La Suite (9 page)

“
So,” she
said to Jérôme later that evening, “The old girl saw everything.
And it appears that I’m a wicked girl but a very nice
lady.”

“
I couldn’t
have put it better myself,” he said. “And that explains why, as I
was coming back to our room, Little Miss Shopping was dragging her
case past reception on her own, with a face that would have curdled
fresh milk.”

“
James
wasn’t with her?”

“
No, but I
saw him a bit later. I wondered why he looked embarrassed as he
said goodbye.”

“
Well, now
you know!”

Chapter
Eleven

“Hey! Come
back!” Gabi’s voice interrupted Gaëlle’s memories. “And what do you
mean, cattiva? Who’s naughty?”

Gaëlle dragged
herself back to reality, a very pleasant reality, she had to admit,
sitting opposite a very attractive young woman who was not wearing
much in the way of clothes. She must have been muttering the
Italian to herself, she realized.

“Sorry, Gabi,”
she said. “I was just remembering something someone said, once upon
a time. I’m used to being on my own quite a lot and you’ll have to
forgive me if I sometimes talk to myself.”

“Judging by the
smile on your face, I’d bet that you were the one who was being
naughty,” Gabi commented. “I hope I’ll get to hear about it!”

“Um. We’ll see.
Patience, Gabi”

“Okay. I can
afford to wait. But don’t go thinking I’ll forget! Finish your
food.”

When the table
was looking rather empty, Gaëlle sat back and looked Gabi in the
eye.

“I have to ask,
where do we go from here, Gabi? You’ve been very good for me and
I’m enjoying the time we spend together, but what’s in it for
you?”

Gabi sat back
and dabbed her lips with the napkin.

“Right now,”
she began, “what I would really like, Gaëlle, is for you to tell me
about this fantastic sex life I’m convinced you’ve lived.”

“You do come
straight to the point, don’t you?” Gaëlle said, stunned.

“When it’s
necessary, yes. I do. I learned it from you.”

“So. What do
you want me to tell you?”

“Well…Where
shall I start? I don’t know. For example, do you have a bare
pussy?”

Gaëlle gasped,
then laughed out loud. “What a question! But no, I don’t.”

“Never tried
it? Just to see how it feels?”

“If you want to
know how it feels, you do it!” Gaëlle exclaimed. It wasn’t an
answer, but it served the purpose of side-tracking Gabi.

“I do know. I
pinched your razor while I was showering. Look.”

Gabi pushed her
chair back and lifted the tee-shirt, revealing the white knickers
borrowed from Gaëlle. She pulled them to one side. The skin was
bare and the cleft of her sex was exposed. Just above it was a
small tattoo of a butterfly.

“You see?” Gabi
said peering down. “If I let the hair grow for too long, poor
butterfly can’t breathe and isn’t happy, so I have to give him some
air from time to time.”

“You’re so
funny, Gabi. Sexy and funny and lovely. Why are you so nice to me?”
Gaëlle asked, to take her mind off the desire to reach out and
caress Gabi’s exposed sex.

“Because you
deserve it. You looked so sad that first day I saw you. I didn’t
think that was fair. And also because I like you and over the past
few years, it’s true that I’ve had fantasies about sex with you,”
Gabi said, pulling the tee-shirt back down.

“So you wanted
to meet me to see if I could be tempted?” Gaëlle couldn’t keep the
budding anger out of her tone.

“Please don’t
be cross with me,” Gabi pleaded. “I do like you and, honestly, I
have thought of you during sex. But that apart, I knew, as soon as
I saw you in the street, that I had to find out whether the
incident with the egg was a one-off, or whether that was the real
you.”

Gaëlle calmed
herself down. “Since it appears that it is the real me, you’d
better tell me what you’re looking for.”

“To know you
better, first of all. Now I know a little more, I have this itch to
hear about your sex life with Jérôme, if you’re prepared to tell.
Will you?”

Gaëlle thought
for a minute. She reflected that it might be good for her to talk
about what Jérôme and she had experienced together. The thought
that it could excite Gabi also crossed her mind. Eventually, she
nodded.

“I’ll tell you
some of it, but it will be over supper. I need a few days to work
out what I’m ready to tell, but if you’ll come round next Sunday
evening, you’ll get enough to keep you happy.”

Gabi hugged her
again, her eyes shining.

“Next Sunday. I
can’t wait!”

Chapter
Twelve

Gaëlle spent
the day in question cooking and preparing the apartment. She set
the table for two, putting out her best table linen and cutlery.
She hummed to herself as she polished the wine glasses and realised
that she hadn’t been as happy as this for an age. When the entry
phone buzzed, she hurried to open the door. Gabi was dressed quite
soberly, in a white skirt and jacket that set off her olive skin
and black hair.

“Very smart,”
Gaëlle said, looking at her appreciatively.

“You, too,”
Gabi replied, scrutinising Gaëlle’s pale green blouse and flowing
black trousers. “A bit of a change from when you came to my
apartment the first time.”

“I couldn’t let
you think I always dressed like a vagabond,” Gaëlle said. “You’ve
given me the courage to dress properly again.”

They ate almost
in silence, as usual. At last, Gabi finished her last drop of wine
and sat back.

“That was
delicious. I’m ashamed. I could never put on a meal like that. Not
only are you my work guru…or should that be guruess…but now you’re
my domestic heroine too! Do we wash the dishes before we discover
to what extent you’re my erotic idol?”

“We load the
dishwasher, that’s all.”

Five minutes
later they were sitting on the sofa side by side. “Ground rules,”
Gaëlle began. “I don’t know how my body will react to what I’m
going to tell you, but I’m fairly sure it will turn me on. So, no
touching. I’m not ready for that. Agreed?”

“I suppose so.
Can I ask questions?”

“Of course, but
if the answers don’t fit into the order of my telling, I’ll say so.
You’ll get to know, but in my own time. I’m not promising that I’ll
tell you everything, either. Clear?”

Gabi nodded and
sat back as Gaëlle began. She told it as she had lived it, the
early experiments in showing in public and the thrilling
realisation that it gave her a massive kick to look and feel sexy
in unusual public places. Much later that evening, when she
finished recounting the events at the Blue Parrot, her topless
dancing and then the night spent with Jérôme and Magda, Gabi
interrupted.

“And have you
done that with men? A three, I mean.”

“That came
later. All in good time.”

“I just wanted
to ask, because I don’t think I understand.”

“You don’t
understand what?”

“What’s the
attraction for a man in seeing his wife, or girlfriend or whatever
having sex with someone else?”

“All I can tell
you is how Jérôme explained it to me. I didn’t understand it at
first, either. Later on, I did.”

“So, what did
he say?”

“First you have
to know that for Jérôme and me, our relationship was never about
possession. We were together by choice and neither of us controlled
the other. When he and I were having sex together, we were both
deep in our own sensations. Of course, we were trying to give
pleasure to each other, but essentially, we were responsible for
our own orgasms. Clear so far?” Gaëlle asked.

When Gabi
nodded, she went on, “On those occasions when Jérôme watched me,
or, much less often, when I had the chance to watch him with
another person or other people, we were able to give all our
concentration to what we were seeing. It’s quite amazing to be a
passive observer. The person that you love with a burning passion
is in the grip of sexual ecstasy, almost totally out of control,
and you are watching that happen. You have to love them very much
to appreciate it.” Gaëlle shivered. “Just to talk about it makes me
quite faint,” she admitted. “Words can’t really do justice to the
power of the feelings at moments like those.”

“I don’t think
I’ve ever felt so strongly about anyone, certainly not as much as
that,” Gabi said. “Sex for me has been mostly fun. What you’re
describing is almost a mystical experience.”

“Mystical? Not
when it made my whole body feel so breathtakingly alive, so
erotically charged!”

“But it’s far
more than just fun, is what I meant,” Gabi said. “I can see the
goose bumps on your skin right now, so when it’s happening, it has
to be overwhelming.”

“That’s it!
It’s a tidal wave that grabs you, bowls you over and over and lets
you know just how helpless you are against it. Whoo!” Gaëlle blew
her cheeks out, hard. “Give me a moment, Gabi. I need to get my
breath back.”

Gabi glanced at
her watch.

“Maybe we
should leave it there for now, Gaëlle. I also need time to think
about what you’ve said. I’m trembling too, and I wouldn’t like to
disgrace myself by saying or doing something stupid.”

“You’re
probably right. I haven’t talked like this for a long time, and
only ever really with Jérôme.”

When Gabi had
left, Gaëlle sat for a moment on the sofa. Telling the story of her
life with Jérôme had left her feeling wrung out like an old floor
cloth. But it had been cathartic, too, she realised. She’d been
able to talk about Jérôme, and about sex, without the shattering
feeling of loss that had dominated her life for almost a year. She
went to bed, brought herself to a shuddering orgasm, and slept
soundly.

From Gaëlle’s
Journal

It was quite
exhausting telling Gabi about Jérôme and me yesterday. And I
haven’t got to some of the more extreme experiences yet. My life is
changing, or perhaps is beginning again. I find myself thinking
about sex in a way that I haven’t since I lost Jérôme. I’ve
certainly had more orgasms in the past few weeks than in the
previous year.

There seem to
be several strands in my life at present that are all leading
me—back?—towards different forms of sexual exploration. First, I
can envisage exploring the pumping thing further, with Odile and
Barbara. Somewhere among her pump attachments, there has to be the
one that Vivienne used on me, one that will make my whole sex swell
up, not just my clitoris. Jérôme said it was very erotic and I’d
like to remind myself of what he saw on that occasion. Then,
there’s Gabi and the telling. That may lead to something happening
with her. Finally, I’m tempted to see how it feels to do some of
the things I used to do with Jérôme, shave or be depilated, maybe
even show a little in public. If I’m honest, I miss my clitoris
hood ring and I might even dare to have that piercing done again.
My responsibility! Oh, I do love you, Jérôme. You taught me so
much! Without your help, I’d never be considering all this!

PS Before I set
off seriously on one or all of these paths I want my body to be as
well prepared as possible. I’m aware that I haven’t been doing as
much in the gym as I used to and at my age I can’t afford to leave
anything to nature. That part I can take care of myself. However, I
can sense that first there’s something that needs to be cleared out
of my system. I need a good, hard massage. It’s becoming urgent for
me to find someone who can do me a serious massage, not an erotic
one, just a deep, deep massage. Once that’s done, I’ll be ready to
take the next step, I know.

Chapter
Thirteen

Gaëlle
undressed and stretched out on the massage table, more in hope than
anticipation. Maybe this time, she’d find the massage she was
looking for, the one that that would leave her cleaned out, feeling
like a limp rag, but renewed. She thought of Jérôme, who had
returned many times from his masseur in an almost euphoric daze.
Quite often, she would find him asleep on the sofa shortly
afterwards. When he woke up, though, he was always keen to engage
in some sexy fun. Gaëlle smiled to herself.

“You can dig a
bit harder if you want,” Gaëlle said, a few minutes later.

“I’m using all
my strength now,” the masseuse retorted. “You’re exhausting me. You
sporty people are all the same!” Gaëlle sighed and lay back to try
and enjoy the rest of her session. This was the third masseuse she
had tried at three different beauty salons over the summer. None of
the women—girls, really—who gave massage were strong enough to give
her the feeling she wanted.

Back home, she
sat for a long time, thinking hard. Somewhere, she knew she’d seen
a piece of paper with the word Masseur and a phone number on it, in
Jérôme’s scrawl. She knew that the man, whatever his name was,
didn’t do massage for women, but she’d lose nothing by asking, if
only she could find the number. She spent hours over the following
week, tracking it down at last to where Jérôme had left it, as a
bookmark in a dictionary. It was in page M, massage to maximum, of
course. She should have guessed! Gaëlle straightened it out and
reached for the phone. A man’s voice answered.

“Brusque,” he
said.

“I beg your
pardon?”

“This is Jo
Brusque speaking.” Then silence. Gaëlle hastened to fill it, afraid
that the man would hang up.

“It’s about a
massage…”

“I don’t do
massage for women. Goodbye.” The man’s voice was firm and
final.

“Wait! Please
give me a moment.” Gaëlle said. “This is Gaëlle, Jérôme’s
wife…widow…I was wondering…”

“Jérôme’s lady?
That’s different. Come round tomorrow afternoon about five and
we’ll see what we can do for you.”