.

Such as what's supposed to happen on Saturday afternoon. Shit! What the fuck do I think I'm doing!

Friday, September 11

I don't go very long without getting a fluttery tummy, thinking about my rendezvous tomorrow afternoon at 2. It's especially hard because I can't talk to anyone about it. I can sort of half talk to Kelly about it. I told her about the first renegade meeting with "the bastard," as I say to protect the guilty. I can tell her that he's after me now, we can talk about what a disgusting slimeball he is. But I can't tell her about the trap, I need to discipline myself to tell absolutely no one about it. Tell one person and then it's too easy to tell another and then after a few beers I'll be telling strangers in the bar. Besides, I'm afraid she would freak out and I'd lose my nerve.

The notes have stopped dropping into Tracy's box, which is one bit of good news. But maybe it's temporary, just while I'm distracting Bennett. Also the Dean told Frank that if any more notes were found in Tracy's box that could conceivably be traced back to him he'd be outta here and he at least acted suitably cowed.

I spent some time with Tracy today, which was actually the most relaxing part of the day. She's gotten pretty comfortable in her little isolation room. People are actually attending to her for the first time in a long time. Monica, who's a total sweetheart of a person, goes there every day and they watch soap operas and eat candy and gossip. Heather has come with her a few times, we're trying to work up to getting Tracy back into the dorm that way. They all seem to be having a lovely time together. I hope it lasts. I hope tomorrow doesn't bring it to a crashing halt.

Sunday, September 13

OK, it's over. It happened. I did it. I'm still in one piece. We were lucky.

The entry plan meant I could be there early and check in with Dolores and Henry. They seemed calm and that helped. We worked out how long it would take them to clear out of the booth in case he wanted to inspect it. They asked me to decide on a signal for them to come bursting in and save me. I guessed "Uncle" would be as good as anything. They said I'd do fine and to try to have fun with it.

I blocked the outer door latch with a bit of cardboard and waited in the lab with the door open, and right on time I heard a click and I conspiratorially waved him on in. For all his paranoia about being seen coming through the hospital, once he got into the room with me it didn't seem to occur to him that he could be anything but alone with me. Wishful thinking was clouding his judgement, I guess.

He looked around, we talked a little. He picked up some printed packets on top of the TV--a program of the tape, instructions for using the video camera, and a detailed description of what was expected for each "competency." He was absolutely transfixed by the latter, since it was very detailed about which parts of the male and female genitals were supposed to be stimulated and how, and then, near the back, in a section marked "extra credit" there were instructions for proper anal intercourse which carefully took account of three variations--man with man, man with woman, two women with dildo. The only thing that seemed to surprise him was that this section was marked extra credit. After all, he pointed out snidely, wasn't that discrimination? Shouldn't everyone know how to do this? He flipped back to the front of the packet and asked me if I realized that I was supposed to come in here in a week and make a tape of myself masturbating a man. I said I had kind of gathered that but was going to take things as they came... Oops (giggle), no pun intended, sorry. He tried to look grave but couldn't hold back a little grin.

He asked me if I had seen the tape and I said I had looked at a little of it and that he would probably find it quite offensive. He said he assumed we were both adults and could handle it. It was set to the scene of Blondie and Oriental Lady. He said Good Lord! is that the start and I said no there's a woman alone and then a man alone and then this. He watched it for a few minutes in silence as the Blondie started to nibble on Oriental Lady's plush legs and work her way up. I was struck again by the surrealistic banality of the matter-of-fact voiceover telling us there was no right way to orally stimulate the clitoris, that licking was always a good start (close up) but sucking (close up) would be too intense for some women. Bennett wondered just what the boys in the class were supposed to learn from this and I said that I assumed that you should lick a girl the same way whether you were a man or a woman. He asked if I would be able to do this and I said lordy I didn't think so.

We kept on in pretty much that vane as he checked out the tape, cueing forward for a while and then dropping into play. He made cracks about this and that. But he was pretty distracted by what he was watching, he was struggling to keep up the appearance of a critical distance. We went through a whole section of different kinds of foreplay, deep kissing, stroking skin, fondling nipples, sucking nipples, kissing pussys and licking balls, and he got pretty immersed. He mumbled that he hoped I was learning as much as he was and I said I didn't know. Finally Clark Kent climbed onto Blondie, gracefully engulfed her soft white body with his sinewy olive one, and as he delicately parted her red sea she went "uhhnnn." Now I was distracted. Those were some arms I'd happily fall into.

He was on me like a ton of bricks. It's probably best that I wasn't prepared for it. He bowled me over onto the sofa, plastered his lips on my face, and his hands were all over me. I yelped, of course. I was wearing the pleated skirt I bought for our first date, and in a flash and there was nothing but a thin cotton panty between his hands and my ass, and the way he was going that wasn't gonna to be there for long. Luckily we were near the edge of the sofa and it wasn't that hard for me to humph him off onto the floor and then scoot around, putting the sofa between us.

"Professah, yo a marrid mayun! What kind o' guhl do you think ah ayum?!"

"I'm sorry, Cheryl, I lost control, I thought..." He got up and started to circle around, giving me a let-me-hug-you-and-make-it-better look.

I circled the other way and told him sternly to stay over there and explain himself.

He sat down and looked at his feet and gave me a long story about his wife and how there had been no love or sex for years, it was really a shell of a marriage. I listened sympathetically and said there's always hope and why didn't he just find a nice counsellor. He said they tried and I said sometimes divorce is the best thing and he grunted.

I said I expected that this wasn't the first time he had been unfaithful to his wife and he shook his head and said no, and while I had him in a confessional mode I said, in my best imitation of the pseudo-intimate tone that Barbara Walters would use on a repentant celebrity, "and ah'm thinkin' Traceh wasn't lyin', was she."

He looked at the back of his hands and sighed and admitted it, sort of. In his version she pursued him, didn't understand no, pushed him too far--he figured I'd understand since I'd seen how he could lose control. He'd told her it was over and he knew she was devastated but never guessed it would lead to suicide.

I clucked sympathetically, told him that people make mistakes and he shouldn't worry, she'd be alright. I didn't even flinch--I guess I was deep into the role.

He perked up. Why didn't we turn to my problem for a minute? What was I going to do about this class? Was I going to be able to make these videos? Would my boyfriend help me? I said I wasn't sure and he forced a joke about being willing to help me if only it didn't have to be on tape and I reused the joke from the other night about how she wouldn't recognize him down there, now would she?

I was hoping I could get his pants down, but once again I had not taken the full measure of the man. Still, what he did next was so sadistic that I don't feel bad for taking a while to catch on.

He was thoughtful for a minute, then he asked me what I thought would happen if Dolores found out that I had brought him here.

I thought it was an idle question, and laughed and said I expected she'd be mighty angry.

"What do you think she'd do?"

"Why, ah cayun't imagine. Fail meh, ah suppose."

"Oh, I doubt she'd stop at that. Especially if I told her that from what you had shown me I was going to drum her out of her job."

It was dawning on me just as he twisted suddenly and grabbed my wrist. He's a strong man. He held me tight and looked straight at me and said he was not the kind of man who was denied and he wasn't about to let a boyfriend or some old-fashioned ideas about marriage stand in the way of his pleasure, no, not only his, our pleasure, he was sorry that he had to resort to this but I would soon be thankful. I started to yell and try to twist out of his grip, which was really hurting, but Henry's little lesson from the other night had stuck.

I kissed his hand and said "please, suh, don't hurt me, that's no way to seduce a guhl." I sat down next to him, held his hand and looked him in the eye. "May ah call you Allan, theyun?" He nodded. "Now, Allan, am ah t'understayund that you ah goin' t'remove aneh moral constraints ah might feel about havin' an affayah with you bah makin' the opposite altuhrnative wuhse?" He said that was well put. "Well, then," I looked at his crotch with an arched eyebrow, "ah've been noticin' the bump in yowah pants for quite some tahm. Would you lak to let hiyum out? I'd lak to see."

He said I'd see soon enough and was on top of me again and unbuttoning my blouse. I slapped his hands away and got out from under him again and told him that if he was going to be with me he would have to learn to pace himself better, that I wasn't going to be peeled and tossed aside like a banana. I lost the hope that I could get his pants off--any opening on my part and he was on me, violently. I was starting to think I had gotten as far as I was going to get, I felt worn out, and I had to pee. Ah, I had to pee! What a godsend! A timeout, a chance to consult! I held his hands and explained that, before we got started I had most desperately to empty my bladder and... get ready.

He smirked and said, oh, that's typical, isn't it, well OK. I batted my eyes and picked up my purse and walked to the door. He said, wait a moment, that I was to leave my wallet and the key, "just in case." I mentally kicked myself for bringing my ID while I smiled and laid the key and wallet on a little table by the door, and started to open the knob. Wait a minute, he said again. He walked over to me. Before I go, a kiss.

God it was disgusting! It wasn't a kiss, it was a grope. Well, it was a slobber, too, I'm not sure which part was worse, his stinky breath and sloppy tongue or the one hand squeezing my breast like a clown's bicycle horn and the other up and under my dress and back and forth over my ass. I managed to relax into it, to not freeze, to press into him and run my hand up and down his back, but then the hand started to work it's way under the underwear elastic and I put my hands on his chest and disengaged, said please, Allan, just let me get comfortable.

I was out the door, and walking down the hall sort of tentatively when Dolores stuck her head out the booth door and waved me in. There they were, and there I was, in the safe, hushed darkness. Dolores was bent over, one hand flapping madly at the window and the other over her mouth.

There was Bennett. He had zipped down his fly and pulled out his erection, he had it in his hand and he was dancing, actually lumbering is a better way to put it, from foot to foot, waving his dick in the general direction that I had gone and chanting a little victory chant to a melody that was a bit like "This little light of mine."

I'm gonna screw the bitch. Yes! I'm gonna screw the bitch. I'm gonna screw the bitch. Yes! I'm gonna screw the bitch. She's got not where to run. No! She's got no where to hide! When Allan Bennett comes along she'll take him right inside. I'm gonna screw the bitch, etc.

Dolores was doubled over making snuffling noises, tears running down her cheeks, and it was contagious. I was afraid I was going to wet my panties. Henry just grinned slyly and kept the camera aimed.

After a while Bennett got tired of dancing. He flopped onto the sofa and huffed out something to the effect of god what a man I am, this is gonna be good. He turned the TV back on, and idly stroked himself and muttered as he watched the video. He wouldn't mind taking that piece of ass, too, etc. He cued up to the part about anal sex and bent forward and very carefully studied Clark getting down on all fours and Blondie sticking her head in to lick from the base of his dick up and over his asshole. Bennett held the end of his thing and cranked it in circles as he watched. He muttered that that was a damned good idea, pulled his pants down, bent over and wiggled his ass at the door. "Here, Cheryl, Cheryl! Here girl! I've got something for you! C'mon, lick it, you slut, lick it, it's good for you." Dolores doubled over again and started shaking violently, but it hit a bit too close to home for me.

He stood up and looked at his watch, muttered something like christ they take forever in the can! and pulled up his pants. He paced a little, he looked back at the video, paced some more, stuck his face against the screen to watch one man penetrate another, sat back and sighed, muttered some more. I hissed to Dolores "What are we going to do now?" and she said let him wait, and then she'd take care of the rest.

A minute later he got up and headed toward my wallet muttering "hmm I wonder where she lives" and Dolores was out the door motioning for me to follow. I knocked and cooed "Allan, yoo-hoo, it's me." The door cracked open and Dolores barged in. "Wonderful performance, professor!" He wagged his jaw and sputtered. She waved a video tape at him, and I just gave him a little grin and reached around behind her to retrieve my wallet--for a brief, nauseating moment I had imagined him walking off with it. I retreated back to the booth.

Dolores was still waving the tape the tape around saying what a valuable thing she had. It made me nervous. He was stomping and hollering that she wouldn't dare and then he made a lunge and grabbed it and I yelled Shit! but Henry just smiled holding up another tape and Dolores managed to gasp out "sorry, dear, it's just a blank" from being doubled over laughing. He bellowed that he was not going to leave until she handed the real thing over. She said, OK, but he'd have to talk to the security people about that and Henry, could you make the call, dear? and Henry hit the intercom button and said right-o (though he didn't actually do it) and Bennett's head jerked to look in the direction of the voice. He bellowed some more that that suit him just fine, he'd wait. She said she was looking forward to the news tonight: distinguished professor says it wasn't him dancing around waving his magic wand and practically raping a woman and admitting to screwing a student, that was his long-lost twin, you decide, video at 11. He said he'd ruin her too, and she answered that, yes, as a red-blooded American he surely understood mutually assured destruction, but, considering how he preached moral rectitude didn't he think maybe he had more to lose than she did? But, she assured him, there was no need for anything that had been seen and heard this afternoon to go beyond this room. She just never, ever, under any circumstances, wanted to hear about another Tracy, or another Sue, or another Melanie. That wasn't so much to ask, was it? Oh, and one other thing, could he please keep his complaints about her department to himself? He spit out that that was blackmail and she said well, he was an expert in that, wasn't he?

He stood glaring for another minute, found nothing else to say, and was half way out the door before he turned and hollered that this wasn't over, that she'd be hearing from his lawyer. She smiled and waved. I leaned out of the doorway and watched him stomping off to the outer door. Before he opened it he turned and saw me and yelled that he knew where to find me, too. Dolores and I smiled and waved and he was gone slamming the door behind him. I wish I had had the presence of mind to moon him, it was really the only gesture worthy of the occasion.

As a precaution, the three of us left separately. Dolores first, with a decoy tape. Me a few minutes later with my virtue intact and then Henry waited around for a while before leaving with the goods. As I was walking out, the last thing I heard was Henry in the booth, playing cockney for himself: "Ee fough t' the end, 'ee did, and 'is last valiant words was, BAH! yee'll be heerin' frm moy loyah!"

They asked me if I wanted to join them for dinner at their place. They said I'd just had a very intense experience and I might need someone to talk to about it. I insisted no, no, I'll be OK, don't worry, I'm fine. I guess I'm kind of intimidated by the two of them, they make me feel so ordinary and uninteresting, I didn't want to be mousing around at their place all evening. They said to call them anytime if I changed my mind.

They knew what they were talking about. What the hell do you do with yourself after something like this has happened? I walked home, paranoid of course that Bennett was going to jump out from behind a bush. I rattled around at home for a while but couldn't concentrate. I left a message for Kelly, tried to eat and couldn't, couldn't even find anything distracting enough on TV, and was about to call Dolores after all when Kelly called and said what's up? I made up a half-true story, told her that I had seen the bastard again and he tried to seduce/rape me. I told her that he groped me and tried to blackmail me by threatening to tell stories to my boyfriend. It was at least enough to explain me being a little distraught. We went over to Mick's and drank some beers and I calmed down a bit and reconnected with reality, except anytime anyone came through the door I was afraid it was Bennett.

A day later I'm still pretty distracted, the mundane details of life seem kind of strange. Of course I've been thinking a lot about Bennett. I'm having a hard time hating him like he deserves. I guess seeing him dance around like a boy, and then seeing him completely humiliated, have sort of balanced out the nasty things he tried to do to me and the slimy, vile way he went about doing it. Yeah, somehow I'm feeling sorry for the guy. Not so much because of the humiliation but because, what a miserable loveless life he must have! Not that I regret what we did, not for a minute. I have the luxury to feel sorry for him because we won. We won! We won! It was incredible! It was blazing fucking glorious success beyond my wildest dreams!

OK, time to get a grip. Tomorrow is Monday. We're going to try to get Tracy back into circulation. I've got tons of work to do. I need to be regular old Cheryl again.