was surprised. Granger did not ram himself into my body as Bob had done. Granger gently eased himself into me. There was no pain. Tears of gratitude welled into my eyes. I was aware of a tingling, pleasant sensation caused by Granger's movements as he slid back and forth.

My arms tightened about him, my fingers reached under his pajama top and caressed his broad back. Having sexual intimacy with Granger Macy would not be difficult to take.

"I will try to be a good wife to my husband,” I promised myself. And I tried to close my ears to the voice that was screaming inside of me. The heartbroken voice that cried, "Jan! I want Jan!"

Later, while Granger slept peacefully beside me, I was wide awake. My mind was taking inventory of what being a wife meant.

I knew that Granger's love making might have satisfied many women. But it didn't satisfy me. "I'm lesbian. I can't help it," I told myself. "I'm human. I'm very fond of Granger, and I do have sensations from what he does. When we're sexually united it's even pleasant, and my body enjoys it. And I do reach a climax. And yet it isn't the soul-penetrating, bodyshaking, all enveloping experience that lesbian love brings to me.

I longed to be honest with Granger. But it would have been cruel to tell him that my lesbian heart finds no completion in a man's embrace. There was no terrific depths of emotion and peaks of ecstasy with him, as there was with Jan. I needed the fullness of Jan's type of love. I needed the sexually sparking idea of knowing I was being loved by one of my own sex. No matter what he did, my husband could never give me that. I decided I must never hurt his pride by letting him know how unsatisfied I was... Deep inside I felt a tug of wonder, as I thought, "Will I ever be really 80

satisfied again?"

CHAPTER TEN

After I was settled in his home, Granger's sister discreetly moved into an apartment of her own.

I really tried to adjust to being Mrs. Granger Macy. But in my heart I knew I would never be anything but Jan's girl!

Granger was different from Bob. He was gentle. He had respect for me. And in his way he loved me. I knew this, so yielding to his passionate urges was not the shameful, revolting experience that sex with Bob had been.

I respected Granger. I liked him. I was fond of him. But I wasn't in love with him. I was in love with Jan. Even though it seemed she would be no more in my life than a precious memory.

Yet though I know I satisfied my husband's physical needs and brought complete sexual appeasement to him when we were in bed-I was never satisfied. Never appeased.

I accepted the fact that no man could ever compete with Jan...Not even the memory of her... No male could ever share with me that perfect, indescribable sensation of oneness that Jan and I had together.

Every time my husband touched me I remembered Jan's long, slender-fingered hands and the magic they brought me. Every time he kissed me, though I was thinking how kind he was, and though I wanted to make him happy-even then-memories of Jan's mouth made a farce of Granger's most ardent kisses.

I couldn't help it. That's how it was. But I supposed that as long as Granger didn't know how I felt, I could go on making the motions of being a good wife

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