Michel’s measured responses left her confused but not in a bad way. The confusion inevitably led to curiosity, not bewilderment. She had never heard anyone utter the word ‘phallus’, let alone a man. “What sort of a person uses such words?” she thought in wonder, as she followed him in the careful dance he led hoping that she would willingly come to calmer shores where pleasure can be confused with nothing else, and eventually she did. To her initial insistence on a rougher type of imagery he responded by turning the topic into a literary discussion on the works of the divine marquis, Anne Desclos and A N Roquelaure. The next day, she found herself reading the first of the Beauty books and that evening discussing it with Michel. She loved books and again found herself bewitched. “What sort of person talks about sex and books at the same time?” While she had vaguely known of the existence of such books, she found herself quite surprised to realize that they were freely available at the public library. He’d warned her that the book proceeded in a crescendo with which he himself had not been able to fully engage as it progressed and that she might also wish to un-‐suspend disbelief before the final chapter, and indeed she did. She finished the book the next day and soon had a chance to call him. They spoke of the book at length, their first shared experience, and of its many merits. He found it exciting and arousing to hear a woman’s reading of the text.
Michel tried to take life in stride, mostly, but in the weeks before he’d struck a fast friendship with Alexander, he found himself pondering the possibility of exploring other avenues in life. He wasn’t looking for an affair per se, but was clearly open to the possibility. His marriage had of course never been a stellar to-‐do, but as their only son was growing into a young boy it seemed that all physical contact between he and his wife had ceased. While he was willing to accept much responsibility for the situation, wrack his brains as he might, he could find no way forward or out. Separation, because it would hurt the three of them terribly was out of the question. But the corner that he and his wife had painted themselves into had the inertia and gravity of a black hole. The relationship with his wife had begun with several disastrous sexual experiences which they had separately vowed to overcome but in truth never had. The fact that they were no longer interested in having sex with each other was in his mind undeniable and in good part rooted in the also seemingly undeniable fact that they did not enjoy having sex with each other. Such findings a decade and a half into a marriage are hardly conducive to optimism and that did lead him to contemplate the concept of affairs, but interestingly enough with the thought that maybe if she had an affair, things might improve. He loved his wife, but love does not always suffice, and with the thought of the stress and unhappiness of his marriage turning into a permanent prospect, he let his mind wander into uncensored directions rooted in the dreams he had as a teenager of what his life, sexual and otherwise, would be like someday. He had truly expected to be happy and that had been his main ambition, to the derision of many Parisian friends most of whom already aspired to the traditional French dream of a wife, a mistress and two dogs. But over time his vicarious sex life turned into prolonged celibacy and he’d lost his virginity to the woman he would marry. He’d had dreams of a union endowed with a sustained sex life enriched by his past experiences and experiments, and now he pined for the times when he thought he would be happy. Alexander had of course no idea that this was the psychological backdrop against which he was to make his offer, but Michel knew a sign when he saw one and seized the chance. He immediately accepted and was quite amused as over the next few days Alexander would come see him furtively at work and half-‐whisper injunctions and rules such as “no-‐one must know of this” or “don’t believe everything she tells you”. The remark about how she liked kinky stuff surprised him in that he’d not suspected that Alexander liked such things. Then again, why would he? Men do not share their sexual preferences in casual conversation. But he had to notice once again that one does not view people quite in the same way when armed with such personal information. Alexander’s apparent emotional disarray prompted Michel to invite his friend to lunch for a serious conversation, just as his liaison with Catherine was about to begin. Michel had already ascertained a number of things and told Alexander as much, namely that Cathy had been his mistress, one of several, that Alexander himself was the driving force of these liaisons, all sexual and flirting with forbidden pleasures, innocent surely but not known as commonly accepted. “With her, I opened Pandora’s box” Alexander had confided. “Everyone thinks she’s two steps away from being a nun, and she was until she met me. Then she turned into a different person. But I can’t take it anymore. My wife nearly found out, and when I swore to her that I was not having an affair, I meant it: it has to be over.” While Alexander babbled like a would-‐be recovering alcoholic, Michel mulled it over before launching into a stern monologue that did not call for response.
“The first thing that needs to be clear is that you have started this and cannot stop it. She has my number and I have instructed her to call me in three days. If you find yourself full of regrets when all is said and done, blame yourself. Next, I need to tell you that I find it an honor that you would have made such an offer to me. Clearly my love for you as a friend is only burgeoning, but it is already strong and I am moved to find that this is true also for you to the point that you would introduce me to your mistress. You see, in France, it is considered a bond of friendship and an honor to share a woman. It is remarkable when two men are so similar that they can prove to be of equal pleasure to the same woman, and it is a powerful friendship that can sustain the sharing such an experience as the pleasure of a woman. Now the situation here is less stark since she lives three thousand miles away. There is for instance no chance of meeting her in the streets while with our spouses. That seems to be one of the reasons that brought you to Los Angeles, in fact. The chances that she and I will physically meet are remote. So that will make things very simple overall. We must nonetheless be careful, you and I, and especially you, I’m afraid. You’re the one with the most to lose, and you’re freaking out. No, let me talk. You are freaking out. But there is no need to. There is a very simple set of ground rules that we must observe. To start with, we have to be lucid and clear-‐headed. You and I are friends and I am most likely about to engage in what can only be called an affair with a mistress of yours. What matters between you and I is our friendship. Nothing can harm this unless we allow it, not even a woman. Call me French, but if a woman can destroy our friendship, then it was not worth having. If we agree on that, the next part follows easily. If you wish to talk about her, do so. If you do not, don’t. Just afford me the same freedom and you will find that there is no reason that she be off-‐ limits as a topic of conversation. But that takes us to the last ru
le: my affair is my affair, and yours is yours. If your affair is a burden to you then understand that it remains your burden. You cannot transfer her over to me and be done. It is not cargo we speak of. By having an affair, you altered the life of a human being and you must deal with the consequences to her, as she must for you. If you are lucky, she will indeed be distracted, but don’t count on me to help. If my affair flourishes and yours does not, you should rejoice as I feel for you. The reverse is just as true. For the rest, if you ask a question I don’t care for, I’ll change the topic as should you. But on the plus side, you now have someone you can talk to about her. Are you ready for desert?”
Michel had realized that this (prepared) tirade was all rather blunt, but for reasons already evoked, his patience was in short supply. As it turned out, all in all Alexander seemed much more relaxed after that conversation and soon enough he played no part at all in the affair that Michel would have with Cathy, as he would continue to call her when speaking with Alexander. Since this is the last mention of him, it should be noted now that Alexander did reform his ways and save his marriage.
Despite his harsh rhetoric, Michel did intend to help Catherine transition away from her previous affair if he were to connect emotionally, but as a self-‐serving gesture. One should not share a woman with two other men, and he had the utmost respect for Catherine’s marriage. And so he carefully orchestrated the beginnings of their affair, message after message, call after call, starting perhaps with the aforementioned books.
They discussed the progression of the plot of the Roquelaure book and as he probed her reading of the text, he paralleled each of her reactions with one of his own. He teased her a little at her constant surprise at his remarks. How could one expect the same reading from a man and a woman, he chided her, since a man would identify with the male characters, clearly the masters, while a woman would identify with Beauty, the object of servile sexual bondage with the declared purpose of feudal submissiveness. But she listened transfixed as he expounded his main point. Well warned, she had indeed disengaged from the narrative well before the end and had finished it with a detached pleasure, not sure if she would read the sequel but not adverse to the idea. For most people, he explained, these are mere fantasies, and while they more than have their place in human experience and sometimes even in high literature, they belong in books. The very fact of their disengagement was proof that neither of them was interested in such things beyond simple curiosity. In the days that followed, their conversations evoked more simple pleasures as they explored the multitude of similarities in tastes and liking that emerged between them: love of food, love of music, their longing for human touch, a fascination for rituals. And sex. A burning need to talk about it unbridled, uninhibited, as only lovers could but somehow never do. They talked about having sex with others and with each other. Their overnight message exchanges fast became torrid. It was in response to her fear that e-‐mail was an impersonal medium that he warned her that things could get vivid, which inspired her next message, un-‐prefaced and unsigned.
“I drove home last night in a state of high excitement. Conversation with you has a very powerful effect on me. My husband was already in bed but not asleep. I removed my clothes (all but my panties -‐ not my usual bedtime attire). He noticed, but I attributed it to the heat and humidity. It is after all fairly late and we both have to rise early in the morning. I wait until I hear his deep breathing and then I allow my left hand to brush across my right breast. Ahhh….your voice comes back to me and I hope that you also are thinking of how I might be touching myself at this moment. I lay my other hand on top of my mound and give myself to the awakening sensations -‐ like an electric current that runs downward from my breast to my secret place. After several moments of savoring those feelings, I slip off my panties and reach into my nightstand for my favorite lubricant. My silky, wet middle finger brushes lightly across my maiden hair and probes slightly. I imagine you watching with close attention. After engaging in this action for some minutes, I make the decision to leave my bed. I close the bedroom door and walk into the bathroom. A nightlight gently illuminates the room. I stand naked and exposed before the mirror, and again think of you observing me. My fingers move to my mouth and I caress my breast with their wet warmth. I continue to stimulate myself with my other hand as I begin to feel waves of sensation sweeping through my body. As I climax, I bend as if to draw all of myself into that pool of ecstasy………….”
After sending this, she felt electrified. Right he was, she thought, things could get vivid, and she’d be right there with him. But as it turns out, it was he who was right there with her as his response demonstrated.
“I drove home last night in a state of high excitement.
I realized when I hung up that I was still at home.
Conversation with you has a very powerful effect on me.
Conversation with you has a very powerful effect on me.
My husband was already in bed but not asleep.
I am alone but for the cat; she lays still on my bed but not asleep.
I removed my clothes (all but my panties -‐ not my usual bedtime attire). I remove my clothes (my usual bedtime attire).
He noticed, but I attributed it to the heat and humidity.
The cat didn’t notice: she’s used to it.
It is after all fairly late and we both have to rise early in the morning. It is still early, and morning is very, very far from my mind.
I wait until I hear his deep breathing and then I allow my left hand to brush across my right breast.
I wait as long as I can, waiting for you to make it home, phallus throbbing, and finally allow my hand to endow the final inch.
Ahhh… your voice comes back to me and I hope that you also are thinking of how I might be touching myself at this moment.
Your voice resonates in me, and I can see you, hear the sheets brushing your skin as you touch yourself I lay my other hand on top of my mound and give myself to the awakening sensations -‐ like an electric current that runs downward from my breast to my secret place.
I float closer and my face hovers over you, my lips barely above your erect nipple, my warm breath envelops your breast as I breathe the scent of your skin.
After several moments of savoring those feelings, I slip off my panties and reach into my nightstand for my favorite lubricant.
One hand’s fingers gently trace the curves of your body while the other hand cradles the back of your neck, its fingers probing your hair.
My silky, wet middle finger brushes lightly across my maiden hair and probes slightly.
I imagine your fingers gently caressing the folds of skin between your legs that gently tighten and release as if a heart were beating there. I imagine you watching with close attention.
I am taking in every detail.
&nbs
p; After engaging in this action for some minutes, I make the decision to leave my bed. I close the bedroom door and walk into the bathroom.
I follow your every footstep…
A nightlight gently illuminates the room.
I bask in the warm glow of your grace.
I stand naked and exposed before the mirror, and again think of you observing me.
The mirror is my eyes, you stand before me naked, exposed, in offering, and I am moved, humbled by this gift, for however undeserving I may be, in this moment your are mine.
My fingers move to my mouth and I caress my breast with their wet warmth. My phallus is hard as marble, hot as lava.
I continue to stimulate myself with my other hand as I begin to feel waves of sensation sweeping through my body.
Last chance junction arrives, where one more caress will unleash the eruption, and I embrace it: nothing can stop the orgasm now…
As I climax, I bend as if to draw all of myself into that pool of ecstasy…………. The climax unfolds, in exquisite detail, my consciousness dissolving into every pulse of my body, every contraction of my muscles, and if for a moment only, I am with you, I am in you, and we share this ecstasy as we share our words……….”
The Pleasure of M Page 2