The Master's Project (6) - Micky And Susan

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Foreword

This is the sixth in a series of narratives concerning a research project done by the author for his Master's Program. If you've read the preceding narratives, you're fully up to speed about what this project was all about. If you haven't, you really should, because once in a while what happened before will help you understand why the author reacted in one way or another.

This couple didn't end up in the study, but that was only because I couldn't figure out a way to put them there without jeopardizing the final results. Even though I didn't identify the participants in the paper, I had to keep documenting data for potential peer review. If that would have happened, and this couple was discovered, it would have invalidated the whole paper. You'll understand why when you read it.

Chapter One

I got a call from a woman named Susan one day, in which she said she was friends with another couple I'd interviewed for the project. She'd gotten my number from them. She asked if I would please come and do a preliminary interview with her and Micky, and consider putting them in the program.

I had, by this time, interviewed seventy couples in the program. I had sixty-three of them "in the can", or finished, and was beginning to feel the pressure of getting the remaining interviews wrapped up so I could start writing the paper. My advisor was very happy with what he had seen thus far, though, and was not pressuring me to finish. His attitude was that, the more interviews I had, the better it would be in the end. So I was open to adding more couples to the project.

"How long have you and Micky been married?" I asked.

"Well, there's a little problem with that," she said softly. "We've been together for fifteen years, but we can't get married. It's a legal thing. But we're totally committed to each other, and we WOULD get married if it were possible."

"I'm not sure I understand why you'd want to be in a project that examines married couples, if you can't get married," I said reasonably.

"Melanie explained what you're trying to prove," said Susan, "and Micky and I look so much alike that people often think we're related. We just thought it could help raise awareness ..." She trailed off and it was silent for a few seconds. Then she went on. "We think our situation would support your research, and your research could help support our situation."

I had a sudden thought that she and Micky might be brother and sister, or close cousins, which would explain why they couldn't get married. I knew there were a lot of people who deeply loved each other, but were in that kind of situation, where the law prevented them from pursuing their love like 'normal' people did.

I knew I couldn't put an incestuous couple in this study, but I also knew that there was a very wide vein of material that could be mined in that area. I was already thinking about my Doctorate program, and the idea of doing a study on incestuous couples in committed relationships had already been teasing at my mind. It would make a HUGE splash in sociological circles, if I could get it published.

It was for that reason that I agreed to do the initial interview with them. I didn't plan to use it for the current study, but might be able to plant the seeds for a future project.

I may have mentioned this in the past: Don't make assumptions. They're almost always in error. You'd think I would have figured that out by now.

I arrived at the address given, and found it to be a neat little two bedroom house, about forty or fifty years old, in a neighborhood of similar houses. It was one of those neighborhoods where a lot of blue collar workers are raising new families, and have managed to scrape together enough money to buy their first house. The houses on this street had probably been sold, at one time or another, as "Fixer-uppers". They took a lot of maintenance, but their owners were proud to be home owners, so they took care of them as well as they could on a limited budget.

When I rang the bell, a nice looking woman answered the door. She was probably in her mid thirties, and was slim in that way that runners look slim. She wore her brown hair long and it fell just past her shoulders.

"Hi," she smiled. "You must be Bob. I'm Susan. We're so glad you decided to come." She helped me open the storm door by pushing on it as I pulled, and then stood back to let me in.

"You have a nice house," I said by way of making conversation. "You take good care of the place."

"We've had to learn to be plumbers and carpenters and even a little about electricity," she smiled. "It's been an education, but it's fun too."

She offered me something to drink, and I declined. I had another interview later that evening, and wanted to get their preliminary interview out of the way so I could concentrate on the later one. It would be the last for that couple, if all things went well. She took me to the living room.

There was another woman sitting in a chair, leafing through a magazine, and she looked up when we entered the room. She smiled and I saw the same smile as I had seen on Susan's face. She had the same long hair, if a little darker, and the same slim build. She looked older, but not by much more than a few years. It was pretty obvious I was meeting Susan's older sister. They looked that much alike. I had no idea why she would be here for the interview, but "extra" family members had played a pretty big role in the lives of some of the couples I had interviewed, so I didn't really mind if she was there. I looked around for Micky, but didn't see him.

"This is Bob." Susan introduced me to the woman in the chair.

She stood and held out her hand. She had a nice, firm grip. Shaking hands with a woman is different than taking a man's hand. When men grip, it is either a custom, or a competition, but has little meaning usually. It's a formality. Women can shake that way too, in either case, but they have a third way of shaking a hand that is more of a touching thing than it is a custom thing. It's hard to describe, but when I feel a woman's slim hand in mine, sometimes it feels like more of a caress than a handshake. Like a little hug of sorts, maybe. It is, for me at least, a very intimate kind of feeling, and it's usually really nice in an inconsequential kind of way. This woman took my hand like that.

"We're so glad you came," she said, letting me have my hand back. "I'm Micky."

I stood there, dumbfounded.

"You're Micky," I said dully.

"Yes," she said calmly. "We're lesbians."

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