Therapy Session

Good evening, Davida. I see we're both wearing gray today. Your blouse is very becoming.

Thank you, Doctor. I like that pink tie. Pink goes good with gray, doesn't it?

So I'm told. Would you like to try the couch today?

No, I think I'd be more comfortable on the chair, if that's all right.

Of course. The chair is fine.

I see you have a new horse. It's nice looking. Is it marble?

I'm not sure. It might just be some sort of ceramic. It's very heavy though.

I can imagine.

Have you ever ridden a horse?

No. Well, when I was little on a merry-go-round.

Did you enjoy it?

I think so. I don't remember. Oh, wait. I didn't ride the horse. I rode the tiger. They had all sorts of animals. Even a swan.

Did you pick the tiger?

I don't remember. I remember it went up and down.

Did you enjoy it?

I think so. My mother held me so I wouldn't slip off. I must have been very small.

Was your father along as well?

Probably. He was probably there taking movies. That's what he liked to do. I waved to him. Now I remember. I waved to him and I looked so happy.... I guess I must have seen the movie, although I don't remember seeing it. That's strange, isn't it?

Did your father take other movies of you?

He was always taking movies. But I don't remember seeing any.

What were the movies of?

I don't know. Everything. You know, birthday parties. Um... Forget it.

What were you going to say?

I don't know. I never saw any of the movies. I just remember he always had his little movie camera along.

When you went on trips?

Yes, like to the zoo. There was one of me petting the goat. I was wearing a party dress. I guess I must have seen some of the movies or how would I know about the party dress?

It seems that way. Or else you just remember petting the goat.

My father said goats ate tin cans. He said if I wasn't careful, the goat would eat my dress.

Did you find that worrying?

I think he was just fooling me. He was always teasing me.

Do you remember any other movies?

No. Or, maybe. Maybe there was a movie of a bath.

Go on.

I don't remember. I'm sorry.

That's okay. Did your father bathe you?

I don't remember. I don't think so. I mean I think he and Mom both bathed me. Wouldn't that make sense?

It could. Now last time, before we ran out of time, you said you thought you should tell me about a trip you took to New York.

Yes, I visited my Uncle Clark. He lived in New York. New York City. When people say New York they mean New York City, right?

Yes, that's often the case.

It was near the end of summer just before college. My father said it would broaden my horizons. I remember that phrase. Broaden my horizons. Like I'd be going on a boat across the ocean or a space ship to outer space or something.

Uncle Clark is your father's brother?

Yes. Younger. A couple of years younger. He was always very nice to me. He was doing very well. My dad said the visit would be a good idea. It would broaden my horizons. My mom didn't like the idea.

Do you know why not?

No, but I could tell she didn't like it. But she helped me pack. She advised me what to take.

Any specific advice you remember?

I'm sure there was but I don't remember. I was pretty excited about going. To New York. New York City.

What happened when you got there?

Well, Uncle Clark picked me up at the airport. He was there, right at the gate. I was so happy to see him. He always had this big smile. When I was little I would jump into his arms. You can't wait at the gate anymore, you know. Well, of course you know.

And how did things go?

Oh, things went great. I didn't jump in his arms, of course, not that part of me didn't want to. He hugged me. It was a very grown-up hug. We went to his apartment. A place in Greenwich Village. It was a very cool apartment. The walls were covered with paintings and masks and things like that. It was a very nice place. One bedroom, but he said he was more than comfortable on the couch. He showed me the little garden in the courtyard. He said there was a evil cat that liked to catch birds. I told him that was sad. He said, "Yes, my dear, it's one of the sad facts of life. Cats catch birds." He had a fancy way of speaking. He often called me 'my dear.' It made me feel sort of grown up. I remember when he said 'facts of life' it made me shiver. I didn't see the cat.

That first afternoon he showed me where he worked. It was a beautiful office. You could see forever. And then we had dinner at a fancy restaurant. It was so elegant. And the food was so good. I don't remember what I had, but there was wine. Maybe it was Champagne. It tasted like air, bubbly air. I liked it. Oh, it was prime rib, what I had. I'd never had anything so good. The meat was pink and juicy and perfect. "I suppose my lout of a brother is still grilling wieners on the family Weber?" Uncle Clark said, and I laughed because of the way he said it. "Don't laugh," Uncle Clark said, "Your Pops does a mean hot dog." He was so funny.

And the next morning we went out to breakfast and had the most perfect pancakes. Crepes. There was some kind of strawberry sauce. Unbelievably good. And then we went to two art museums. He explained all about the painting and sculptures and artists. He knew so much. But he didn't explain things as if I were a child. He asked what I thought of things. Sometimes I didn't know what to say. Mostly I didn't know what to say. We were looking at a chair by Frank Lloyd Wright, and I remember he said Frank Lloyd Wright was a womanizing midget. I was taken aback because I'd thought that Frank Lloyd Wright was... I don't know, some kind of hero. A genius, anyway, and how could a genius not be a hero?

That evening we had dinner at a little place in his neighborhood. He knew the owner, and the owner made a big fuss over me. The spaghetti was so good. I don't think I've ever had spaghetti that good. And red wine. "None of your cheap swill," Uncle Clark told the owner. "A bottle of your finest for my darling niece." He made me blush. But I felt a touch sad, too. Now the owner knew I was a relative and not Uncle Clark's date. Of course I'm sure everyone knew that, but still... Uncle Clark kept filling my glass. The wine was so good. My head was spinning. He had to help me out to the cab. "The night is yet young, my dearest," he told me. We went to the, um, I don't remember the name of the place. Not Carnegie Hall. Lincoln Center. For the symphony. The people were so dressed up. I couldn't believe the gowns. I was wearing my best dress, and it was like, well, you know. We were sitting quite near the front. The seats were so comfortable. Uncle Clark was explaining about the music. The composers. I could barely follow what he was saying, but I loved listening to him. And the musicians were all tuning up. What a lovely swirl of sounds! And then the conductor came in. And everyone was quiet. I'd never heard a real symphony before. Not in person. I don't know what they played first, but the sound was so sumptuous. It just kind of got to me. When that first piece was over everyone clapped, and the conductor bowed, and the musicians stood up and bowed, and the conductor left the stage. I looked at my uncle, and he said, "You liked that, didn't you?" and all I could do was nod. My whole body was blushing from the experience. Even the clapping was special, and then it started again, because the conductor was coming back, and then another musician, carrying a violin, and they did some tuning. I was rapt. Rapt and riveted.

It sounds that way.

It was. I remember the second piece, the name of it, because later I looked it up. It was the Prokofiev Violin Concerto Number One in D Major. It was--. I was--. It was indescribable. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before.

Like what?

I don't know. When I think back on it... I don't know. It was just overwhelming. The music. The way it got to me. Like it was in me. Part of my body. Part of my soul. Like I was under its spell. I was shaking. Uncle Clark must have noticed something. The next thing I knew, he was holding my hand. And that made it worse. Or better. Or whatever. And it got worse and worse. Or better and better. And then I ... I'm sorry. Just a second, okay?

It's okay, Davida. Take your time. Whenever you're ready.

Okay. Okay. It's just... I'd never had one before. I didn't know what it was.

An orgasm?

Yes. But not just one. They wouldn't stop. I wanted them to stop, but I didn't. I didn't have any control. It was the music, really. The sound of it winding through me, winding me up, taking me over. And over and over. And even while it was happening, I was so embarrassed. I was sure everyone... I was sure Uncle Clark... But I couldn't do anything about it.

Are you sure this was...? These were...?

Orgasms?

Yes.

What else could they be? My skin was completely flushed. My... my pussy was completely soaked. Flooded. I was sure there would be a puddle on my seat. And the feelings would sort of die down, but not all the way, and then they come back stronger than ever, and inside I'd convulse, again and again. It was all I could do not to cry out. To scream.

What happened?

Finally that part of the piece ended. My whole body was trembling. I couldn't stop it. "Are you okay?" my uncle whispered. I couldn't answer. Maybe I was delirious. Part of me was ashamed. Uncle Clark must have realized something was wrong. Without a word he helped me to my feet, helped me along the row and down the aisle and out into the lobby. I was so ashamed. I was sure there was a wet spot on my seat. I was sure everyone in the concert hall could smell me. And at the same time I wanted more of it. More of that music. More of those orgasms. I wanted to go back in. I wonder what would have happened if we'd gone back in. Whether I would have had another orgasm. As it turned out, Uncle Clark took me back to his apartment. As it turned out, I never had another orgasm.

Never? You mean...?

That's right. Never. Not a one. Though I tried. God knows I tried. I even bought a CD of that music. The violin concerto. And masturbated to it. And played it while ... while making love.

Hm. That must have been frustrating.

Yes, very frustrating, to say the least.

What happened that night after the concert?

My uncle was very kind. In the cab he wrapped me in his jacket. I remember one thing he said. He said, "Your mother, at least back when I was dating her, was a music lover, too." At first I didn't register that my uncle had dated my mom. I was still in a daze. The cab stopped and Uncle Clark helped me out and I sort of fell into his arms. He picked me up carried me up the flights of stairs to his apartment. When he put me down so he could lock the door, I could barely stay on my feet. I didn't have a clue what to do. Uncle Clark undressed me. Undressed me and took me to bed.

Took you to bed?

Yes.

Do you mean he raped you?

No. He made love to me. He made love to me all night and most of the next day, until it was time for me to catch my flight. He was very gentle. Very passionate. It was lovely. It lovely and loving.

But you didn't...?

Come? No. Maybe I was too... I don't know. Too something. Tense? Relaxed? Drained? Maybe all my orgasms had been used up. Do you think that's possible?

What happened when you got home?

My mom picked me up at the airport. I had the feeling my mom knew what had happened. I didn't tell her of course. I just told her I'd had a wonderful time, and that I'd been to museums and great restaurants and a really good symphony concert. She just nodded. I wanted to ask her about her dating Uncle Clark, but I didn't dare. That night I wrote my uncle a thank you letter. I had this fancy stationery I'd never used. I anguished over what to say and then I decided to just say what I felt. So I wrote: Thank you for having me. I loved every minute of it. I love you. Then I did something naughty and silly. I touched myself until I was wet and I rubbed some of the wetness onto the letter. The next day my parents drove me off to college. I had them stop at the post office on the way out of town. It was closed so I had to use the outdoor box. My hands were trembling, but finally I was brave and let the letter go into the mail slot.

How did your uncle respond?

He didn't.

How did you feel about that?

You don't understand. I don't think he ever got the letter.

You don't?

Two days later was 911. He was... He was...

Your uncle worked in the Towers?

Uh-huh.

Oh, Davida, that's very sad.

Uh-huh.

Would you... would you like to come on the couch with what time we have left?

Oh, fuck, Clark. That was the best ever!

story by Mat Twassel