out of being worked over by another woman than by a fellow. There were these fellows I mentioned earlier, my cousin, especially, and the times he stuck his wienie up my fanny when I was a kid. It still gets me really excited when I remember that, how it felt, and everything. But mostly I remember that time in London when the prostitute gave it to me back there with the dildoe. That was the best that had happened to me up until then. That meant I was a lesbian, and it really bothered me to have to admit that to myself. Maybe I'm bisexual, which isn't quite so bad. But I think that bisexual is almost the same as being homosexual. It's funny, but the homosexual part bothers me more than the fact that I'm queer that other way, too, that I want something up my rear and not the regular way. I've come to terms with it all since, though. I am what I am, and that's it.
“Anyway, I didn't move into New York but stayed here, and the longer I went the more frustrated I got. I wanted to repeat what happened in London, and I wanted to find another woman. I wanted a 'butch' to work me over, a strong dominant woman who would assault me anally and I wanted her to like it just as much as me. It couldn't be just a prostitute like in London. It had to be something real, something that I could share with another person.
“One day I happened to pick up one of those racy weekly papers, you know the kind that have freaky headlines like Dad Rapes Five-Year-Old Daughter. I don't think I'd have had nerve enough to buy one, but there was one lying on the seat of the bus and I just stuffed it into my purse when nobody was looking.
“When I got home I looked at it, just out of curiosity, and discovered that there were two pages of ads in it, a lot like the ones I'd seen in London, not ads from prostitutes, or at least they weren't supposed to be, but from freaky people and lonely people. I thought about those ads a lot, and finally decided to put one in myself. I decided that if an answer came I could just make up my mind what to do. No one would know anything about it.
“I didn't put the ad in right off, but I thought about it a lot. Finally, I wanted someone so bad that I just decided to plunge and see what happened. I wrote a little ad in which I said:
Young lady, dark-brown hair, brown eyes, five foot four, usually considered attractive would like to meet dominant woman. I am very submissive.
I put a dollar in the envelope like the instructions said and sent it to the paper to their Miss F-.
The ad didn't come out for quite a while. I got up nerve to buy the darned papers, though not at the place I usually get my magazines, and for three weeks I waited for it to appear. Finally, it did. There was my name and the name of the city and also a number. At first I wished I hadn't done it. Suppose somebody should find out. But I decided that that was stupid, because how could they?
“Well, then, after about a week, letters started coming in. I guess about fifteen came in all, most of them from men. I don't suppose there are many young women who put ads in these things. I just threw away the ones from men. Most of the ones from women weren't too satisfactory either. A couple of them were from fairly old women, forty-five or so, and one of the ones that came from younger ones talked about flagellation, which isn't really my thing. Two of the others were just from girls who were lonely. I felt sorry for them, but I didn't think they were what I was looking for.
“There was this one note, though, that I had a funny feeling about. The girl who wrote it said she was twenty-seven, and that she lived in New York. The letter really didn't say much, but it was a nice letter, and the handwriting was nice. From the words she used and all that, I was pretty sure that she was sort of refined, probably been to college, or at least was decently educated.
“I just couldn't write about what I'm like, and I didn't really have much idea what she was like from her letter, but I decided to take a chance and phone her. She gave me her phone number.
“'I'm calling from…,' I said on the phone. 'And it's about a letter I got.'
“'What letter is that?' she asked in a sort of suspicious tone of voice.
“'You said you were twenty-seven and firm but gentle…
“'Are you going to answer my letter?'
“'I–I thought maybe we might have lunch together or something in New York.'
“'All right,' she said.
“We made the date. I would take the bus to New York, Saturday and she would meet me at the bus terminal. Then we'd go someplace together for lunch and to get acquainted, and just take it from there. She had signed her note 'A Friend' and we decided that we wouldn't exchange names or anything like that until we'd gotten together.
“I could hardly wait for Saturday. It was really going to be an adventure. But, finally, it came. I put on my prettiest skirt, put a few things in an overnight bag, just in case, and caught the 8:17 for the city.
“'Hi,' she said when I got off the bus. I'd told her what I'd be wearing. It's easy for girls to get together. Nobody suspects. She was very pretty, taller than me, with long black hair, and dark eyes, slender. I'd hoped she would be pretty and she was.
“She looked at me sort of funny, and I could tell from the way she looked at me that she liked what she saw. I was glad about that, too, of course, although I'm conceited enough to think I didn't have to worry.
“We took a cab to the Village and to one of those little cafes that are sort of quiet, dark and intimate, a place where we could talk and feel easy. She made all the decisions, which was just the way I wanted it.
“Anyway, we started talking, and pretty soon she told me her name was Eileen and I said I was Karen. She was an art teacher at a college and had her own apartment over on the West Side. We talked about art and stuff, and a little bit about travel. She goes to Europe every summer. But both of us were sort of shy about getting into what we both knew was pounding away in our minds. I decided, though, if she was really a 'butch' she'd bring up anything and make all the advances.
“'How about coming up to my apartment for drinks?' she asked after we'd wandered around a gallery awhile. We spent some time poking around in those little galleries looking at new shows. Eileen knew her way around and most of the directors seemed to know her. Not a word was said about sex, and I really wondered if I was on the wrong track, but at that point I didn't care because I just liked her for herself now anyway. It was hard to imagine anybody like her being lonely; she was so pretty and also had a really charming personality. But if she really was lesby that would explain it, maybe.
“Finally we ended up at her apartment. It was really beautiful. She had to have a lot of money to furnish it the way she did, more than she could have earned as an art teacher. I soon found out that I was right about that part. Her family was rich and she'd gone to some pretty fancy schools.
“We had those drinks, dinner together later toward evening; all that time neither of us said anything about sex, and she made no advances or anything. It was just as if we had been old friends.
“But after dinner things started to happen. Eileen turned the lights down low and we settled down on her davenport to watch her color TV. She sat close to me and after a while I felt her arm around my shoulder. Instead of brushing it away or anything I just sort of snuggled, just let myself go. That was the signal. Gently and very slowly, she started reaching down toward my breasts with her fingers. I leaned against her and closed my eyes. I decided to just let her do everything, just let whatever was going to happen happen. It was nice. Pretty soon I was sort of lying in her arms and she was fondling my breasts and kissing me and running her hands over my thighs, the way a fellow would, but I liked it much better when she did it. I really loved what she was doing and I just let her go on, all the while dying to know what she was going to do with me. Something was going to happen.
“The news came on and the late show started.
“'Let's go to bed,' she whispered.
“It was the first thing she'd said since we'd started necking. I was really hot by then, just dying to have her attack me in the rear, but I decided that if she didn't, if she chose to do something else, I'd just go along with it.
“She showed me where the bath was and I had my shower and put on my short nightgown, one of those filmy things you can see through. When I came out pink and gleaming from the bath, she just devoured me with her eyes; the way she stared at me just about made me into a wild woman, but I was good and controlled myself.
“Finally we were in bed together, just lying there like husband and wife, in the dark, with the gleam of the luminous dial of her clock the only thing that you could see. She started making love to me again.
“First she kissed me all over and fondled my breasts like she had before, then she started working down lower and gently massaged my thighs. It was a real titillating sensation. I just surrendered to it and let it all happen. My body was aflame. Oh, how I wanted her to penetrate me. I hoped she had a dildoe. She just had
