When they finished working on Gretchen’s English composition assignment, they, more from boredom than anything else, started playing word games. To neither’s surprise, Barbara won consistently.
In feigned frustration, Gretchen started to roughhouse. Which led to tickling. Both young women grew aroused. As they rolled on the bed, Gretchen’s touches became more intimate. At first Barbara tried to break clear. When she could not, a transformation occurred. For the first time, she could let down her guard. Suddenly she arched, her body rigid. It was almost as if tetany had occurred. Just when she thought she was about to break asunder, her body began to undulate. The orgasm exploded within her. She threw her arms around Gretchen and kissed her deeply over and over.
Before she allowed herself to relax, she brought Gretchen to what was for her a more knowing, practiced climax.
Then both young women lay quietly on the bed utterly quiescent and physically at ease and calm.
But shortly, confusion clouded Barbara’s afterglow.
What had happened here? Clearly, this was what it was all about.
Gretchen began the preliminaries again. Barbara couldn’t repeat. Not now. She was too confused. It became almost a rape situation. The scuffle bordered on cruelty. Gretchen angrily left.
As soon as Dr. Hunter had an opening, Barbara made an appointment. With Joyce of course there were no secrets. What a caring mother was supposed to be, Joyce was.
They had been over the dating situation before. Barbara had set the guidelines for lovemaking. Joyce had created the emotional space for Babs to do this. Now Babs wondered if she had been wrong in, perhaps, being too careful.
Maybe the problem was just that she hadn’t yet found the right man. That could be it.
These were young men … boys, really; what did they know about lovemaking? They were self-centered, just faking care of Number One. Once she got out on her own, once she got out of college, once it became appropriate for her to date older, more experienced men, everything would straighten itself out.
Then why had she nearly exploded with Gretchen? Was it just all that pent-up energy inside her seeking an outlet?
Barbara’s eyes met Joyce’s silent gaze. Under that penetrating look, Barbara spoke more and more slowly until she fell silent. “I … I’m … a lesbian, aren’t I?”
Joyce nodded. And smiled.
“And …” Barbara hesitated, fearing that she was about to be dead wrong and, at the same time, apprehensive that she was correct. “… and so are you!”
Joyce’s smile took on a melancholy tinge. Again she nodded.
“But you can’t be!”
“Why not?”
“You’re married! You’ve got a child!”
“It’s time to talk about this,” Joyce said.
“Time? Now? You mean you’ve known about this right along and you never brought it up? And ‘now’ is the time to face it? Is that what you mean?” Barbara’s tone became angry.
“Yes, now is the time,” Joyce stated flatly. “Not long after we met, I was pretty sure you were gay.”
“But … how? I like boys. I always have.”
“That’s not the point, Babs. Boys who are homosexual don’t hate girls. They’re just not physically, sexually attracted to them. Girls who are lesbian don’t hate boys. They’re just not as attracted to males as they are to other females.”
“But I’ve been with boys-sexually. As a matter of fact, Gretchen is my one and only gay … experience.”
“Face it, Babs: you never got from a guy what you got from Gretchen.”
“Maybe that’s because they didn’t know what they were doing. Maybe they just lacked the experience to bring me to orgasm. Maybe they were just interested in themselves.”
Joyce smiled condescendingly. “Come on, Barbara, not one young man you’ve ever been with did everything right-mechanically, even passionately? Not one really tried to help you come?”
Barbara exhaled deeply. She studied the floor. “You’re right. There have been times. I guess I just never faced up to it.
“Oh, Joyce …” She looked at her mentor, tears flowing. “How did this happen to me?”
Joyce shook her head. “You’re beginning to sound as if you had leprosy-something terminal and communicable.” She chuckled. “I’ve got it too, you know.”
Barbara felt apologetic. “I’m sorry. You’re right. But I can’t help thinking that what we are is unnatural … or freaky.”
“That’s because that’s how the rest of society wants us to think of ourselves. At best we’re simply different from the majority. And that scares them. Now you’re wondering how you got to be part of our minority.”
Barbara nodded with great interest.
“Well … nobody’s been able to pin down the cause for certain. It may be something genetic. It may be a chromosome. It may have something to do with early development. Take yours, for instance. How could anybody have had a much more screwed-up formation? A steady diet of incest resulting in pregnancy. The abortion. Your mother sleeping around. The fact that you’re as well put together as you are is a testimony to something inside you that survives.
“Whatever, it’s futile to fixate on the impossible. Anyone in this business who is honest will admit we don’t have any incontrovertible indication of why some-the majority-are straight and others-the minority-are gay.
“You are what you are. You live with it. You play the hand you’re dealt.”
Barbara, lost in thought, was trying to digest all she’d just heard. “Okay,” she said finally, “so you and I are lesbian. What I don’t understand is your husband and your kid. Aren’t they impossible for you?”
“Not really.” Joyce went to the credenza and poured two cups of coffee. She gave Barbara one and placed the other on her desk as she began to pace between the desk and a bookshelf. “You see, Babs, there’s this glass ceiling. You’re familiar with the term?”
Barbara shook her head.
“Well, the glass ceiling is a metaphor and at the same time a very real barrier that blocks women and minorities from rising from middle to senior corporate management positions or to tenured professorships.
“About the only way a woman today can be top gun in her profession is when she creates-is the founding mother, if you will, of the business. But how many people, men or women, can bring that off successfully?
“You haven’t been exposed to the glass ceiling yet. But you will be. You will be because you’re smart and you’re talented. There’s no reason why you couldn’t-shouldn’t-rise to the top. What do you want to work at after you graduate?”
Barbara tapped a front tooth with her index finger. “I’m not sure … I think maybe advertising or public relations.”
“Hmmm. There have been some moderate breakthroughs in those fields. Still … take a look at the larger firms in those fields and you’ll find at the very top a white male or a bunch of the same. The opposition to a minority or a woman getting those top positions is enormous.
“The obstacles are significant. Just look at large corporations, law firms-all men, all white men, at the top.
“Now, maybe you’re wondering why this system is called a glass ceiling.”
Barbara sipped her coffee and nodded.
“Babs, it’s because everybody, especially everybody on the top side of the ceiling, pretends it isn’t there. ‘There’s no opposition to you women and minorities joining us up here. Why, you can see us clearly.’ But try climbing up there with the big boys and you’ll rap your head on that invisible barrier.
“Got that, Babs? You can’t see it, but it’s there: a glass ceiling.”
Barbara nodded slowly. Yes, she did understand. She’d just never given it much thought. This was America. The Land of Opportunity, where anybody can become anything he or she wants.
But now that she thought about it, that wasn’t the way it worked.
“There’s something there even after the glass ceiling,” Joyce continued. “Suppose a woman or a minority member does manage to break through the ceiling. The white males occupying that floor just put up a concrete
