When Angels Cry

by Jennifer Edwards

  It has been apparent to me that the feelings Elizabeth harbors for her brother-in-law are very deep. Although at twenty-three she is still a virgin and believes she is incapable of being married or having a fulfilling sexual relationship. I shall be experimenting with Freud’s theory of psychosexual development in an attempt to prove her wrong. I shall try hypnosis first.

  Elizabeth’s Diary

  I shall be seeing Doctor Van Damm again tomorrow. He believes he can help me and that I indeed can feel below my waist. I laughed in his face my last session. It isn’t as though I threw myself down those stairs three years ago. I slipped. He believes it was a deliberate accident because it was Marta’s wedding day and I wanted to ruin it for her. What a horrible, silly thing to believe. But if the doctor thinks I may be able to walk again I shall do whatever it takes to do so!!

  The next morning it was raining. Elizabeth was being wheeled into Doctor Van Damm’s house by her sister Marta. The doctor’s assistant, Nurse Sutter, said that she would take Elizabeth and Marta should wait in the lounge. Nurse Sutter was a young and beautiful woman. Elizabeth had seen her before. She worked in the doctors “examination” room and Elizabeth had never been in that room before. She had always been in the doctor’s office on his couch during her analysis.

  As the nurse opened the door to the new room, Elizabeth was caught off guard by how cold and sterile this room was. There was a large examination table in the middle of the room and a variety of medical devices and electrical apparatus. She hadn’t a clue what they could be used for. Elizabeth felt herself becoming nervous now. Sensing this, the nurse reassured her that all would be fine and that she would stay in the room with her.

  Nurse Sutter helped Elizabeth onto the examination table and explained that she had to disrobe.

  “I have to be naked?” Elizabeth asked nervously.

  “Yes, Elizabeth, you do!” The nurse said as she began to unbutton Elizabeth’s blouse first, revealing the top of her slip. She motioned for Elizabeth to lie down and then began to unfasten the tiny hooks at the side of her skirt. Nurse Sutter folded everything neatly as she continued to take off more clothing.

  “It is cold in here,” Elizabeth, now only in her slip and stockings, complained.

  “It won’t be for too long now,” the nurse assured her, removing her slip.

  Doctor van Damm entered the room in a white coat. He wore a suit and tie during therapy sessions. It was rather alarming for Elizabeth to see him this way.

  “Good morning Elizabeth. Are you ready?” The doctor asked as he held her hand.

  “I believe so.”

  “Then let us begin.”

  Nurse Sutter turned out the main light, leaving on only the soft light above the table.

  “I want you to close your eyes now,” the doctor directed. “Imagine with each breath you are descending down a flight of stairs. With each breath you get deeper, and you will trust everything that I am saying and doing. Yes?”

  Elizabeth nodded. Within a few minutes, Elizabeth was in a deep trance.

  “I want to take you back, Elizabeth, to a time when you were a young girl. A teenager. The time your mother found you in the lake . . .”

  Elizabeth began to moan.

  “I went to the water. It was such a warm day.”

  Doctor Van Damm and Nurse Sutton begin to touch Elizabeth’s head and neck slowly, with just their fingertips.

  “Go on,” said the Doctor.

  “I took all my clothes off as there was nobody around. The water was cool.”

  “How did it feel on your body?” The doctor asked as his fingertips began to move down her body.

  “I felt aroused.”

  “Did you touch yourself?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  Nurse Sutton opened a drawer that contained many different pieces of equipment. She pulled out a metal phallic shaped tool and plugged it into an outlet. She handed the primitive dildo to the doctor. He took the tool and placed it just above Elizabeth’s vagina. It vibrated slowly.

  “Were you able to take yourself to orgasm?”

  Elizabeth shook her head, no.

  “My mother found me. She saw what I was doing and became very angry. She pulled me out of the water by my hair.”

  “Then what did she do to you, Elizabeth?”

  The doctor motioned to the nurse to grab something from the corner of the room. He put the vibrator now directly on Elizabeth’s vagina as the nurse walked back toward the doctor with a bamboo switch.

  “My mother grabbed a long branch . . .” Elizabeth paused.

  “She hit you with it, correct?”

  She nodded.

  “Like this?” The doctor said, indicating to Nurse Sutton to begin to hit Elizabeth on her legs with the switch.

  “Yes!” Elizabeth moaned. “She kept hitting me.”

  Elizabeth’s body began to sway and rock on the table as the doctor held the vibrator on her vagina. The nurse continued to lightly flog her legs, her stomach, her breasts.

  “What happened as she was hitting you Elizabeth?”

  She can’t take it any longer. Elizabeth cried out. “Oh God! Oh God!”

  Her body violently jerked and shook. Her toes began to curl and her legs quaked as she was brought to an extreme climax.

  Entry December 14 1892

  Patient Elizabeth Von R

  After the first of several psychosexual experiments my patient no longer used her wheelchair. We had broken through a deep rooted barrier that involved being in love with her brother-in-law and finding that she could only be satisfied sexually by being mistreated. Her guilt drove her to cause herself to have a violent accident, to avoid facing those demons.

  Elizabeth’s Diary

  I had another dream. Only I was awake. Helmut came to me in the night while Marta slept. I was sitting at my mirror, combing my hair. I saw his reflection in the mirror. He stood with just his undergarments on. I was in my nightgown. I stood, in front of him, which I hadn’t been able to do in years. He took down the straps of my nightgown which quickly fell to the floor, leaving me naked in front of him. He pulled me into his arms and we began to dance. We twirled until we found my bed. He kissed me passionately on the lips. I turned over presenting my virginal backside and he thrust himself immediately into my vagina as I screamed . . .

  I was on the floor. I remembered Terry saying something about my father and a loan. Then the theme from Saturday Night Fever came into my head, and I was down for the count.

  “Sarah!!?? You with me?”

  I was staring up at the ceiling. “I am on the floor!”

  “I think you fainted. Never seen anything like it. You started singing . . . something?”

  “Bee Gees!”

  “Yeah! And then your eyes rolled back into your head and . . .”

  “Just help me up, please.” This was enough humiliation for one day—second time I found myself in a heap on the floor.

  He propped me up against the couch and went to get me some water.

  “Get outta here!!” Mother screamed from the kitchen. “Get out! Rape! Fire! Hellllppp!”

  Terry ran back into the living room with my mother on his heels wielding a hydrangea stalk like a samurai sword. Manuel quietly appeared behind my mother embracing her in a gentle but firm bear hug.

  “Olivia, we must put your flower in agua before it dies,” he whispered in her ear.

  I learned a lot in that moment about the two of them. My mother completely transformed in an instant, from a killer banshee to Doris Day. She turned her head towards him. “You are right, Manuel. It needs a beautiful vase.” Ignoring me on the floor she headed back toward the kitchen then stopped and looked back at Terry. “Oh, hi Terry . . . my you’ve grown so.”

  While she was leaving the room, she told Manuel that she’d known Terry since the day he was born and that his sister and I were such good friends.

  “I know, mija, I know,” I heard Manuel respond.

  Terry leaned
in and gave me a hand, finally, peeling me off the floor.

  “See what I mean?” I asked.

  He nodded, aware of my mother’s condition. He said we should talk at another time. He would discuss the situation further with his father and partners.

  I led him to the door. He turned and asked if I’d like to have dinner. “We could catch up on the last twenty years of being strangers, and I could fill you in a little bit more regarding your mother.”

  It was funny that looking at big/little Terry made butterflies swirl in my stomach. “Sure,” I said, hoping to sound nonchalant.

  “Great . . . see you at seven.” He spun on his heels and went down the front steps.

  “Wait,” I called out. “Tonight? You mean tonight?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and yelled back “Why wait?” He was in his sports car and down the driveway in a jiffy, leaving me wondering what was up with these younger men.

  Later that evening, in a dismal attempt at being cool, I slipped on my way too-high heels and sauntered into the Stone Manor Hotel again. Hadn’t been there in years and I was back two nights in a row. Wouldn’t you know it Terry was sitting at a table with my waiter serving him. The heel of my foot slipped out of my six-inch fuck-me pumps just as I entered the dining room. Everyone, including the moose head on the wall saw me stumble. I looked back over my shoulder at the imaginary person, who had obviously pushed me and held my head high as if nothing had happened.

  “Sarah!” They said in unison as I approached. Then looked at each other uncomfortably.

  I tried to sit down before the gentlemen could fight over who would pull the chair out for me, but to no avail. Terry stood, just as my waiter reached for my chair and pulled it out for me. I made a strange gurgling noise in my throat, because words didn’t seem to want to come out. I tried to will my skin from turning too pink and blotchy.

  “Glad you could make it,” Terry said, sitting back down.

  “Nice to see you again, Sarah,” my waiter said as he placed my napkin firmly between my legs. I watched him walk away in his crisp white jeans knowing that he was sans underwear.

  Dinner was a constant battle of wills. I was trying to give Terry my undivided attention but was unable to stop looking at Dwight. I felt as if I had multiple personalities with an additional co-dependent personality thrown in, who was all about making sure neither guy knew what was really happening. Terry was being extremely attentive, but I couldn’t help thinking about what I knew was in Dwight’s jeans. It didn’t help that the outline of his substantial cock was visible. What was wrong with me?

  I tried talking business. After all, that’s what brought me to this dinner in the first place. Alright, maybe the chemistry I felt earlier had a little to do with it. More than that, I had to find out what had happened to the house and what it meant for my mother. Sitting opposite Terry, I was so conscious of the little boy who would sneak into his sister’s room because he heard noises.

  Chapter Three

  The Accidental Lesbian

  Marie’s little brother would often creep from his bed to spy on the two of us. Our friendship started off innocently enough. When we were twelve, Marie and I were inseparable. We told each other everything—every crush, every dream, every goal. Around this time we discovered what our bodies were about.

  We would often lie in Marie’s twin bed together and play the game “guess the body part.” With our eyes closed, one of us would take the other’s index finger and guide it to one of our body parts. Usually it was an eyeball, an inner ear, a tooth, or the inside of a belly button. We would laugh and squirm and feel as if we were doing something taboo. The older we became, the more forbidden the game grew.

  One night, Marie took my hand, as usual, and placed it in a warm, wet place. Marie had a death grip on my hand. She held it in between her legs as she began to move her hips, ever so slightly at first. Within seconds, her breathing became faster, and she started to moan. I couldn’t figure out what she was doing, because I wasn’t doing a damn thing. My hand was perfectly still, but her body was rising and thrashing about. Suddenly her body jerked, and she let out a high-pitched groan. Then she lay motionless. After about a minute, I began to wonder whether I had just killed my best friend. She hadn’t moved or spoken. I sat up to see if she was breathing. Her parents always kept the pool illuminated, which cast an eerie glow into Marie’s dark bedroom. I looked at her face. She looked serene.

  “Marie? Are you okay?” I whispered.

  The beginnings of a smile slowly crept across her face. “Le petit mort,” she said, her voice low.

  “What??” I asked.

  “Le petit mort,” she repeated.

  “Little death?” I had no idea what she was getting at. “Marie, what are you talking about?”

  “What just happened to me. It’s what they call it in France!” She giggled.

  I threw myself back on the bed totally missing the joke. I didn’t think she and I had any secrets from one another. Why now? And what was it that had to be said in French for crying out loud? I knew she had been reading Anais Nin, but I didn’t know anything about what the books contained. Feeling extremely left out, I began to cry uncontrollably. Huge body-wracking sobs. Like a baby.

  Marie sat bolt upright and stared down at me. “Oh my God, Sarah, what’s wrong? What happened?”

  I couldn’t answer her as I really didn’t know myself.

  Marie did what any loving best friend would do. She wrapped me in her arms, cradling and rocking me gently back and forth, smoothing out the stray hairs that were now stuck to my forehead. Feeling so safe in her arms, I eventually stopped crying. Before too long, the two of us drifted into a blissful sleep.

  I woke up the next morning with a strange sensation. Marie was balanced on one elbow. She had found my most vulnerable place between my legs with her free hand. She confidently smiled as she rubbed me over my pajama bottoms. Neither one of us spoke. I was alarmed by what was happening, but I wasn’t brave enough to tell her to stop. The sensations I began to feel were totally new to me. I had heard of people masturbating. I knew that my brother had jerking off contests with his friends. I heard them discussing it one night. I was disgusted by the thought. I wasn’t sure if the hole in my stomach I was experiencing was a result of being weirded out or was I enjoying what was happening? If I thought about it, I might have bolted out of the room, never to return again, but my body, paralyzed by fear and longing, kept me from moving. My hips slowly began rocking to a new beat. I closed my eyes and began to ride on this unexpected journey. I could hear my heart beating in my head. I wondered if I would pass out as I had done so often? At least I was in a prone position this time. Our breath was now in syncopation. I heard myself moan out loud. Taking the cue, Marie’s hand disappeared into my pajamas and found my buried treasure. Even I had never touched myself down there, in that way at least. How did my best friend know how to do these things?

  “Just let go, Sarah,” I heard Marie’s voice whisper, her breath hot on my neck now.

  “I don’t know . . .”

  Marie leaned over and placed her lips on mine. Her tongue plunged deeply into my mouth. The rhythm of her tongue matched the rhythm of her fingertips. Without any sort of warning my body seemed to explode. My toes curled, my back arched into a rigid contortion. A shriek echoed in the tiny, morning lit room.

  “Oh my God!” It took several seconds before I realized that it had been my voice. After my body released a final shudder and I found that I was still alive, the oddest thing happened. I began to cry as I had the night before. And then, like a crazy person, I began to laugh. I was crying and laughing, which of course made Marie start to laugh. The two of us must have laughed and cried for an hour. We never spoke about what we began to do with each other during our fifteenth year. Not even to each other. It was our dirty little secret.

  Our trysts defined my early sexual life. After the loss of my “virginity” in the back of Jeremy’s car, I had only one other s
exual experience with a penis. It involved my high school biology teacher. I was seventeen and he was twenty-five . . . and a half, and was absolutely gorgeous. It all began when I stayed a little late after school to draw diagrams of various fungi. I happened to be a very good artist. It wasn’t long before I was dropping off my fungus sketches at Mr. Runnels’s apartment. We would sit and look at his books on anatomy and talk about the sexual differences between men and women. Within a few months, we began a series of our own experiments involving the human anatomy.

  I learned how to be a proficient felator. He told me to treat his appendage as if I were having a yogurt push up. “Don’t let it melt . . .” he would preach as I licked and sucked. Even though he had a wonderful looking penis—ok I had only seen one before—when he thrust himself deep within the core of my womanhood, I was never able to have an orgasm. It drove him nuts, which was actually a lot of fun for me. I became a puzzle to him. A challenge. A mystery he had to solve. So we tried everything. Backwards, forwards, doggie style, missionary, sixty-nine, and handcuffs. I have to say I had a great time. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t satisfied. It all felt amazing. I just couldn’t cum. That only happened when I was with Marie. Go figure. Maybe it just all boiled down to trust.

  Once in college, I found it was totally acceptable for girls to find themselves in other girls’ beds. I felt I belonged there, too. It wasn’t as if I felt like a lesbian or anything. I was actually more than attracted to men. Tall men, short men, men with really long hair and jeans, or short-haired preppy guys in suits . . . it didn’t matter, I found them quite desirable. I just didn’t have sex with them. I was petrified that I would feel like a failure if I could not achieve an orgasm with someone of the opposite sex. Being with a woman was obviously very narcissistic. It was like looking in a mirror. I knew all the mechanics of how the machine worked. After all, I had the same machine. By the time I was in college, I had learned that I wouldn’t go to hell, and my eyesight would remain intact if I touched myself. I had become quite proficient in the art of masturbation, so, when I touched a woman, it was like touching myself. Loving myself. Something I had trouble with.