“Dear Michel,
It was wonderful to speak to you yesterday, although the time does just fly by. So much to say and so little time to say it! My husband and I did manage time for lovemaking last night after a fabulous concert (Jazz Impressions of the Beatles). You were, of course, on/in my mind as I came. As he drifted off to sleep, I thought more about our conversation, about masturbation but more importantly about male versus female perspective on the sexual act. For men it is often SEX, pure and simple. You are driven by your cock to a most natural and assured conclusion. (OK, maybe not always a 'given'.) If circumstances are right, you will climax. A big part of my arousal takes place in my mind. Let's face it -‐ I have made love with my husband hundreds of times and there is little, if any, mystery, remaining. Lovemaking has fallen into a fairly predictable routine as to how it progresses. I just realized that I often have my eyes closed. Do I do that in order to enhance my fantasizing? This is why fantasy plays such a huge role in sexual satisfaction for me. I know my husband's body way too well and I can't say there is much about it that really turns me on anymore.
But you, on the other hand, fascinate me. I imagine asking you to show me your cock, asking your permission to touch it and explore its contours. I want to see how it reacts to the feel of my breath, my hair, my breasts, my tongue. How long will it take for you to grow to your full length? I want you to retract your foreskin and display for me the quivering tip. That, my dear, will be a moment that will carry me through many a cold winter night!
Enough musing for one night. Since I am home alone tonight, I stopped at the library and borrowed 'Dangerous Liaisons’. Another topic for future conversation. Fondly,
Catherine”
Michel rightly perceived from her message that she was open to having the topic brought up again but that it would not be easy for her and that she left it up to him. He did not hesitate long.
“Dear Catherine, hard to think somehow that it is already coming on December. The month for obvious reasons has strong resonance for me. It is a melancholy time, though that has been attenuated in recent years by the presence of my son. We went on a little hike today, on a trail overlooking the Santa Monica bay from 1200 feet and we dug some fossils out from the hillsides as the sun gleamed on the ocean with blinding force.
Sincerely,
Michel
PS: if there are still questions to which I owe answers, would you be kind enough as to refresh my memory, and if not perhaps find some more. We need to discuss at greater length I think the theme of fantasy.”
There was an unmistakable resolve to his tone but she knew also that he would tolerate an easing into things, and she opened the door a bit ajar at first. While their next conversation held little on the topic of fantasy, she wrote that same evening. She had a few days earlier told him that his finding porno magazines in his father’s nightstand as a kid was a powerful image and decided to give a response to him mentioning that there was nothing in his nightstand.
“Dear Michel, It was so nice to speak with you today. The time seemed obscenely short, but I will take that over the alternative. As I mentioned earlier, my long weekend will be rudely interrupted by an afternoon with our department director’s Christmas staff party on Sunday at his mansion.
So I have procrastinated long enough. Here is what you would find next to my bed.
-‐ Flashlight
-‐ Stress tamer eye pillow (a gift from my daughter, which I don’t think I have ever used)
-‐ Bottle of Astro-‐Glide
-‐ Small collection of birthday, Mother’s Day and anniversary cards that held particular meaning (or were just too beautiful to toss)
-‐ Massage lotion, barely used (my husband is not into massage and in fact, seems rather awkward when I ask him. How would you feel about giving it a try?)
-‐ CD of Indian music (useful when pleasuring myself, I think I’ve mentioned that before) -‐ Books, among which you would find: “Seductions: Tales of Erotic Persuasion”, “Erotic Interludes: Tales Told by Women”, “Mars and Venus in the Bedroom”, “Turn Ons/Pleasuring Yourself While You Please Your Lover”. (Is that intimidating enough for any man? By the way, I have not read all of them. Good intentions notwithstanding…)
-‐ The Story of O (still waiting for the right time to start that one)
I imagine you pondering this list as you sit at your computer, robe open, silken cock at rest. You see, I can never quite divorce thoughts of you from my sexual fantasies! You bring me such joy…
Fondly,
Catherine”
This was the first time that Michel had ever heard of Barbach and her collections, and he was quite surprised by the content of the tome he found at a branch of the public library, so much in fact that he decided to reread several passages in an attempt to change his understanding of Catherine’s possession of these books. Between the two readings he pondered his prejudice in reflexively reaching conclusions unfavorable to her considering (as he did) that they were in complete dissonance with his understanding of her character. He knew himself to be a snob in the French sense of the word, meaning to be someone who disdains those who acclaim the virtues of things of lesser quality and who disdains also those who do not seek out the better things of life either out of stupidity or out of choice, and Catherine was a million miles away from that: he admired her taste, her wit, her imagination, her vibrancy. What then was his element of reference in considering these stories to be of inferior quality? Surely the adjacency of Barbach and Réage in her nightstand contributed insomuch as it juxtaposed two periods of her life, one of which he had not been a part of, but were there not many parallels between the abduction of Rebecca to a harem and the abduction of O to Roissy? “You’re an idiot” he thought finally to himself, then adding “and a Frenchman always” with a smile that Catherine would have adored. The librarian, who knew his wife well, came to ask him if he wanted to borrow the book and he flashed her the same smile as he struck back at the middle aged meddler with ease and grace. Turning the cover her way so that other patrons could clearly see, he asked “Oh, so you’ve read it then? Did you like it?” Meaning to protest that she had not read it she blurted out a rather loud “NO …” but before she could finish he interjected “Well if you didn’t think it was any good, it won’t be of much use to me then” and he plopped it on the table and left while the librarian turned an interesting shade of purple and a patron giggled. He was quite sure she would not mention the incident to his wife which, while he could have handled it, would have been much more effort than he had desire to spend trying to explain to her why he was reading such books and undoubtedly also questions as to who had given him the idea. ‘Even librarians do it’ he thought to himself as he began to mentally compose his next message to Catherine.
“Dearest Catherine, I should perhaps begin with an
apology for what may have appeared to be a very aggressive and one-‐sided request regarding your fantasies, but I won’t and will instead tell you about the first time I found myself fantasizing during sex with my wife. This was not so long into our marriage and came as rather of a shock to me but in retrospect coincided well with the two of us having reached a decent understanding of what we expected from sex and more to the point what would not be forthcoming. There quickly came to be an aspect of repetition in the act that was insurmountable and so inevitably I suppose came the day when I found myself daydreaming of having sex with another woman while I was having sex with my wife. The main salient detail was that the position I was engaged in with my fantasy partner was not the same as the one I was engaged in with my wife, the unmistakable purpose of which was to bring me to climax in response to a slight edge of impatience apparent in my wife’s demeanor. But this was not something I did self-‐consciously, and when I realized after the orgasm where my thoughts had drifted I was rather mortified. For months thereafter, I tried to limit my appeal to fantasy to being with my wife in different positions, but eventually that resolve wore off.
I once told you that a man’s pleasure is self-‐centered, but perhaps it is instead that all sexual pleasure is self-‐centered. Yours, always,
Michel”
When she did not answer the next day, he decided to call her and immediately began the conversation by recounting the librarian incident. She laughed and was touched that he had made the effort of reading what she had, just as she had often done after his many allusions to film and literature alike.
“Did you enjoy the read?” she asked a bit hesitantly, expecting that he would either change the topic or expound his disdain for such writings. “Actually, yes, somewhat. I mean it’s not high literature or anything, but it is fun.” “Yes” she said relieved, “it’s cheap entertainment.”
“I suppose it makes a great starting point for pleasant daydreams.”
“Yes, it does, especially when the foreplay is lacking. Given the elusiveness of the orgasm for us women, foreplay can be more important than sex itself. I guess that’s mostly when my mind tends to wander off into fantasy. But now you are always present in the fantasy. And you, do you dream of me when you daydream?” “The quick answer is yes, though in truth it is more complicated than that.”
‘Of course it is’ she thought to herself with a sigh before asking the inevitable “What do you mean?” “Well, I have no image of you to conjure, so it’s not as if there is a specific vision of you that is recurring in my fantasies. So you’re an inspiration, but I guess I’ve not given you a face, so that you are more of a presence in my fantasies than a character. You, on the other hand, know what I look like.”
“Well that’s true, but…” “Now don’t misunderstand, I think about you all the time and I think about you when I have sex with my wife. Your presence is there, you are with me, just not necessarily part of the scenarios that go through my mind in vivid detail.”
“OK. That’s not very flattering.” “Yes it is! What happens in my fantasies is not always the most graceful. It’s something I wanted to ask you. You seem to imply that you have control over your sexual fantasies, but I don’t, at least not completely. There is always a part of it that escapes me.”
“And you’d rather I not be a part of that…” “Of course! I want to have sex with you, Catherine, I want to please you above all. I don’t want to dictate what you do. I don’t even really want to imagine what you do. And yes, maybe I want to protect you from being part of an expedient way to reach an orgasm. When I think of you, I think of foreplay, delayed gratification, holding on as long as I can. I don’t think of a quickie because my wife is getting impatient.”
“So do you resent that I fantasize about you during sex with my husband?” “No, of course not” Michel answered laughing. “Things are so different in your case. It seems that you are forgetting some of the big differences between a man and a woman.”
“Which difference is this? We are both fantasizing to get some pleasure, aren’t we, I mean in this case?” “Well, yes and no: it is not the same pleasure we are seeking. Your fantasy is meant to palliate your husband’s, shall we say, weaknesses? Mine is meant to bring about orgasm, which is something that you yourself have said was too elusive to be provoked in such a way.”
“Are you trying to argue that your fantasy is baser than mine and that this is why I am not a prominent character in them?” “Well, I… hmm. Sure. Well, aren’t they?”
“No! Why would they be?”
“Because as you said for men it is often about sex pure and simple. Not so for women, or at least not so for you. I mean my fantasies don’t involved getting whisked away into a harem, nor in fact whisking anyone into my harem either.” “So what do they involve?” asked Catherine as she wondered if he realized how often she did in fact visualize herself in a harem.
“Well, look, it’s not like I’m proud of it or anything, but you have to understand, once again, this is usually a means to reach orgasm, not to increase the pleasure of the act. I mean let us be quite clear: when I am giving myself pleasure, it is you I fantasize about.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. Since we’ve met.”
And with that she understood what he meant by ‘not graceful’.
“So what you mean to say is that you fantasize about having pig-‐sex while you’re having sex with your wife, but about me when you masturbate?”
She could hear him blush as he responded.
“Well, if pig-‐sex means what I think it is supposed to mean, then… yes. Have you ever watched a porno movie with your husband?” The question surprised her but she was frank: “Yes, we’ve done that. Sometimes when we travel we find that the television in the room has interesting programming choices.”
“You mean you’ve done it more than once?” It was his turn to be surprised. “Yes,” she admitted, “though I don’t really care for it much. Well, I shouldn’t say that, exactly, it’s just a bit of a double-‐edged sword. For one, I’m never the one to propose it.“
“So which edge of the sword is the good one? And why did you agree to it the first time?” “The first time I said yes because I’d never seen a porno before. I guess the voyeur in me was intrigued. I didn’t really know what to expect and the idea of watching other people having sex did excite me somewhat. Maybe I thought it would lengthen the foreplay, which it did.”
“And the voyeur in you…?” “Was intrigued and annoyed at the same time, maybe. It’s probably very cliché, but I had no idea that you could do some of the things that they do. At the same time, I couldn’t see myself doing most of this and it all seems so contrived that it left me wondering.”
“Wondering what?” he asked.
“Well what do men get out of this?”
“Ooh! Well that wou
ld depend on the man, to begin with. I can’t pretend that I know all the answers to that one, but I do possess some of them. First and foremost, it provides some of us with the opportunity to see beautiful women showing their beauty in accessible ways without any interaction. It is the satisfaction of a very primal pleasure without interference of it into our lives. There is a universality to this that is striking. Believe it or not, many men will satisfy themselves entirely of such vicarious forms of entertainment without feeling the need for anything more. Consider that in Japan, the basic cultural tenet is that as long as a man is paying for what he is seeing and hearing and tasting and feeling (no touching allowed) then it is not a betrayal of the marital vows.”
“You mean its OK as long as it’s prostitution?” said Catherine with slightly feigned indignation. “We are not at all talking about prostitution, only about adult entertainment. About fantasy, ultimately and about how men need a tangible connection to their fantasy where women seem to seek an intangible dimension to it.”
“Now you’re losing me.” “Well, where I end up with all this is that what the man seeks is a physical manifestation in his fantasy: the act, the contact, the basic sex itself is what we seek in the fantasy. For you it is the element of narrative that is paramount in the fantasy, the dreamscape of the romantic tryst on board the pirate ship, the harem, the slopes of some Austrian ski resort. But isn’t the backdrop always something that is by construction not attainable?”
The Pleasure of M Page 13