Masters: "I'll take that bet, Barton."
Scully: "...But at the end of the day I'm still holding the bag, and on the bag is a picture of a woman riding Steely Dan. I can't..."
Virginia: "-- It's not just the technology, it's the revolution. The new data we're collecting dispels years of myths about how a woman's body anticipates sex. We've already debunked many established theories, plus charted clear-cut stages of sexual response... We're starting to see that some women are capable of multiple orgasms!"
Scully: "Why does your secretary keep talking to me?"
"I've made this hospital a fortune. Our patient base has tripled. We're ranked second in the country. Our donors can't write checks fast enough, in large part because of me. I got us to where we are now. And this study, this is where we're going. This is the future. But if you won't support me in blazing that trail, then I'll find another hospital that will. I need an answer by the end of today."
Barton Scully goes home, thinks about it, has a fight inside himself. It's a fight you know well. Every sexual experience you've ever had that meant anything, you've had this fight. Anything personal that changed things whatsoever, sex or not, you've had this fight, which goes: Are you gross, or was that okay?
When you're with Bill Masters everything seems clean and above board. It's cold and clinical and white. It's like winter. No smells, no mishaps, nothing unclean at all. It feels good, and even the fact that it feels good feels okay, untainted, unselfish.
And but then you go away again, and the light fades from the room, and you start hearing other voices -- besides his, besides even your own -- and there is no muse, just the fear. You think you've transcended to a higher level of being, but what if the cage of your perversion is just cunningly described as the real world? Make a deal with the Devil, it'll feel like Christmas every time. Wouldn't it? No downside, only pleasure, until you're caught and reminded how filthy you are.
Literally the oldest story in the book. Everything is fine until it's not fine, and you realize you were gross and stupid the entire time, and how dare you. And the next thing you know, you're looking for somebody to blame.
But then you have to remind yourself, again, that you aren't bad, or gross, or creepy: You're clean. And Bill is in love with science. There is no man behind the curtain. You've stepped out into the sunlight -- not a simulacrum of the sunlight, not another cage, but a whole way of being.