Donna and Philosophy

Donna is a beautiful individual, physically and temperamentally. She had revealed a certain insecurity, you may remember, when I invited her to join me and my colleagues at the dinner dance. I did not in any way see myself in a Pygmalion type relationship with her, however. In fact it was rather the opposite. I found that she gave me new insight almost every time we discussed anything of importance. I loved her enquiring mind and the fact that, though almost entirely self taught, she had a highly developed sense of what was logical and what was right. I often considered how the circumstances in which she had grown up; her promiscuous mother and lack of father might have shaped her. To be honest I found the question too complex to understand, especially since I came from a safe childhood with a loving father and an efficient if uncaring mother (who later turned very uncaring when she discovered my sexuality).

‘Your trouble, College, is that you grew up expecting your mother to love you.’ Donna said this as we enjoyed our regular glass of wine at the local pub. Nellie was enjoying a regular’s conversation with her breasts which rested comfortably, like two Halloween pumpkins on the bar, encased as they were in a yellow t shirt. ‘I never had that expectation as far as I can recall.’

‘So many people are damaged by the absence of parental affection but you don’t seem to have been. You’re balanced, loving, caring and all those good things.’ She squeezed my hand affectionately. We never felt the need to hide our innocent tactile moments since we were now accepted as, ‘The two lesbians who sit at that table in the corner.’ The fact that her toe, slipped out of a shoe, was running up the inside of my long skirt and caressing my calf was unknown to everyone else but I was acutely aware of it.

‘Introspection is not something I indulge in to any great extent. We are what we are. I just knew I wasn’t like my mother or Cassandra. Being lesbian was not a revolt or anything, I just like girls.’ I indicated that at 41 I was no girl. ‘You’re a little dykey dictionary, that’s what you are.’ Her toe rose ever higher. ‘I never even knew I was androgynic, until you told me.’

‘Androgynous.’

‘Right, that too. But you’re not all bitter and twisted because your Mum was anti-sapphic. You just got on with it. You don’t wear your sexuality like a badge, you look like a normal girly, you have men friends, you have a good job and you are self confident.’ I wasn’t so sure. ‘If you weren’t, would you allow a bird like me to slip her toe there.’ I will not explain where ‘there’ was precisely but it was certainly not anywhere you’d allow a stranger to put it. I acknowledged the logic of her point. ‘We have oft discussed the influence of genes and nurture and although we have reached certain agreements I would suggest we have reached few firm conclusions.’ I nodded. ‘Shall we just leave it for now that we’re both comfortable in our own persona?’

‘Donna,’ I said rather seriously, ‘it appears to me that your toe might well be comfortable in my persona within a few moments. Could we, perhaps, continue your explorations away from licensed premises. I am finding your attentions are reducing my ability to concentrate on philosophical matters.’

‘Good point, College. Why don’t we knock of our drinks and scamper to your garret where I should like to indulge in what I believe is called unproductive sex.’ We swallowed our drinks and, as we left our table, Donna took our glasses and placed them before Nellie’s bosom. ‘Night, Nellie. I’m just going to take College home and give her a seeing to.’ The man talking to Nellie choked. So did I.