I thought I'd capitalize on the film's lampooning of psychiatry with a little pseudoscience of my own. Sexualness ensues.
"Do you know what hysteria is, Miss Cooper?"
Tony was very, very close to her, and Amanda found herself looking at his lips. She released her grip on the putter she'd been holding (at one time in the distant past she had thought of a golf game, but that didn't matter now--) and let it fall sharply to the floor.
"It's an outdated diagnosis, of course," Tony continued, his eyes roaming her face, his voice a little frayed around the edges. His hands ghosted over her sides, as if he couldn't resist touching her, but had to restrain himself. "It used to be thought that when a woman was distempered, that her womb was wandering."
Such talk did nothing to dispel the sudden awareness in her skin that Tony was not touching her, but she felt every move he made. It was overwhelming. "Such old wives' tales aren't considered medical science any more, of course," he added. "But the cure was quite interesting." He was looking at her lips.
"Wh-what was it?" Amanda asked, feeling her throat catch in anticipation.
"Hysterical paroxysm, or more properly... an orgasm."
It was forthrightly said, couched in terms of medicine, but the word caused a tightening in her body that had nothing to do with science.
"Oh?" she said in a light tone. "How-- how interesting." She shut her eyes and swallowed hard as Tony traced her collarbone with a finger, his thumb gliding along her throat, finding the leaping pulse. "Was the woman... expected to administer the treatment herself?"
A flicker of his lips on her jawbone. "Sometimes." His tongue darted out. "In the beginning the doctor did it."
Amanda leaned forward a hair's breadth, her lips almost touching Tony's. "And... and this was accepted medical treatment?"
"Then perhaps it's the ideal prescription," Amanda murmured, and sighed when Tony's hand slipped up under her skirt.
"This is quite old-fashioned." Tony's voice was nearly a growl as he watched Amanda tilt her head back in pleasure.
"Sometimes that's the best way," Amanda sounded as though she were talking from a dream. "Stick to what works. Oh, Tony."
The utterance of his name so aroused him that he pressed himself against her. "Just relax," he urged gently. His fingers slid through the warm wetness, exploring her. Two fingers up inside her, and she was making noises, good noises. A thumb over the small hill of nerve endings, and she was writhing a little. It was good, so good. She easily could have said to hell with Steve and his country club wedding in that moment.
The combined sensation stopped her thoughts for long, blissful moments. She held onto his shoulders as the pleasure built, her hips moving in small undulations in tandem with his hand. Tony was breathing hard, watching her. "Good," he said, and she didn't know if he was encouraging her or commenting on the situation. "Very good."
She clamped her lips shut when she came, stifling a loud moan. She was nearly weeping with pleasure, the muscles around Tony's fingers clenching until he thought he would pass out, or that she would. It was a long time before she regained herself, and even then her face was a picture of lust, her lovely blue eyes hooded.
Tony drew his hand out and produced an impeccable white handkerchief. Amanda watched him wipe his hand dry, and fold a neat pocket square. He put it into his breast pocket, smiling at her.
The fact that he was going to keep the handkerchief in plain sight meant she couldn't forget it if she tried. It meant he would wear it all day and night. That made her want him with a force she had never felt for Steve.
She did feel better, in a profound way. Her breathing returned to normal and she smoothed her tennis skirt back into place. "Is this a one-time experiment, doctor?" Her voice was teasing.
Tony broke into a wide smile. "Certainly not, Miss Cooper. Most patients required repeated courses of treatment." He skimmed a hand over her abdomen, and lowered his lips to her ear. "I do thorough work, Miss Cooper."
He bent, handed her her forgotten putter, and said, "Avoid the sandtraps at the seventh hole. They're terrible." And he was gone, off to watch Steve shoot skeet or watch the horses take their exercise.
Amanda held her breath for a moment. No longer medical science, she mused. And yet the doctor's orders were just what she needed.