by Dean, Olivia
“Honestly I think I was the one who pressed my knee against his…”
“There you go!”
“But I had been drinking!”
“One glass! Are you kidding me? You like this guy!”
“Yeah, I liked him! Until he made fun of me and gave me a reality check. Which I thank him for. I could have wasted my time on him.”
“Sometimes you really seem repressed! Even if this guy is a bit of a jerk, it wouldn’t do you any harm to get laid…” She stops herself suddenly and looks at me with a curious expression.
“Sorry, I always forget you’re American. But don’t tell me you’re a virgin?” She said the word ‘virgin’ as if she was saying ‘coprophagous’, with a mixture of surprise and a hint of disgust. I reassure her that it’s not the case.
“No, it’s just that I’m not feeling this Delmonte, let’s talk about something else.”
Luckily Mathieu arrives, which puts an end to this annoying conversation.
While Mathieu tells us about his fascinating seminar on pre-Socratic philosophy, I daydream about my sex life. No, despite how seriously I took my studies during high school, I’m not a virgin. I started getting interested in sex when I was about 17 years old. Everyone was talking about it. Some girls at school thought it was the gateway to depravation and the way to ruin your life. Others were absolutely committed to doing it before they got to college. Personally, I wasn’t sure. As I usually did, I asked my father for advice. “Sleep with a boy? Sure, of course you can, if you want to. Just make sure you use protection.”
I soon decided to find out more for myself. I told my plan to a childhood friend who agreed to experiment with me. After two attempts, one painful, the other annoying, we decided that we knew enough. Then I poured all of my passion into something I knew would be more relevant, meaning my studies. No, I’m not a virgin. But I'm not that experienced, either.
I’m not at all against the idea of 'getting laid', as Manon said, it’s just that I didn’t think the opportunity comes along every 5 minutes.
And then, I must admit that until recently, I never truly desired any man in particular. But that’s all ancient history.
I push open the heavy door of the building at 8:00 pm. No luck, Delmonte is getting into the elevator and holds the door for me. I have no choice but to join him. This space never seemed so cramped before. I stare at my feet.
“Are you still upset, Emma?”
I grumble in lieu of a response.
“You really are touchy! I’m sorry, I didn’t want to offend you, I was joking. I thought that there was something between us, but I must have been mistaken…”
The door opens, I sidle into my room after croaking out an inaudible ‘bonsoir’.
‘Something between us’? What did that mean? He must have noticed I was upset and tried to make fun of me again. Or else maybe he truly was attracted to me? In any case, he said he was sorry, at least that’s something. That means that he’s not going to throw me out onto the street. It also means that he cares about my feelings. At least, I think so. If I had the courage, I’d ask him. But that would probably give him a good opportunity to make fun of me again…Manon was right: I’m too repressed. After all, what do I have to lose if I go ask him? Would I look ridiculous? At the point where I’m at right now…I decide what I’m going to do. I’ll take a shower to get my courage up and then go knock on his door. I’m not going to beat around the bush and I’m going to ask him what’s going on between us. After all, we’re both adults.
7. Brief encounters
“Oh, Emma! I didn’t know you were planning on stopping by…”
“Yes, I kind of decided on a whim…I just wanted to be a friendly neighbor,” I say, nearly choking.
“If I had known…”
“It must be a bad time, you have guests…”
“Yes, we’re having a business meeting, sorry.”
“Oh well, maybe another…?”
He doesn’t let me finish my sentence. With a confident movement, he grabs me by the waist and holds me against him. His lips press against mine, almost brutally. I lose my bearings. While he holds me firmly against him, I feel his tongue slide into my mouth and meet my tongue. I don’t want this to ever end. His hand runs along my back, down my jeans. My entire body is alert, waiting for his next movement, his next bold move. I feel his penis through the fabric of his pants, I squeeze my muscles tighter. I’m ready for anything.
“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 sinc
e 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.