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had run up her back. The passionate licking and sucking of her musky, moist, pink labial lips brought what she said were explosions of pink and blue lights. She had several ecstatic multicolored crises in a row, sometimes without pause. She begged me to stop. I was as pleased as a sexually inexperienced young man in love could have possibly been.

Bowled over by what seemed to be the uniquely sensual properties of her brain, I began to wonder if her sensitivity was more general when she asked me to keep the windows open or top down, even in the cool of a Florida January, because the exhaust smell in my car was suffocating, though I couldn’t smell it. The car had been checked and registered negative for abnormal fumes and leaks by Anderson Ford. She asked me never to wear any kind of after-shave lotion because it choked her. Jazz music on the car radio had to be played quietly. On-coming headlights gave her headaches. Her mother, sometimes desperate, called me for help during her daughter’s episodes of premenstrual emotionality and early menstrual discomfort. During these times, we would drive together for hours as she explained the many different colors of lower abdominal pain and how this particular kind yawned darkly before it cramped. It was more purple then any of the others. I tried to explain what I intuited but didn’t understand to her mother about the her gift of unfiltered information coming through her nerve endings, her ever readiness for surprise and her brain’s unwillingness or inability dampen or ignore what it didn’t like. She saw things in art, heard things in music that I only saw, and heard after her telling. She had tearful smiles listening to Debussy’s Afternoon of a Fawn. The flatted fifths of Charley Parker and the laconic riffs of Miles Davis made her anxious.

Since then and for all these many years, the same sensually susceptible brains showed up in my life carrying a variety of woman’s names and I never lost my fascination for them. I learned that their heightened awareness extended to the spiritual realm with unusually strong metaphysical inclinations and readiness for transcendent experience. They seemed to live closer to the direct experience of God. Attending Assembly of God and other Pentecostal midweek service, I found that praying in tongues and dying in the Lord came as easily and dramatically to them as their orgasmic experiences. At the same time, distant bad news could

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