In the beginning it hadn't been so bad, and even though she had lain in near total passivity while her young husband made love to her, Tim had seemed to be satisfied. He said she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known, and he didn't care if it took her a while to break through her fears, because she was worth it. Yet things had gotten worse, not better, and lately he had begun to demand the more she resisted until, after two months, she shook with fright whenever sex was mentioned. She had even gone to a doctor, a medical doctor, to see if there wasn't something wrong with her. He had been kind, and talked of relaxation and letting yourself experience pleasure and of orgasm – something she had never known. She had felt nothing of what he had described, and now she was afraid she never would, thanks to Miss Whitfield. She knew if she could just let go completely, she might be able to break through her anxiety, but she just didn't know how.

And time was running out. She had never seen Tim as angry with her as he was that Monday. They hadn't had sex for a week, and he'd wanted to make love before leaving for Boston. She had wanted to… oh, she had wanted to desperately, but Sunday night she had begun to cry pitifully when he touched her, and they had quarreled. The next morning, Tim had started drinking wine as he packed his suitcase for the plane trip, angrily muttering to himself. Susan was shocked to see him drinking so early and fully realized the extent of his frustration for the first time. She had gone into the bedroom to try and calm him down, but they had quarried again, and then… then…