The Pleasure of M (21 page)

“Dear
 Catherine,
 

I
 will
 now
 begin
 a
 journey
 that
 will
 take
 us
 through
 the
 sequence
 of
 events
 that
 lead
 
to
  my
 
  first
  orgasm.
  As
  I
  have
  told
  you
  before,
  I
  think
  that
  if
  you
  know
  what
  an
 
orgasm
 feels
 like
 for
 a
 man
 (and
 I
 have
 tried
 to
 give
 you
 some
 insight
 into
 that)
 and
 
also
 know
 what
 the
 first
 orgasm
 of
 a
 man
 can
 be
 like,
 you
 can
 use
 your
 knowledge
 of
 
the
  human
  experience
  and
  human
  condition
  to
  extrapolate
  pretty
  much
  into
  any
 
man’s
 inner
 workings
 when
 it
 comes
 to
 sex.
 I
 realize
 that
 this
 is
 a
 lofty
 claim
 and
 one
 
that
 needs
 some
 defense
 before
 it
 can
 be
 undertaken
 (by
 the
 way,
 I
 realize
 also
 that
 I
 
am
 writing
 like
 some
 pedantic
 18
^th
 century
 twerp,
 but
 I
 can’t
 help
 it).
 My
 claim
 can
 
only
 hold
 I
 f
 the
 experience
 described
 is
 typical,
 and
 there
 is
 a
 bit
 of
 a
 rub
 there:
 how
 
could
 I
 possibly
 claim
 that
 my
 experience
 was
 typical?
 

Well,
 to
 start
 with,
 I
 think
 that
 you
 know
 me
 well
 enough
 to
 know
 that
 I
 would
 be
 
happy
 to
 claim
 otherwise
 and
 to
 assert
 that
 my
 experiences
 were
 quite
 unique
 and
 
very
  much
  out
  of
  the
  ordinary.
  But
  in
  all
  honesty,
  a
  review
  of
  the
  events
  I
  will
 
describe
 revealed
 to
 me
 that
 there
 was
 not
 much
 that
 could
 be
 thought
 of
 as
 atypical
 
(with
 one
 notable
 exception
 that
 I
 will
 make
 clear
 as
 needed).
 I’ll
 also
 point
 out
 that
 
part
 of
 my
 experiences
 were
 shared,
 meaning
 that
 at
 least
 some
 others
 had
 the
 same
 
start
  as
  me.
  Finally,
  my
  experiences
  were
  unencumbered,
  and
  while
  that
  might
  be
 
atypical,
 I
 believe
 that
 most
 men
 have
 relatively
 unencumbered
 awakenings,
 at
 least
 
in
 our
 cultures…
 

With
 this
 abomination
 of
 a
 preamble
 made
 (“Michel
 you
 think
 too
 much”
 I
 hear
 you
 
say,
 yes,
 I
 know
 dearest…)
 let
 me
 take
 you
 to
 a
 long
 ago
 Normandy…
 

I
  was
  nine
  years
  old
  when
  this
  happened.
  It
  was
  in
  the
  summer,
  and
  I
  was
  out
 
camping
  for
  a
  week
  with
  my
  cub
  scout
  den
  (this
  is
  the
  French
  scouts,
  mind
  you,
  a
 
catholic
  outfit
  I’ll
  have
  you
  note
  in
  passing,
  where
  I
  got
  most
  of
  my
  education
  on
 
Catholicism).
  This
  is
  the
  only
  event
  in
  the
  year
  that
  has
  us
  out
  camping
  for
  more
 
than
 one
 night,
 and
 so
 the
 tent
 sleeping
 arrangements
 as
 you
 can
 imagine
 were
 of
 
paramount
 importance.
 I
 was
 sharing
 the
 tent
 with
 three
 very
 good
 pals.
 Every
 day,
 
we
  had
  an
  hour
  of
  quiet
  time
  after
  the
  meal,
  in
  the
  tent.
  Many
  napped
  but
  most
 
talked,
 as
 did
 my
 cohorts
 and
 I.
 One
 afternoon,
 the
 topic
 of
 girls
 was
 turned
 to
 by
 my
 
friend
  Pascal.
  He
  was
  very
  mature,
  perhaps
  in
  part
  because
  his
  parents
  were
 
divorced
  and
  he
  lived
  with
  his
  single
  mother,
  still
  a
  bit
  of
  a
  novelty
  back
  then.
  He
 
spoke
 of
 naked
 women,
 as
 I
 recall,
 and
 exotic
 dances
 and
 veils.
 We
 were
 squirming
 
in
 our
 sleeping
 bags,
 and
 Laurent,
 another
 friend,
 asked
 us
 all
 if
 we
 had
 a
 hard-‐on.
 I
 
did,
  without
  being
  aware
  of
  it.
  He
  was
  asked
  to
  explain
  himself
  and
  did
  so
  rather
 
eloquently,
 telling
 us
 what
 it
 was,
 how
 it
 came
 about
 and
 that
 it
 was
 a
 reflex
 reaction
 
and
 quite
 natural.
 We
 were
 edified.
 A
 bond
 of
 fraternity
 was
 created
 in
 that
 moment
 
that
  would
  soon
  vanish
  in
  the
  long
  summer
  to
  come,
  but
  that
  strengthened
  our
 
maleness
  into
  consciousness,
  honing
  it
  to
  a
  new
  level
  of
  perception.
  For
  the
  first
 
time
  in
  our
  lives,
  we
  were
  presented
  with
  a
  firm
  physical
  understanding
  of
  what
 
girls
 were
 about
 and
 what
 their
 true
 meaning
 to
 us
 would
 eventually
 be…
 

Yours,
 
 
Michel”
 

Catherine
 found
 the
 account
 both
 charming
 and
 fascinating,
 though
 it
 raised
 many
 
questions
 in
 her
 mind,
 a
 thirst
 for
 details
 never
 easily
 quenched
 in
 her.
 When
 they
 
next
 spoke,
 she
 jumped
 on
 the
 topic.
 

“You
 were
 right
 about
 your
 introduction,
 it
 was
 quite
 boring”
 she
 chided
 “but
 when
 I
 
was
 done,
 I
 had
 to
 reread
 it
 and
 I
 think
 I
 got
 what
 you
 were
 trying
 to
 say,
 but
 you
 do
 
think
 too
 much.”
 
“I
  know,
  but
  somehow
  some
  of
  this
  seems
  like
  such
  a
  tall
  order.
  I
  am
  trying
  to
 
describe
  what
  a
  man
  feels
  or
  can
  feel,
  so
  I’m
  trying
  to
  not
  be
  in
  the
  way
  of
  the
 
description
 too
 much.”
 

“But
 that
 is
 a
 bit
 ridiculous
 in
 that
 you
 are
 just
 describing
 yourself.”
 

 

“Well,
 yes,
 but
 that’s
 why
 I
 try
 to
 focus
 on
 the
 experience
 rather
 than
 just
 me.
 In
 this
 
case
 it’s
 easier
 because
 I
 was
 not
 alone.”
 

“So
 did
 you
 play
 with
 each
 other?”
 
“Ah,
 good
 question,
 but
 no.”
 
“With
 yourselves?”
 

“Nope,
 not
 that
 either,
 at
 least
 not
 me.
 It
 was
 the
 mid-‐day
 rest
 time,
 and
 we
 were
 in
 
our
 tent
 but
 we
 were
 quite
 fully
 clothed
 and
 there
 was
 no
 thought
 of
 anything
 other
 
than
 the
 immediate
 moment
 of
 discovery
 for
 me.
 I
 think
 that
 part
 of
 the
 fascination
 
was
 this
 new
 phenomenon
 of
 something
 happening
 to
 me
 that
 I
 did
 not
 control
 and
 
yet
  was
  incontrovertibly
  caused
  by
  me.
  I
  knew
  that
  the
  arousal
  was
  mine
  and
 
suddenly
 I
 discovered
 that
 the
 erection
 was
 mine
 as
 well
 when
 I
 had
 not
 felt
 it.”
 

“You
 hadn’t
 felt
 it?”
 

“You
 know,
 even
 as
 an
 adult
 it
 is
 not
 uncommon
 for
 a
 man
 to
 suddenly
 realize
 that
 
he
  is
  erect.
  You
  can
  get
  there
  without
  realizing
  it,
  or
  at
  least
  a
  chunk
  of
  the
  way
 
there.“
 

“Ah,
 yes,
 your
 famous
 duality
 of
 the
 penis.”
 
“Well,
 yes.”
 
“There
 is
 something
 very
 cute,
 very
 innocent
 about
 this
 story.”
 

“Because
 we
 were,
 both
 cute
 and
 innocent.
 And
 because
 in
 a
 way,
 I
 was
 very
 lucky.
 
That
  was
  a
  very
  sweet
  introduction
  to
  the
  topic
  of
  sex.
  Laurent
  had
  received
  a
 
thorough
  education
  by
  that
  time
  from
  his
  hippie
  parents
  who
  believed
  in
  full
 
disclosure
  and
  sex-‐ed.
  Pascal
  had
  seen
  a
  bunch
  of
  boyfriends
  come
  and
  go
  in
  his
 
mother’s
  life
  and
  could
  hear
  way
  too
  much
  through
  the
  paper-‐thin
  walls
  of
  the
 
subsidized
  housing
  they
  lived
  in.
  Fabrice,
  well,
  Fabrice
  had
  a
  different
  revelation
 
that
 day,
 I
 guess.
 It
 turns
 out
 that
 he
 way
 gay.
 What
 really
 turned
 him
 on
 was
 the
 fact
 
that
 we
 were
 turned
 on.”
 

“How
 do
 you
 know
 that?”
 

“Because
 he
 told
 me
 that,
 a
 few
 years
 later.
 Well,
 we
 weren’t
 talking
 about
 that
 day
 
in
  particular,
  but
  he
  told
  me
  that
  by
  the
  time
  the
  year
  was
  over
  and
  we
  went
  to
 
summer
  camp
  for
  a
  year,
  he
  had
  a
  crush
  on
  Laurent
  and
  that
  was
  the
  main
  if
  not
 
only
 reason
 he
 was
 still
 with
 the
 cub-‐scout
 den.
 So
 now,
 I’m
 realizing
 what
 that
 little
 
event
  must
  have
  meant
  for
  him.
  But
  what
  about
  you,
  what
  were
  your
  defining
 
moments?”
 

“That
 was
 a
 defining
 moment
 for
 you?”
 

 

“Yes,
 I
 think
 so.
 Very
 much.”
 

 

“Why?
  I
  mean
  you
  obviously
  remember
  it
  quite
  vividly,
  but
  then
  that’s
  how
  your
 
memory
 works.
 Was
 it
 defining
 because
 it
 was
 with
 friends?”
 

“No,
 I
 don’t
 think
 so,
 no.
 I
 think
 it’s
 more
 about
 the
 comfort
 of
 the
 moment.
 There
 
was
 no
 taboo,
 just
 pleasure,
 the
 joy
 of
 discovery,
 of
 self-‐discovery.
 And
 no
 doubt,
 no
 
shadow.
  It
  was
  a
  private
  moment,
  one
  that
  I
  don’t
  think
  I’ve
  ever
  shared
  before,
 
though
  it’s
  a
  very
  pleasant
  memory.
  It
  is
  defining
  because
  it
  defined
  so
  much.
  It
 
would
  be
  years
  before
  I
  could
  rationally
  think
  about
  sex.
  Until
  then,
  so
  much
  was
 
based
 on
 this
 initial
 perception.”
 

“No
 taboo.”
 
“Right,
 and
 no
 shame,
 either.”
 
“Yes,
 not
 like
 me.”
 
“Meaning?”
 
“Well,
 I’ll
 have
 to
 think
 about
 it
 a
 little.
 I’ll
 send
 it
 to
 you.”
 
The
 email
 came
 soon
 enough,
 just
 a
 few
 lines,
 powerfully
 evocative.
 
“Dear
 Michel,
 

I
 have
 finished
 the
 little
 assignment
 of
 memory
 that
 I
 gave
 myself
 and
 give
 you
 an
 
early
 story.
 I
 remember
 this
 very
 vividly
 (and
 have
 for
 many
 years).
 I
 am
 in
 Study
 
Hall
  which
  interestingly
  enough,
  is
  also
  the
  room
  where
  I
  have
  my
  French
  class
 
earlier
 in
 the
 day.
 I
 am
 dressed
 in
 my
 blazer,
 white
 button-‐down
 blouse,
 knee
 socks
 
and
 pleated
 skirt
 (which
 even
 I
 -‐
 valedictorian
 of
 my
 class
 -‐
 have
 rolled
 up
 several
 
times
 at
 the
 waistband
 to
 show
 a
 better
 view
 of
 my
 shapely
 legs).
 I
 get
 up
 from
 my
 
desk
 to
 ask
 the
 teacher
 a
 question
 about
 my
 homework
 (yes,
 I
 was
 the
 student
 who
 
actually
 did
 homework
 in
 study
 hall).
 As
 I
 walk
 up
 the
 aisle
 to
 the
 front
 of
 the
 room,
 
I
  feel
  a
  slow
  seeping
  of
  hot
  fluid
  from
  my
  vagina
  and
  I
  am
  embarrassed
  by
  this
  as
 
well
 as
 by
 the
 sounds
 that
 accompany
 this
 wetness.
 Surely
 everyone
 I
 pass
 must
 be
 
able
 to
 hear
 this.
 My
 panties
 are
 damp
 against
 my
 skin.
 Why
 is
 this
 happening
 and
 
what
 can
 I
 do
 to
 stop
 it?