Coagulant

Glory stroked languidly at the tight golden curls of her vulva as she watched July droplets of rain splash through the screen of her bedroom window. The room\'s stale heat and the morning\'s fresh rain joined as in a chemical reaction, causing a rebirth of odors that had died two nights before. Glory breathed in the conglomerate odor of spilled malt liquor, Chinese take-out, and low-grade carpet cleaner. The odor, particularly the antiseptic strawberry quality it possessed, provoked her mind to remember an occasion from the week before. The memory consequentially gave liberty to a small spark of brilliance from the depth of her heart. Glory smiled fondly. The smile was genuine, In its authenticity the smile was rare. It was only Nina and the memory of her that could provoke Glory to smile without contriving it, without invention. The naked woman laughed quietly as she thought, then sighed as immediate reality regained her attention Glory turned to look at the alarm clock, and realized her next client for the day was due to arrive within a half hour. The smile of her happy recollection had gradually shrunk, withdrawing into the part of the dominatrix that no one of her client\'s ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

Glory rose from the scattered pink sheets, closed the window, and locked it. From beside her bed, beside the alarm clock, she took a key chain. On its ring hung three keys, and a plastic representation of a humpback whale adorned on either side with the words: I love to do it in the bay, Cape Cod Mass. Glory looked over the scantly furnished room, then left it, locking the door behind her. She walked down the hall to the bathroom. The room was kept clean, scrubbed and polished with meticulous care. Each tile and fixture gleamed. Within the brilliance she reaches for the heating vent, and lifted it slightly from its fitting. It is where Glory hides her keys during a session. After tucking the keys in a nook between floor boards she fixed the metal grate back into place. She then stepped into the shower. Glory washed from her body any residue of that morning\'s client, only to wash again after the next. She closed her eyes to rinse the soap from her face, and saw Nina\'s short black hair, her precious eyes, her bright juvenile smile, her smooth shoulders. If it had not been a business day Glory would have reached her fingertips between the lips of her vulva, and manipulated her clitoris to the images of Nina\'s small white breasts and buttocks. But for the sake of her lover Glory calmed herself, storing the memory away in the most secret part of her mind before it could ever be tainted by the slightest filth. It

amazed Glory when she thought about it, how there actually existed a part of herself to keep secret. It was very fortunate, after all those years, all those somnambulant years.

Glory not only quelled the arousal out of personal need, but also for the sake of her clients. She was a business woman after all, and business had to be done correctly. She took sometimes over two thousand dollars from a single client for an hour\'s session, and believed they should receive their money\'s worth. And what their money bought them was absolute confidentiality, a secure private environment, fulfillment of whatever pleasure of displeasure they cared to experience, and an Oscar-worthy performance on the part of their hostess. Glory could not fake insatiability without a solid foundation. If she caused even one small orgasm within herself just prior to a session that foundation would be substantially loosened. It not only meant a transparent performance, but it could also mean a potential breech of control. Because during every session, whether Glory is or is not genuinely aroused, whether she is the giver or the taker, no matter how dominant the client pays to be, she must have absolute control. Glory has never lost command of a situation. Clients can be broken down to weeping sniveling heaps of flesh, or be enraged into fits of auto-mutilation, but Glory will always keep her focus.

There were clients like Joan Hammond. She paid to have her vulva shaved bare, so that Glory may carve in the word \rose\ with a straight edged razor. There was David Jakes. He brought one of either to women whom he commanded to eat and drink, then relieve themselves over his naked body. There was a trio of women who called themselves the Andrew sisters. On one another they would perform such acts as harsh whippings to the buttocks, poking clitoris\' with sewing needles, and urination upon each others bodies. They were some of Glory\'s most regular clients. They had the tendency to call upon her services more than three times a month. For all outward appearances they tended to be well-to-do sort of folk. Some were housewives with rich husbands. Some, like David Jakes, were CEO\'s or vice presidents of various corporations. Others were career women, no husband, no children. Some had been coming to Glory for years, and despite how abused, defiled, and degraded they paid to be, they always came back again and again. Joan Hammond was her most valued client. She was an intelligent woman who, despite her proximity to the age of fifty, weather clothed or otherwise, could overwhelm the senses. She was a generous benefactor, a constructive aid in the enlistment of clients with similar temperament and class, a trusted associate. Joan Hammond once proposed the idea of a partnership, business and otherwise. But that was an impossibility for the sole reason of her having sought Glory\'s services in the first place, thereby restricting her from any worthwhile intimacy.

Glory stepped out of the tub, reached for the towel, and proceeded to wipe the tepid glistening beads from herself. The day\'s next session was to be introductory. Joan Hammond had recommended Glory\'s services to a man who chose to be referred to as Howard Hughes. This was all well and good with Glory since she herself chose not to divulge her real name. Not even clients as old as Mrs. Hammond or Mr. Jakes knew her true name. Nina knew it, but that was Nina. The dominatrix blow dried her shoulder length hair, and applied a lilac body spray. With each motion the face of her lover was full in Glory\'s mind. As she walked to the master bed room, which for her purposes served as the play room the dungeon, Glory recalled the last night Nina had visited her. Her body shivered, new to the sensations brought on by emotions she there to fore never ever experienced.

Glory\'s gaze crossed the span of the room. Against the south wall stood the armaments rack, complete with ropes, chains, four types of whips, rubber hoses, leather straps, and variously sized clamps. On the floor below the rack was a trunk full of wire mesh, leather, and rubber costumes and masks. Against the opposite wall was a chest of three drawers, on which an economy sized box of lubricated condoms, a large roll of plastic wrap -the size used in restaurants, and one jar of K-Y jelly. What filled the three drawers were dildos and vibrators of various width and length, anus plugs, nipple clamps, three boxes of Polaroid film, and one Polaroid camera. Glory drew a great breath, and smelled faint traces of Lysol, and scented oils.

She stood in the center of the room, and looked at the stage set against the west wall. The platform -six inches high and seven feet square- was a short and flat frame of 4 by 4\'s, covered in plywood. It\'s surface was done in do it yourself linoleum, the color of egg shell. Affixed to the wall were pulleys, iron rings, and clips. Supported by an upright six foot post of oak -anchored back stage center, and supported at the wall by two joists- was braced a smoothly sanded beam of pine that projected out, over the center of the platform. The bean was also fitted with iron rings and pulleys. Glory stared blankly at the stage, and thought it was getting to be about time she retired, and in thinking the word retired brought once more the image of her lover. As the door bell rang, the dominatrix told herself to stop telling herself that Nina was too good to be true.

Jane, as Glory chose to introduce herself, casually returned to check her hair, and to put on a slight notion of cranberry lipstick. She then slipped into a pair of four inch heels that had been waiting for her by the bathroom door. It was her custom, her style, to greet her clients wearing only a pair of heels. Neighbors of the highest moral intent could not complain about any illicit exposure on the part of Glory, since the small home in which she lived was surrounded by a quadrangle of seven foot wood plank fencing and gate. If the parents of the community could not keep their male children from staring at the woman while she sun bathed, from their perch atop a pyramid of milk crates they\'d collected, it was no fault of hers. Glory\'s nudity was a matter of comfort, whereas Jane\'s was a tactic of business. It helped her to establish control from the beginning. Her nudity was, in itself not greatly intimidating. But the imposing yet feminine muscles she worked hard to get, and her six foot five inch frame, was enough to warrant undivided attention. And so she has answered the front door since her business began six years earlier. The bell rang twice more before she answered.

\Ms.Ms. Jane?\ muttered the man, visibly taken aback by her, \You must be Ms. Jane. I\'m Mr. Hughes. May I come in?\

\You may.\ she slinked away, turning her back to him, \Please close the door, and lock it. Thank you. Would you follow me please?\

Jane led him around the corner, to the living room. She turned to ask him to sit, and realized that he was as tall if not taller than she. The stoop, or how he had stood upon it, had caused a false perception. And in seeing him she then realized that he was the first perspective client to ever reach her height. It gave her cause enough to be extra firm with him, regardless of Mrs. Hammond\'s emphatic testimony on his behalf. Through her long time client Jane knew the man\'s pleasure was nothing new, nothing beyond Jane\'s ordinary. Mr. Hughes wanted to be hung from the beam, and bitten until he told the giver to stop. She saw that he was not looking at her. She began to feel a sense of routine. She would bite him if he wished, if he passed her inspection and inquiry.

\Look at me Mr. Hughes.\ Jane demanded, standing before him,

\Don\'t stare at my vulva, Mr. Hughes. Make eye contact with me, please. I\'m not some fucking dollar-a-peek strip club bitch. I\'m sure you are aware of the fact that I am above all that. Mr. Hughes, don\'t turn your eyes away when I\'m speaking to you.\

\I\'m sorry.\ he spoke softly, \I\'m very sorry. It\'s just that this is so very new for me, and you-.you\'re such a beautiful woman.\

\And you\'re such an unattractive old man. How old are you Mr. Hughes?\ \

Fifty-one.\

\Really? Well, you look about seventy-five to me.\

\I know. It\'s the stress from my job I guess, coupled with the fact that I had a terrible plastic surgeon.\

\That\'s very funny Mr. Hughes.\

\Funny as it may sound to you Ms. Jane, its the truth.\

She watched him for a moment, cold and penetrating. He tried to keep his eyes to hers, his nervousness more evident with every blink. He cleared his throat, once, twice. She relented suddenly, and strode to her black Italian chaise.

\How long have you known Mrs. Hammond?\ asking him as she sat.

\Oh, two years now. She came to our investment firm, I was assigned to her, we began dating, and I suppose we\'ll stay that way. Since her divorce Joan\'s been sort of leery. well, .you know. Uh,she and I, we could begin by letting me into a usual session between you and Joan. So that you would be absolutely sure of whether you-\

\Believe me Mr. Hughes. If I had any reservations about taking you on, you\'d have known already. Now I\'m just concerned with the formalities. May I see the results of your STD tests.\

He fumbled through his pants pockets, came up with a four by five inch slip of paper, and handed it over. She took it, read the positive results, found Joan\'s doctor\'s signature, and handed it back. Her eyes met his. She stared ardently, stroking a finger back and forth across her upper lip as she stared. He waited, fidgeting in his seat, appearing to her that even if she gave him clearance she would never see him again.

\All right Mr. Hughes.\ she said, her tone grave and sensual, \Let\'s discuss schedules, and see when we can fit each other in.\

Then, casting his eyes with all most robotic repetition toward every direction between Ms. Jane and his shoes, Mr. Hughes smiled. Yet as timid as he was, Hughes had returned two weeks later. Joan had scheduled two sessions, to which he was invited. For the majority of the first hour he merely watched his companion\'s reactions to the casually violent stimulation of Jane\'s needles and pins. By that session\'s end Mr. Hughes had partially disrobed in response to Mrs. Hammond\'s wish that he allow Jane to stick him in his most erogenous places. For those last ten minutes Mr. Hughes grew erect, blood filling the sponge-meat of his penis with each tiny puncture Jane left in the skin around his chest and hips. Then in the final minute, with the immediacy of frenzied lust, Mrs. Hammond pulled the erection from its confinement. She took it full into her mouth for a time, then proceeded to sink her teeth into the swollen head. He grunted once, and she released him. The result was a substantial ejaculation splashing her face. Mrs. Hammond then slowly eased her semen slick face across the man\'s chest. Glory looked on, and wondered why they even needed her at all.

The second session was more intense, and the dominatrix learned where she was to fit into the new triangle. It began with Mr. Hughes in Jane\'s place, poking Joan\'s clitoris, licking it with a fitful tongue. His fully naked body was not as worn by age as was his face. It was lean, his skin smooth and taut in the places the sun rarely saw. He instructed her to bite his rump. She did. He told her to bite harder. She did. Ms. Jane saw the marks her teeth had left across his buttocks. Mr. Hughes then sluggishly twisted onto his back, and tossed the needle to the floor. Joan raised herself from the floor, then facing Jane, eased her vulva onto the man\'s face. It was she then who told Jane to bite, bite his lower abdomen, his legs, his inner thighs, his buttocks, She told her to pull his scrotum, to pluck its hairs with her teeth. From beneath her Mr. Hughes grunted. Joan nodded, then lowered her face to Jane\'s.

\Make him bleed.\ she whispered, \Make him bleed.\

\I have rules Joan.\ Jane said, quiet and sure, \You know that.\

\Please Ms. Jane. Please draw blood. I\'ll give you an extra five hundred. Bite his cock, bite his cock for him.\

\That kind of mess is not worth any money. Damn it Joan, you know better than to put me in this position!\

\Well then bite something else, something that won\'t make a mess.\

Glory watched the woman rise away from her, shivering with orgasm. As Joan came, Glory could hear Mr. Hughes whimpering between his partner\'s legs. She smelled his scent, the age-stale musk of him. She saw the bite marks she had left around his sex, saw the deep marks she knew were not her own. The man cried more fitfully, and she knew that if something wasn\'t done the whole session would lead to no payment. All she needed was a few more thousand, just a few more thousand and she\'d be gone. Slowly Glory brought her open mouth to the man\'s belly. Gradually she sank her teeth just left of his navel. It was only seconds later that she felt the hot blood fill her mouth, seconds later when he pulled Joan\'s ass onto his face and ejaculated. seconds later, Joan writhed and whimpered with her second orgasm. The blood rushed from the wound as Jane pulled away, wiping the semen from her cheeks and chin. Her clients fell limp, breathing ferociously. Jane stared vacantly as she reached for a cloth to wipe her face, and another to stop the bleeding. It was a half hour more before Joan and Mr. Hughes were washed and clothed, their wounds treated, their appetites temporarily satisfied. Joan apologized for pushing so hard, and handed her the cash. Hughes smiled as he handed her an extra fifteen hundred for the inconvenience. The smile was strange, snide.

\Can we come by next week?\ asked Joan.

\I\'ll be away next week.\ Glory answered, \Next week and the week after.\

Hughes seemed to cringe at the news. He began to fidget, switching postures. His thin gray eyes, blood shot from having wept during the session, switched rapidly from Glory to Joan and back again. Presently, he cleared his throat.

\We hope we didn\'t scare you away.\ he said quietly, \I\'m sorry if w-\

\I don\'t get scared off Mr. Hughes.\ interrupted Ms. Jane, \Some lines just shouldn\'t be crossed. I become concerned. If you want to bleed to death, do it somewhere else.\

Her stare rigid, and vacant, she drew nearer to him.

\I know what happens to a man,\ Jane lowered her voice to a whisper, \When his full prick starts to bleed. It doesn\'t stop Mr. Hughes, it just doesn\'t stop. And I\'ll take responsibility for degrading you with my piss and my shit, and displeasuring you within reason, but I will not be responsible for killing you. Joan, if I don\'t answer your calls two weeks from now, don\'t be surprised.\

\But.\ ,Joan hesitated, wanting to call her Glory, imploring her, \But Jane, please be reasonable.\

\Don\'t say another word Joan. I\'m already disappointed in you, don\'t make it worse on yourself. Now just leave, just leave.\

Throughout Glory\'s condemnation Joan\'s expressions changed tempestuously from contentment, to disbelief, to anger, to sorrow, to finally shame. She said nothing, and walked briskly out the door. Hughes had not said another word. Glory knew she would have Joan back. Her expressed disappointment in the woman was a reflection of the degradation and pain Joan paid for. Joan loved her shame, however destructive it was to her soul. And for her shame, to suffer the arousal through debasement she would do whatever it took in order to continue her relationship with Ms. Jane. That meant Mr. Hughes would not be a regular client, by no means what so ever, no matter how much Joan wanted him to be. But there existed the possibility that Hughes could service Joan\'s sado-masochism more effectively than she. Which if that was the case, there were always other clients.

However, as Ms. Jane had said, she would be spending the next two weeks away. No calls, no schedules, no clients for two weeks. Three months prior Glory had booked two weeks at the Top Mast Resort, a quiet little place on the bay side just a half mile from Province Town. There are those who have a favorite place to be in the world, and for her it was the Cape, the sand, the sun, the swooping gulls, the slow serenity of the bay. She had booked it before meeting Nina. If there had no one to accompany her, Glory would be no less satisfied with her solitude. But Nina was joining her, to share the experience, to embrace whatever intimacy developed, to lose themselves in each other, to disclose. The relationship was new, shallow water for them both. They knew only four dates worth of one another, enough time to be interested, to be tantalized, to be hopeful, to chance diving into the depths.

If Glory had not treated herself to a movie that night two months ago-having chosen to see it in the city, for no other reason than just the sake of seeing it in the city- the couple would not have met. Having purchased her ticket Glory made her way to the snack counter. As she drew nearer to the line of patrons she began to study, as did most others around the counter, a lovely woman paying for her pop corn. The lobby was full of beautiful women, but the woman was not drawing attention solely for her beauty. By all outward appearances, she was blind. The woman left the counter, and slowly made her way toward an awaiting usher, tapping her cane gingerly as she walked. Out of all those who stared no one moved to help her because it was after all New York City. They walked about her as if she was diseased, as if the energy around her was too thick to pass through. Glory followed her. She thought to help the woman, but say she in fact needed no help at all. Glory felt an admiration for the stranger, something she there to fore felt for no one but herself. She followed the woman into the dark theater, followed her to the eighth aisle from the front, followed her to the fifth seat. Glory stood waiting to take the seat beside her when suddenly the blind woman stood.

\I just want you to understand one thing before you sit down.\ she whispered, \If you were a guy this conversation would never be taking place. I would have complained about you, and you would be gone. And since you are a fellow woman I don\'t get the impression that you view me as some sort of easy prey. But still you followed me without saying a word, and that\'s just a little out of my ordinary. So if you want me to answer stupid questions like why a blind person would go to a movie, I suggest that you find a seat somewhere else.\

Glory apologized. The blind woman sat. Glory felt a small twinge of shame, but not enough to move on to another seat. Ten minutes later the film had lost its appeal to the majority of the audience, and most had already left. Glory whispered an apology. From there the conversation graduated pleasantly, and for the most part genuinely, until the blind woman apologized for her own rudeness. That was when Glory knew she could ask Nina to join her for coffee. After coffee she knew she could meet Nina for dinner. After dinner Glory knew how fond she was of Nina, and knew for certain, without her actually saying it, that Nina would be open to the affections of a fellow woman.

Glory learned that Nina was capable of many things. She was born and raised in a small suburb in Ohio, from which she left at the age of twenty. She was bored there, constricted, and as soon as she obtained her special education degree through Ohio State Nina fled to New York. Depending on how much free time was available to her Nina liked to spend it riding horse-back, hiking through the upstate woodlands, scuba-diving off the Jersey shore, or just listening to new-age folk while she cleaned her apartment. To support herself Nina worked for the New York state board of education, teaching disabled children of all five boroughs. She also worked as in mobility rehabilitation, teaching those who have gradually become blind to cook and clean for themselves, to counsel them, to show them how to use braille. The work paid well enough. But at the end of each month-after all the usual bills, after paying the fees necessary to indulge in her more expensive activities-Nina has very little left to save.

What Nina knew of Glory was that she loved the ocean, she enjoyed boating, she was a diehard fan of the Marx brothers, she also liked to hike up state, and that she was working her way to a Masters in psychology. Glory told Nina her focus of study was human sexuality and its frequent state of disorder. To Glory that, for the most part was the truth. She was a student of disorders after all. That lie, as well as the rest were truth enough for the blind woman. The pathology of the liar can be very entertaining, depending on how frightening the liar\'s reality could be to people. The complexity of Glory\'s lies depended on how much television she watched, what kind, and how well she could twist it into whatever fact or fiction some long time clients disclosed to her. How ever long the lies lasted, however their severity, Nina was positively enthralled. It was what Glory wanted, even if she never expected it.

By their fourth date, while sharing dinner in Nina\'s apartment, they professed their increasing affection for each other. After dinner the couple spent most of the night showering each other with timid kisses. Nina told Glory she had not been with a partner for over two years, and had long been tested. She said she would test again if Glory wanted her to. Glory told Nina her last sexual contact was five months earlier, and wanted to wait before compromising Nina. Nina asked what could be done in the mean time. Glory quietly undressed her. Nina undressed Glory. For the rest of that night they caressed one another until Glory\'s fingers found Nina\'s clitoris, and Nina\'s fingers found Glory\'s. It was decided that morning that Nina would join her lover at the Cape. It was that following morning that Glory decided that it would be then that Nina would be told the absolute truth.

\Why didn\'t you tell me the truth in the first place!?!\ shouted Nina, feeling her way from the queen-sized bed to the small table by the window.

\Oh sure, imagine that!\ said Glory, huddled like a large child between the pillows, \Hi Nina, welcome to our first date. I\'d just like to begin with a quaint little tale about how my actual profession entails that I organize and participate in various sexual activities involving usually two or more people, a chamber of torture, whips, chains, creams, jellies, pins, needles, teeth, leather, nipple clamps, a whole dungeon full of the usual implements of degradation and displeasure. Oh what\'s that? You suddenly realize you have another appointment? You have to go? Well go figure!\

\Oh you just think it\'s so God damn funny, Glory!\

\No Nina, I don\'t. That\'s.that\'s just my way of dealing with things.\

\Normal people get therapy!\

\Please lower your voice Nina. And what the hell do I need therapy for?\

\What do you need therapy for!?! Oh my God! You willingly take money to physically include yourself in. I can\'t even think of what-\

\What are you doing Nina? Where are you going? What about your cane?\

\I know what I\'m doing! Get away from me. Just get away. If you follow me, if you touch me I will scream. You horrible.filthy-\

Nina slammed the door to room 2C. Glory stood there for a long time. She would not cry, she didn\'t blame Nina for hating her, for being disgusted. Eventually she strode to the window that faced the sea. Nina sat in the surf, motionless, dejected, her head cradled in her hands. It was dusk, the sun leaving a last dull violet on the horizon. Glory went quietly to the beach before the sky turned too dark. Nina was crying profusely, her face red and swollen. She appeared as if convulsing agony. Glory went to her, and whispered her name. Nina screamed ferociously, and flung herself at Glory. The blind woman was in a rage, her fists pounding, her finger nails slashing across Glory\'s face and body.

\Is this what you get paid to do, you fucking pig, you despicable filth!?!\ shouted Nina, \Come on you fucking Amazon! Does this get you off, God damn you.\

Glory rolled herself up in defense. She suddenly began to weep. Nina stopped and listened. Glory\'s cries became whimpers, pathetic woeful whimpers. Nina sat beside her. She shook her head, covered her ears, pushed and pulled between love and revulsion.

\Why?\ ,cried Nina, trying to make sense of what she could never imagine, \I just wanted to start loving you. Why do you have to be that. Why couldn\'t you be who you.are.\

Nina fell to the sand, and rolled herself up into a ball beside the whimpering Glory.

\It\'s not your fault, that you are what you areis it?\ Nina muttered to herself as the dusk turned to night.

It was ten that evening when Glory awoke to find herself alone, the tide just short of her. She bolted to room 2C, and saw that Nina had changed clothes, taken her purse, and left. Glory was sure that Nina hadn\'t gone too far. She washed her face, and changed her clothes. Glory drove into P Town, parked, then investigated every bar, every night club from the pier to the edge of town, and back again. At around mid-night, Glory found her in one of the night clubs that served a mainly lesbian clientele. The place was full of women that looked like women, and women that didn\'t. She walked through the smoke, past every watchful eye, and saw Nina dancing, stumbling, and laughing with a woman who resembled Bet Midlir to an astonishing degree. She helped Nina to the bar as the song came to its close. Midlir ordered two beers. Glory came between them. Bet took one look at her, and stepped away. Nina sniffed the air beside her, and her laughter dimmed slightly. Suddenly she chuckled.

\Lookin\' for love in all the wrong places,\ Nina sang dully, her words slurred, \Lookin\' for love in two many faces. Searchin\' your eyes, lookin\' for traces of what I been.dreamin\' of. Dora, meet Glory. Glory, meet Dora. Dora\'s my drinkin\' pal, ain\'cha Dora?\ \She left.\

\Who left?\

\Dora.\

\Why that chicken shit. Did she leave her beer?\

\Yes, Nina, she left her beer.\

\Oh good. That\'s one more for me.unless you want it.\

\I don\'t want the beer. Nina can we go ho-\

\Glory.is there a monster under your skin, lurking around, waiting to strike?\

\Nina, let\'s go home and talk abou-\

\I mean what if one day you shoved a screwdriver up my-\

\Forget it Nina. You can stay here. I\'m leaving.\

Glory turned toward the door. Nina shouted after her. She took her cane, and cried, flinging it wildly back and forth. Sad women, laughing women jumped from their seats. Glory turned to see Nina crash into chairs, then drop to the floor. She ran to her, and took Nina into her arms.

\Would you kill me because I loved you?\ cried Nina into Glory\'s chest.

Glory lowered her head to Nina\'s. She kissed gently across her warm moist brow. Glory smiled, not completely sure as to why. It was not the smirk she often wore when tension faced her, she knew that. Perhaps it was madness, or contentment, or possibly an emotional cyclone of the two. And she wondered if that was what love, real love, was supposed to feel like. She had no point of reference, no precedent. Nina had become quiet, her eye lids, her lips hung loose, pitifully abject. The blind woman felt every stare in the room. Glory was also aware of it, and proceeded to lift Nina to her feet. Glory pulled Nina\'s cane from between two overturned chairs, and tenderly folded her lover\'s fingers about its grip. Glory moved to help Nina through the tables, but Nina made it politely declined. Presently the couple left the bar, quietly and outwardly unabashed. The street was substantially dark, sparsely illuminated by the neon signs of night clubs and the safety lighting of myriad tourist shops closed for the night. On each corner stood groups of gay and lesbian couples. Some dressed in the clothing usual to summer, some dressed in chains in leather, some dressed in drag. Some playfully harassed and objectified any visibly heterosexual tourist that happened to walk by. Some smiled from the chiding, others took offense. Glory and Nina walked slowly through the parade, each waiting for the other to say something, both unaware of the whirlwind of thoughts and fears spiraling through one another\'s mind.

\I remember when I was a little girl.\ began Nina, her tone smooth, sad, and dreamy, \There was a lady in my neighborhood, this lady named Ruth. I remember how she always used to come to me whenever she saw me sitting on our front stoop, alone and crying. I\'d sit there and wait for the kids across the street to come and get me, so that I could play with them. I knew they were there. I could hear them, I could always hear them. But they\'d never come for me. And so I would just sit there and cry and cry.\

Glory watched Nina eagerly as she used the cane to guide her along the curb. When one curb ended Nina crossed the side-streets in a straight line, without once veering, to exactly where the next block began. The night people were two blocks behind, the pier was three streets ahead.

\And Ruthy, she\'d come and sit with me.\ Nina went on, \She made the best cookies. Always brought a plate-full with her. She\'d offer some and I wouldn\'t take them at first. Ruthie would start eating, and between bites she\'d talk about things. She mostly talked about her garden, how she loved to grow things, how she loved to save seeds to grow the same things next summer. She said I should grow a garden, have something I could take care of. Because something I could take care o. Sometimes I\'d ask her to explain, and she would, but I still wouldn\'t understand. After a while I\'d start eating the cookies, oblivious to everything but Ruth and her stories. She had this favorite one. I knew it was her favorite because she used to tell it all the time, only with different characters in different places.\

\Nina, turn right.\ instructed Glory as quickly as possible, hating to interrupt, \I parked my car on the pier.\

\Yeah, sure. Anyway, most of the stories were about these little bug characters. There was Sally spider. She was my favorite. Sally was like the nicest spider of them all, and she was the prettiest. One day, while lookin for a good place to build her web, she came across this old man\'s farm. The farmer, he was throwing away these rocks and pebbles out of this little piece of land where he was going to plant string beans. Sally was just crawling by when all of a sudden she got hit with one of those pebbles, right on her back. She was stunned for a while, but she eventually made it to a little juniper bush. Sally thought she was fine, until she saw that she couldn\'t make any webbing. Now web or no web, Sally had to find a way to get food, because as nice as she was no one was going to just hand it over. So she thought and she thought. And soon enough she figured out a way to use tree sap, blades of grass, and some old apple skin to build a trap. And it worked, and she caught just as many flies as all the other spiders.\

Nina smiled, enjoying her memory. She stopped, took a huge breathe of air, released it, and continued toward the pier. Glory sighed, her eyes cast toward her feet.

\Glory, despite how drunk I may seem.\ said Nina, \I was able to think pretty clearly about why I\'m so fucked up over this, why I\'m still here. I needed to know if I want you because you\'re the first person in three years to even speak to me outside of my job, outside of the mundane question an mad answer sessions I have out on the street with an occasional non-disabled ignoramus who pretends to care. I needed to know if I want you because of who you are, and the energy you send, and the affection you inspire.the way it hurts when I try to see you in my mind and I can\'t. And maybe because I can\'t see you, I think about you more, and I want you more. And then you tell me a truth, some obscure and ugly truth about yourself, and.and I hurt even more because you\'re not just a body, a somebody. And so here I am, and I still want you, I want to love you. And then I think that for the past five years.you\'ve been doing what you do. Now I don\'t know about your line of work, but mine is a huge part of me. It\'s what I do well, its how I help, its what I want to wake up every morning to do.\

The couple had passed the parking lot, past the pier, toward the beach. Glory walked as blindly as Nina then, even more so. Her eyes blind to the dark, her mind reaching for clarity and not yet feeling. The tumultuous crash of waves grew louder, as their feet reached sand. Glory had stepped ahead.

\Glory!\ called Nina, \Glory, where are you? Glory?\

\I\'m right here Nina.\

Nina drew closer to her voice. The breezes off the bay blew salt spray upon their faces. Glory looked toward the sea, toward the sound of the sea.

\No more secrets?\ asked Nina.

\No more,\ answered Glory, \I promise.\

\What is it that makes you do what you do?\

Glory did not answer for a very long time. No one ever asked. No one ever cared. Clients always asked Ms. Jane, but Ms. Jane always told them she was born that way, and that was all. Slowly she turned to Nina.

\After I say this to you,\ said Glory, \Please don\'t ever bring it up again. I was my father\'s.object for twelve years. He loved me so much, he had to watch everything I did, from every drink of water I took, to every drop I pissed. He hade me sleep with him for so long I thought it was normal. By grade school I figured out he was just a crazy scum bag.\

\What happened to your mother?\

\He told me she died when I was born. I don\'t know. I never found any photos, any family trees. We never visited anyone. Anyway, the week I told him the truth about himself was the week he started to tie me down and rape me. And for that week, and the week after that, he left me there. He\'d bandage my mouth shut when he wasn\'t trying to feed me. He made me use a bed pan. I shit in the bed one night, and he beat me for it. By the end of that second week he didn\'t realize that all his raping and beating had loosened the bindings. And so I took off. I had big plans about walking across the country. But what I ended up doing was staying in New York, living on the street, sucking Johns off for ten bucks a shot. Then I turned eighteen, and started dancing in strip clubs. My stage name was Ms. Jane, it still is. I used to play around with this whip, had it in my act. I finally had enough for my own apartment. Then I had enough to start renting my own private little house in White Plains. Because I always paid him in cash he was kind enough to mind his own business. And so I had to keep up with those payments to the landlord, and then I bought my own car, and all that other shit you\'re entitled to add to your life as an American citizen. I became Ms. Jane the dominatrix. full time. Full time.so that I could perpetuate my independence.\

Nina and Glory stood there, their faces toward the bay. Glory stared at the light house\'s beacon. Nina knew what she would ask next, but waited. Suddenly Nina began to cry for the third time that night.

\Do you think you could ever really love me?\ she asked.

\I don\'t know.\ answered Glory, a single tear trailing from her left eye, the breezes blowing it toward her mouth.

\Are you willing to retire Ms. Jane?\

\I\'ve been wanting to retire her for years.\

\Then you can love me Glory, you can love me.\

They watched the black night together. Slowly Nina reached her hand to the person she loved. Glory took it, held it tightly, and cried more violently than she had ever before. After a few moments Nina dropped her cane, wrapped her arms around Glory, and rested her head between her breasts. She took great breaths of the salt air, Glory\'s clean cotton shirt, the fragrant skin beneath it. Nina closed her sightless eyes, and tried to imagine. But it only led her to memory, remembered textures, caresses, smells, the perfume of skin, feeling. The shock wave of goose bumps traveled through her, and settled in the pit of her stomach, and disappeared into the soul of her. Glory\'s tepid tears dripped from her chin to her lover\'s face. Nina felt each droplet cross the bridge of her nose, her cheeks. She felt the wind push them, animating them. She smiled brilliantly, and whispered. The blood of love runs warm, and I will be you, and you will be me.

For the twelve days that followed Glory experienced a kind of emotional gestation. Without knowing it Nina had taught her lover about the curative nature of joy. During those twelve days the couple basked in the felicitous simplicity of being. What little they spoke, they spoke out of necessity. Nina had become as the water, and Glory had become as the pebbles and uncountable grains of sand beneath her. And yet there were no physical sensations shared between them, nothing more intense than the intermingling of fingers or the sweet exchange of children kisses. And Glory became aware of her rebirth, her cleansing, when she found that those modest embraces were the most profound she had ever experienced. She was frightened at first, overwhelmed with the sheer tranquility of it all. But as it goes with birth there is no return once the womb is breached, once the flood is let loose.

Nina implored Glory to never return to her dungeon. She tried to convince her lover to avoid it entirely, no gathering of belongings, no returning of phone calls, no tieing of loose ends. And Glory would have made a total and complete disconnection, if it was possible. But it was not. Despite Glory\'s emotional liberation-despite Nina\'s abhorrence for her lover\'s past- business was still business, and had to be attended to accordingly. During the four hour trip back to Manhattan Glory explained what was involved. Glory told her about Joan, and other long-time clients, what they expected of her, what she expected of them. She described how most paid up front, and some maintained running tabs. Those of whom did not pay on an agreed monthly basis were very few. But for those who felt they could pay when and if they wanted would never get away with it. When she started the business Glory knew enough to install a video recorder in the wall opposite the play room stage. Every client has been recorded. Some end their relationship with Ms. Jane, and get to take their videos home. Others had to pay a sizable insurance for their films.

With each sordid detail Nina realized that Glory, through the persona of Ms. Jane, could be shrewd, exploitative, deliberate, and cold. She had a better understanding of her lover then, a conviction that there was a monster that dwelled within Glory. But she knew the monster was not innate, but was forced upon her. Nina remembered sorrowfully that evening on the beach, the beating and scratching she inflicted upon Glory. She was afraid then-lost in the lack of certainty, her heart beating furiously for it. But now-as Glory\'s words disappeared into the churning of the engine, the whining monotony of the tires, into the bellowing wind that forced itself through slightly opened windows-Nina was secure in the knowledge that Ms. Jane would die a gradual death.

\Are you okay?\ asked Glory, switching glances from the freeway to Nina\'s face, then back again, \You look worried.\

\No I\'m not worried.\ smiled Nina, reaching her left hand to Glory\'s right arm, finding the welcome fingers at the end of it, \I\'m not worried at all.\

Before ever meeting Nina Glory had already sold or destroyed most of the compromising films for the sake of security. There was only Mr. Jakes, Joan, and Hughes left to deal with. Having returned Nina to her apartment-vibrant with the energy of love-Glory drove directly to Ms. Jane\'s den. Once there she set immediately to the accomplishment of her tasks. Her first priority was to collect the one hundred and twenty-seven thousand in cash she had saved in the bottom of several shoe boxes on the floor of her bedroom closet, and put it in the lining of the only of the only suitcase she would bring to Nina\'s. It was the money she had saved through the years, the money the pimps never saw, the money from every husband and every wife who cared enough about their marriages to keep their secrets secret, the money Glory never trusted anyone but herself to handle. From the corner of her eye Glory saw the intermittent light of her answering machine, ignoring it as she filled the suitcase with varied articles of clothing. She locked it, put it beside the bed, and immediately went about the next task. From kitchen she gathered trash bags, and filled them with the tools and toys of her trade. She then filled her car with the refuse, and drove it to the Poughkeepsie dump. Upon her return Glory began going about dismantling the torture stage and its stage. It was a short while later, as her skin became clammy with the heat of effort, when something occurred to her.

Wiping the sweat and grime from her face, Glory realized that Ms. Jane would have never disposed of anything. Jane would have left it as is. Glory became fully aware that it was her shame that compelled her to dispose, to eliminate, to clean. She tried to stop the shame by thinking of Nina. Suddenly she stopped the thoughts. She paced the length of the room, rethinking, changing minds, switching. Ms. Jane rushed to the phone. She called Jakes, and-in a code only he would understand-told him their relationship was over, and that he needed to buy his way out. He arrived an hour later with four thousand in cash, traded it for his film, and left as hurriedly as he entered. If she could reach Joan Glory would return to Nina\'s by nightfall. But Jane could not reach her. She was given the phone number at Cruxfield, Hammond, and Gwinn, and no there. Jane called once and was told that Mrs. Hammond was away on business. It was then that Glory checked her messages. Among a series of enquiries from old clients in need of a fix there was only one message from Joan. Glory? Glory, honey, this is Joan. Look, I hope we can have a meeting, get this business out of the way. My partner-he sends his salutations by the way-he has an incredibly generous offer he\'s hoping you\'ll accept. Okay then. Call me soon, Glory.please.

Joan\'s voice was odd, tremulous. Hammond\'s tone was not unfamiliar to Glory. She recognized its hushed quality from the times she\'d call from her home, her husband in the next room. But Joan no longer lived with the man. Glory rewound the message, and listened more intently. There was a whisper in the back ground. She raised the volume, and rewound once more. It was a man holding back sobs through clenched teeth. I\'m so proud of you, he whimpered. Glory was sure it could be no one but Hughes. The sound of him caused a great chill to pass through her. She had become final then. Ms. Jane was out of her, no last phone call, no amount of money for any trick, no good-bye blood-letting. Whatever Joan had submitted herself to was no longer a concern of hers. She thought of Nina, and with a sudden immediacy of need Glory reached for the suitcase. With that instance came a knocking at the front door. Glory had not felt such dread since the age of twelve. The knocking became more insistent. Glory reached for a fully loaded 22 caliber pistol she\'d kept beneath the bed. She tucked the dusty weapon between the front of her jeans and blouse. She looked in the mirror, seeing that the weapon was not visible. She tried to compose herself, and could only hope that Ms. Jane would find her way to revealing herself at the appropriate time. Glory went to the door. There stood Hughes, with a satchel in hand. His lips were turned pathetically down at the corners, his cheeks were pallid with sorrow.

\I was just about to leave Mr. Hughes.\ she said, trying to convey indifference, \And besides, I don\'t see anyone for anything without an appointment. So if you\'ll excuse me.\

\Haven\'t you heard from Joan? I thought she-\

\No, actually, I haven\'t spoken to Joan in two weeks. Now I can see you next week sometime. Call me tomorrow, and I\'ll fit you in.\

\I need to see you now.\

\Well I just won\'t see you now.\

His sorrow had become frustration in a matter of seconds. His breathing quickened, sweat began to bead and trickle from his brow. Glory stood motionless, her throat dry, her heart beating with fearful anticipation. Within the next instant Hughes pulled a 45. caliber from inside his coat, and pointed it directly into Glory\'s partially opened mouth.

\What would you do Glory,\ he whispered, \Call the police, tell them one of your johns is stalking you? Back up into the house. Do it now.\

Glory walked backwards, the gun\'s barrel set between her lips. She stopped at the end of the front hall. He turned her around, forced the gun painfully into the side of her head, and instructed her to walk into the playroom. Presently they stood before the half dismantled stage. Hughes dropped the satchel, then whirled Glory so that they faced each other. He took her hand, and placed within her fingers the 45. caliber pistol. They watched each other, one\'s face no more or less pale than the other. He stepped slowly away from her, an eased himself into a chair. Glory suffered the heat of a deluge of perspiration, stinging her eyes like tears. Slowly she turned to face him. Hughes met her stare, then looked away.

\I know you heard Joan\'s message.\ he began, \There\'s a hundred thousand dollars in that bag. I want you to take it to kill me.\

\You\'re insane. I\'m not go-\

\Shut the fuck up and listen to me!\ screamed Hughes, causing Glory to drop the gun.

\Pick up the gun.\ he said quietly, \Pick it up.\

Her eyes never strayed from him as she reached for the pistol. It was as if he had aged ten years in those few seconds. Is face weary as stone, his eyes staring as blank as death.

\You are going to kill me Glory.\ he said slowly, calmly, \I can tell the money isn\'t incentive enough for you, so I want you to listen to me. You are going to kill me for a lot of reasons. You are going to do it for the young woman I left in Arizona, with the skin of her vulva draped across her eye. You will do it for the mother of two I met in Kansas, who I let bleed to death. I think her children are in some institution somewhere. You\'ll do it for them. Do it for Joan, who happened to choke on her own shit last night. Kill me for my mother, Glory, who liked to suck the semen from me, until my father beat her to death, beat me almost to death, but not close enough. Kill me for Jill. You would have loved her, Glory. Kill me for your mother. Kill me, make me proud.\

Glory shook furiously. It seemed to her-in that forever moment-that she could hear everything in the whole world. Her mind throbbed with millions of voices, the crash of torrential flood, the drone of myriad insects. Her eyes were wide, glazed with the sheen of loathing. It was his smell. She should have realized it from his smell, but they all smell so pungently similar to each other. She walked slowly to him. She brought the gun to his right temple. He did not flinch, he did not shake. He closed his eyes. Once the womb was breached.once the cries began. With a sudden fit of anguish Glory turned the pistol around, butt side up, and proceeded to viciously whip him. He fell quickly to the floor. Glory locked the safety of the weapon, and tucked it into her suitcase. Later that night, she would, from the starboard side of the Statton Island Ferry, toss both the 45 and her 22 pistol into the Verrazano Narrows.

It appeared to Glory that the man was not bleeding from any wound, and was satisfied that he would not get the death he wanted unless he did it himself. A moment later she was gone. She took her suitcase, she took his satchel. She closed the door behind her, and left thirteen hundred dollars and the set of house keys in the mail box. Glory\'s father died within a half hour later from the shards of skull that pierced his brain. In her rage Glory was never aware of it, and would never be. That night she slept fitfully, and cried herself into and out of sleep wrapped in Nina\'s arms. A third day later Nina and Glory left again for the Cape, and left New York for good. They are still together, sharing the responsibilities in running Ninas, the best restaurant\' on Martha\'s Vineyard. For them, it is where the earth begins and ends. It is where the past begins with their first exchange of the words I love you, where the present means everything, and where the future is the tingling sensation between each new kiss.