Epilogue: The Demiurge Remaps the Semi-urge
Almost ten years have passed since I produced the downcast and de featist “Not tonight dear . . It is hard to pinpoint the precise day, or even year, when my perspective changed. I only know that, sometime during the decade, the wild sibyl did breeze into my office.1 She threw open the windows, dusted off the desk, and rummaged around in the closet until she found the cumbersome sex therapy map I had been on the verge of discarding. Then she did something I could not have pre dicted. She held it up to the office mirror. Gazing at the reflected image, I saw that each of the major features on the now reversed map was indi cated by monogrammed pushpin. Read all together, the monogram spelled out L.E.S.B.I.A.N. I realized that the counter-map demarcated a new way of configuring the lesbian-love-sex-romance territory that I had been so busily critiquing.