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It was the contemporary literature class in college that sparked my interest in deciding to major in English. My English teacher, Miss Andrews, who informed us that she was thirty years old on the first day of school, seemed to be so full of life and energy. I was almost nineteen and had the same energy; I wanted to change the world.

As the term got under way, I noticed that the themes of much of what we read had to deal with women's issues in general and lesbian writers in particular. She was enthusiastic in her approach, and I enjoyed the class. My enthusiasm generated even more enthusiasm from her. Even the young men were interested.

I admired her thoroughly; I had her on a pedestal. I was in love with her!

One day, in mid-October, Miss Andrews asked me to stay after school. She said she needed help choosing new material. I was hoping it was a pretext for something more . . . exciting. For a young woman like me, the idea of making love to my mentor appealed to me as nothing else had.

She was sitting at her desk reading an oversized paperback book. She set it on her desk upside-down

*quot;What are you reading?*quot; I inquired.

She handed the book to me. The top half of the front cover showed two nude women in an opened mouth kissing embrace while lying in shallow water. The book was titled The Wild Good, and its subtitle was Lesbian Photographs