by Olivia Dean
“Charles, is everything alright?” I forgot that he wasn’t alone, it feels like a cold shower. “Yes, yes, Natacha, I’m coming.” He lithely breaks away from me and acts as if nothing happened. I, however, am all shook up. I’m out of breath, I feel like I’m completely naked and I am probably bright red.
“Come with me, I was away for too long, I’m going to introduce you…” What a great idea! In my state…I don’t have time to protest as he rushes me into the living room. A moment later, I feel like I’m hallucinating. There are two identical statuesque blondes sitting on the red chaise lounge. At first I think they’re naked, but then I realize they’re wearing tiny, flesh-colored dresses. They both pose in exactly the same way, with their legs crossed, a glass of champagne in hand. Two pairs of ice blue eyes look me up and down.
“Emma, please meet Natacha and Katia Petrovska. Emma Maugham, my friend and neighbor.”
I’m able to articulate a feeble ‘bonsoir’. I can’t breathe, I need to get out of here, I need to escape.
“Sorry, I need to get going,” I say, leaving.
“Emma…as you like. See you soon.”
I don’t wait for him to walk me back to the door, I retrace my steps like a zombie. Now I’m sitting in front of a bowl of soup and I can’t get over it. How did we go from humiliating mockery to this torrid kiss, a kiss that still makes my body shiver? And who were those twins on the chaise longue? Was that really a business meeting? It’s true that I still don’t know what he does…but it seems dirty to me. What type of business meeting do you show up to, half-naked with your twin sister? Manon’s voice echoes ironically in my head. At this point, I can’t really see another explanation…Then why did he decide to introduce me? Did he want me to join in? I immediately banish the idea from my head. It’s too much. Get laid, sure. Tolerating this kind of perversion, though, is beyond my capabilities. I’ll let him know this the next time I see him. In the meantime, a cold shower will really do me some good.
I’m sitting on the chaise lounge, wearing nothing but a flesh-colored slip. Charles, sitting next to me, hands me a glass of champagne while looking into my eyes. We toast. He caresses my knee with his other hand. His fingers glide over my burning skin, tormenting me. He suddenly stops and pushes down the straps of my dress in a brusque movement. The dress disappears, I’m naked, still sitting with my legs crossed, holding my glass of champagne. He resumes caressing my knee, now more insistent. This time, his fingers travel further up my thigh. I look at them, fascinated. I want to uncross my legs but I can’t move. And then…I wake up.
I don’t want to go over to his house again, I’ll leave our next encounter entirely up to chance. Until then, I’m going to try to live normally. After all, nothing really happened. A meager kiss in the hallway, it’s not really something to make such a big deal over…If my life wasn’t so empty, I’d barely remember it.
And here’s exactly the opportunity I need to take my mind off of it. A party at Manon’s house. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet a guy closer to my age with normal values?
Manon apparently had the same idea and as soon as I enter, she introduces me to a guy named Olivier from her class in medieval linguistics. He’s a charmer. Nice curly brown hair, big light green dreamy eyes, a scruffy look…exactly my type. We have a few drinks, we chat. I get the feeling things are going well. I put my hand on his…and he promptly takes it off. He’s just getting out of a rough relationship, he tells me. My mistake. It’s been a week since I started getting interested in men and I’m already getting my first taste of rejection. I feel even more humiliated although, as he reassures me, he thinks I’m ‘really great’.
Manon and Mathieu start playing hits from the 80’s. They forgot about me, I don’t blame them. I quietly take my leave, the last train awaits.
At this time of night, I don’t think I’m going to meet anyone in the hallway.
“Bonsoir.”
It’s Rita. I mean, the lady I’ve nicknamed Rita. This time, she’s wearing a black pants suit. She is still beautiful, but less sexy. And what’s more, she’s leaving. I tell her good evening and continue looking through my bag.
“Emma, is that your name?”
How does she know my name? Were they all talking about me? I stand up straight to look at her. She holds out her hand, a sincere smile on her lips.
“Elisabeth, pleased to meet you. Since we see each other so often, we might as well be friendly, don’t you think?”
“Yes. You live here?”
She seems shocked by my question.
“Oh no, not at all! Charles and I are old friends. We work together, too…”
“Then you’re not his girlfriend?”
“Oh my god, no! Charles, a girlfriend?”
The idea seems so bizzare to her that she bursts out laughing.
“Sorry, but I saw you the other day…and what I wanted to say…”
“As I said, we’re just old friends,” she says to put an end to the conversation, before disappearing into the elevator.
‘Old friends.’ What does that mean? That they sleep together every now and then? How often? Are there rules for this kind of thing? Does she only say this because they don’t live together? I get the feeling that everything about my neighbor is complicated…
8. A little light
"Emma! Emma!”
Elisabeth gets out of a taxi with two gigantic paintings.
“Can you help me bring these up to Charles’ place?”
“Sure. Is it a present?”
“No, a delivery! From the Emirs of Dubai, I think. Careful, they’re worth millions!”
“Why are we bringing them to Charles’ house?”
“He’s going to appraise them and then sell them to those famous Emirs…”
“Ah yes, of course.”
I put a little too much emphasis into that last sentence. Elisabeth looks at me, amused.
“You don’t know what Charles does, do you?”
I’m happy to note that she’s referring to me in informal French. I admit my ignorance, relieved that I don’t have to keep playing along. She laughs again.
“Charles and his famous sense of mystery! Come on in, let’s have a coffee.”
She takes out a key and goes to open the apartment door.
“But Charles?”
Her expression suddenly sours.
“He’s out of town, he won’t be back until the weekend.”
She carefully places the frames against the chaise lounge and invites me to sit down on a barstool. She roots through the cupboards.
“Goddamn Italian design! He’s got to have some coffee in this house. There’s a coffee maker over there, is it just a conversation piece?”
“Maybe it’s in the fridge?”
“Bingo!”
It’s amusing to see such a sophisticated woman act so naturally! I’m completely at ease, I take advantage of the moment to continue asking questions.
“So Charles? That’s his job, selling canvases?”
“Among others, yes. He’s busy selling artwork around the world. He’s also a well-known expert. He’s the only one who’s able to categorically recognize the mark of certain artists. Lately he’s also been interested in contemporary art, he’s the kind of guy who discovers new talent. He’s able to make or break an artist with a single twitch of his eyebrow.”
“But I thought he was a rich kid!”
“Well he is! Except that he decided to not continue with his father’s business. His dad was into weapons…But Charles always does whatever he wants to do, he studied art history – that’s when I first met him – against his parents’ wishes, and when they died, he didn’t think twice about selling the family business. He preferred to invest his immense fortune into something else. And luckily, he has a knack for it…”
My relief must have been obvious.
“You were afraid that you were going out with some sort of crook?”
“But I’m not going out with Charles!”
; “Ah…I thought.”
“Why? Did he say something?”
I must have seemed too eager with this question. I’m not very believable. Elisabeth gently smiles.
“No, not at all. I must have gotten mixed up.”
We continue to chat, carefully avoiding the subject of Charles. This isn’t really the kind of person I had imagined the first time I saw her. Of course, she’s very beautiful and super-sexy, but she doesn’t seem to notice it. She seems incredibly down-to-earth. I feel like I’m talking to an old friend. She tells me a lot about her work. About her love life, too. Her husband died three years ago in a car accident. She says that he was her one and only love. Of course she goes out and sleeps with other guys (even Charles?) but she’s done with love. She says all this with so much aplomb that I’m tempted to believe her. She doesn’t seem depressed by the idea of a life without love. That’s just how it is, she explains.
It’s getting late, I need to get back to work. I leave without really wanting to. Before I go, she invites me to an art opening at her gallery. We kiss each other’s cheeks goodbye, à la française.
9. Happy birthday
I don’t know why I always think it’ll be different, a special day. But every year, I fall asleep feeling the same frustration. It’s my birthday. This year, more than any other year, I should have known that nothing would happen. My father isn’t even the type to make pancakes…And anyway, I don’t know anyone at school except for Manon and Mathieu. I told them at lunch, and they don’t understand why I’m in such a crabby mood.
“Want to go have a drink to celebrate?” Manon suggests.
Which was really nice, considering both of them have been sick with a nasty cold for the past three days. I feel sorry for them, with their runny noses. I must admit that I still find them cute. It makes me want to have a cold and a boyfriend to share it with. I swallow my pride and accept their invitation for a drink after class.
I shouldn’t have. I had called their bluff. My friends struggle to stay awake and act like they’re having fun. I decide to put an end to their suffering after two hours. I roam around the city, lonely and sad. I don’t want to go back immediately. I have the impression that if I come back before midnight, my day will truly have been a waste. As if someone would ever notice…
I get back home at midnight sharp. A ridiculous consolation…strangely enough, the hallway lights are on. Charles. He came back. He’s waiting for the elevator. He’s waiting for me. I don’t know what to tell him, I think I’m all red. It’s probably the alcohol. And him. Obviously.
“You know it’s my birthday today.”
I don’t know why I said this so suddenly. He looks at me for a long time.
“You’ve been out celebrating, then?”
“No.”
My tone speaks for itself, perfectly encapsulating how I felt all day long. He seems (sincerely?) moved while he opens the elevator door for me.
“Am I mistaken or are you disappointed?”
I sigh.
“Will you press the stop button for me, please?”
I do it without saying a word. I want to know what’s going to happen next. I hold this button down as if my life depends on it. He’s behind me. It feels as if an eternity passes, and then he says:
“I think we should play a little game. If you want to stop, just let go of that button. But if you want to keep playing, don’t move a muscle.”
Ok, I should go. I’m still immobile. I feel his body behind mine, but he doesn’t touch me. I’m hot. Suddenly, a nearly imperceptible caress against the back of my neck makes me shiver. He moves closer. I feel his breath on my neck. I would move but I can’t. His hand returns to my neck.
He caresses me very lightly, like a wispy veil tickling my skin. Every time his fingers touch me, I stop breathing. He’s closer, just a few centimeters away, I can feel him. His mouth plunges onto my neck while his hand lingers on my right shoulder. I don’t even notice as it brushes away my shirt, and his kisses replace the fabric. He stops all of a sudden. It takes me a few seconds to understand that it’s because of me. With all of these caresses, I almost stopped pressing the button. I push down on it again.
“Watch out. Next time, I’ll stop for good. Got it?”
“Yes,” I manage, in a sigh.
His fingers return to my nude shoulders. This time, the contact isn’t so light. I feel his broad, warm hands and each of his fingers on my skin. It’s as if someone was trying to sculpt me. His hands travel along my arms, my elbows, my hands. They come to the end of my fingers, he stops for a moment. His left hand rests on my hip while the other begins to stroke my arm, stretched out towards the stop button. He runs his fingers under my arm. Ordinarily, I would burst out laughing, but now I feel electrified. I close my eyes. I feel his caresses again, brushing underneath my arm, touching my breasts through my blouse. I can’t hold in a sigh.
“You know what to do if you want to stop…”
I feel each of his words through his hot breath on my neck. I don’t care about what he’s saying…I just want him to continue what he’s doing.
It takes him just a few seconds to open my blouse. I glance down at my bra, I suppose it’s alright. His fingers graze along my body nonchalantly, almost indifferently across my chest, where my heart is beating way too quickly. My nipples harden and I clench my thighs without thinking. I shiver, caught up in a new sensation. I can’t think anymore, all I can do is watch these warm hands and my body, anticipating the sensations. My skirt falls to the ground as if by magic. His gentle fingers continue their delicate exploration. My hips, my thighs. I can’t bear his touch any more. He strokes my knee and pushes my legs apart to make room for his ravenous hands, which overwhelm me. I regret wearing tights and panties, feeling his fingers on me makes me hotter than hot. I can’t stop my hips from following their movement.
“You should wear thigh-high stockings,” he says, pulling down my tights and panties to mid-thigh. I can’t help but let him do what he pleases, even though I’m sure I look ridiculous. But I can’t let my mind linger on this thought. I moan without realizing what’s happening. His right hand returns to my breasts and his fingers twist my nipples. It’s both painful and delicious.
His other hand explores in between my thighs. His fingers are curious, I guide them despite myself, bending my legs. My heart beats as if it’s going to explode. I’m not in control anymore, my hips move on their own to follow and press against his caresses. I close my eyes.
“Calm down,” he breathes while suddenly biting my neck. Now I feel his entire body burning against mine. His powerful torso through his shirt, his muscular thighs, and especially his sex against my butt. I want him inside of me. He must be able to read my mind. With a confident gesture, he grabs my thigh, places my foot on the side of the elevator and penetrates me all of a sudden. The sensation is brutal and exhilarating, I feel as if I’m possessed. I think I’m going to scream. I feel his breath on my neck and his teeth in my flesh, biting deeper with every thrust of his hips. And then, everything speeds up, I lose my bearings, I no longer know who or where I am.
When I finally snap out of it, I find myself looking at his hands once again. My skirt is back where it belongs and my blouse is being buttoned up. He gently grabs me by my wrist and moves my finger away from the stop button. The elevator resumes its ascent. The doors open. I mechanically walk towards my door like a sleepwalker.
“Emma!”
“Yes?”
“You forgot your bag…”
He hands me my bag with a smile I’m not sure how to interpret. Looking at his lips, I realize we didn’t even kiss.
The next instant, I collapse onto my bed, exhausted.
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His, Body and Soul - Volume 2
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Table of Contents
Cover
1. To us...
2. Back to school
3. Parisian life
4. Him again
5. Disillusionment
6. An apparition
7. Brief encounters
8. A little light
9. Happy birthday