Her initial statements make her appear to be exclusively heterosexual, but consider the remarks of Dr. G. Wilson Shaffer in the Textbook of Abnormal Psychology:
The delay or non-satisfaction of a desire may result in organic changes so that the desire may be manifested in a totally different way or it may abolish the desire.
As she continues her narrative she begins to mention another woman, the mentions becoming more and more frequent, and finally admits to a lesbian experience. It now becomes obvious that she received enjoyment from this lesbian experience, an enjoyment that has led to tremendous guilt feelings and frustrations, eliminating her ability to receive sexual satisfaction from a man.
This is not to say that she is a lesbian. Quite the contrary, there are strong indications that she does not have any tendencies in this direction. She has simply fallen into a trap such as was clearly described by W. A. Glassner in the American Psychiatric Journaclass="underline"
It is unfortunate that many women enter into a lesbian relationship, thinking that they are lesbians, when actually they were only caught in a homosexual situation at a time when they were emotionally vulnerable. The common situation is one where the woman is having difficulty in sexual relations for either physical or emotional reasons, usually quite temporary. During this period she becomes involved in a lesbian episode, and receives enjoyment from it. Afterwards she is assailed by guilt, and later, to resolve these guilt feelings; she admits to herself, quite erroneously, that she is a lesbian. Quite often the woman will go along for several years, unhappily saddled with a heterosexual relationship which she cannot enjoy because she believes herself to be a lesbian.
As her narrative continues, one fact which emerges quite strongly, although it is never stated outright and there is strong indication that the subject is not even fully aware of it, is that she is really quite unhappy, without having the slightest idea why. Her fantasies are used as a mental trick to hide this fact from her own conscious mind, and her language and apparent honesty are used to conceal this fact from others. As Ray B. Radney states in Behavioral Patterns:
Nowhere outside the field of sexual behavior is the tendency to conceal unpleasant facts, both from self and from others, so prevalent. The ability of the mind to refuse to consciously accept facts, while at the same time consciously hiding those same facts from the scrutiny of others, is a never ending source of wonder to me.
Up and down, again and again, speeding up by such fine degrees that he doesn't notice. The minuteness of it all, the utter precision, all this I've learned and practiced to perfection. God, if the hospital administration only knew that cocksucking is as delicate as surgery, with rules all its own that must be obeyed. Surgery? Oh, I know that my sound strange. Before you try to make something out of it, let me remind you that I wanted to be a doctor before I entered the sacred prostitution… sacred profession, I mean, of nursing.
All glory to the phallus, giver of the seed of life, magnificent in shape and proportion, issuing forth to all those who worship at its shrine the holy juices of ultimate redemption. Faster now, along the tall and narrow human shrine where I worship, faster and faster, up and down, take in more and more. I'm lost now in the sheer joy of doing it, aware only of one other thing, the burning between my legs, the desire for complete union with him.
He's trying to move now, and I steady him, for he mustn't move. It's for me to do it all. He's too close so I slow down just a little, enough to swirl my tongue around, knowing that the rough surface will both distract and excite him. His cock is as wet as though he'd already come, even the downy hair surrounding it is moist. Strange, how this generates the flow of saliva; they don't tell you about that in biology class. It's food, all right, but, my God, it's so much more than food…
"Give it to me, honey, give it to me," he pleads.
So now I really suck, the same up-and-down motion as before, the same rhythm, only now with a pull from inside my mouth that creates more pressure against the tenderness of his prick. And I'm loving every blessed second of it now, my head bouncing wildly as I pull and sink down on him with every increasing speed and tension. My head is dizzy from the fast rhythm. I'm in sheer ecstasy for I know that the greatest moment of all is close at hand. My God sometimes I think I'm going to come too. Simultaneous orgasm without a thing touching my pussy. That's how far out I can get.
I use my hands to steady him so there's no chance of injuring himself in the violent climax I'm sure he's about to have. He's on the very verge of it, I'm sure of that, just as I'm sure he's hoping to postpone it as long as he can, languishing in these final moments, so far removed from the everyday world, so beautiful.
I keep my rhythm steady. When it happens, it will happen. I could make it happen, of course, but I want this to be like a bolt of lightning striking from the sky, something that neither of us willed, something that occurred without human intervention.
And oh my God, it is happening. Now, now, now! The juices shoot through the tube as though at the pull of a trigger and the magnificent organ in my mouth convulses incontrollably. I hold the rest of him still while his cock gyrates widly, the semen spurting into my anxious mouth and filling it, dripping out of my lips and down his cock again. He's been saving a lot for me. I drink it in at last, partaking with reverence…
I wanted to hold his beautiful organ in my hands and admire it, but he beckoned me to come to the head of the bed.
"I smell wet pussy," he whispered as I got close to him.
He was right. I could even detect the musky odor of cunt juice from under my starched uniform myself.
"Would you let me?" he asked.
"I… I…" My God, I almost said I've never let that happen, which was true. I'd always given, never received, as far as the patients are concerned.
"I have to get back to work," I said at last.
"Please let me."
I was confused about what to do. The truth is I don't often make it with guys, especially this way for some reason. Maybe I know the reason. What I do is masturbate and fantasize. What if I didn't make it? That would make him feel terrible, I knew.
"Please," he said.
I worried vaguely, too, about the chances of getting caught. Now getting caught going down on a guy would be easy enough to cover up by a quick grab of the sheet. But straddling a patient's face is a little hard to make excuses for.
But damn it, my pussy was hot, and in the back of my mind was the hope, as there always is, that maybe this time…
We were kissing again: my sperm-soaked mouth against his lips, then both our mouths opening, the surfaces of our tongues gliding together, then his tongue darting about madly as though to show me what it could do to my pussy. I couldn't resist.
It's what he wants, I kept telling myself, as I rolled down my panty hose, the most antisexual contraption ever invented. God, it's worse than slipping in a diaphragm. He needs this too, Maria. You aren't being selfish. It's all right. I left my uniform and my cap on, partly for safety's safe, in case I'd have to make a quick leap from the bed, and partly because I know the virgin white of a nurse's uniform is one terrific turn-on. Or so I've been told.
So I mounted the pillow, my sopping cunt spread above his face, still harboring slight fears of various kinds. This was now. But damn, if he couldn't do it, I could pitch in and help with my own hands. Guys did that for me, plenty of times, before I really learned how to suck their cocks.