The Pleasure of M (7 page)

Ten
 days...
 a
 hundred
 years
 of
 solitude.
 Ten
 days
 to
 be
 measured
 in
 months.
 But
 of
 
course
  nothing
  compared
  to
  how
  long
  it
  took
  for
  us
  to
  find
  each
  other.
  We
  shall
 
speak
 in
 a
 few
 minutes
 (I
 will
 call
 you),
 but
 since
 you
 will
 be
 rereading
 this
 message
 
thereafter,
 these
 words
 will
 be
 my
 last
 before
 you
 are
 temporarily
 whisked
 away
 to
 
distant
  climes.
  I
  would
  leave
  you
  with
  a
  series
  of
  sketches
  of
  stories
  to
  come.
  A
 
sampler
 if
 you
 will.
 You
 see,
 ours
 is
 not
 a
 linear
 encounter.
 The
 very
 way
 in
 which
 
we
  communicate
  fragments
  time
  to
  be
  rearranged
  as
  in
  a
  kaleidoscope,
  and
  from
 
our
 encounter
 there
 are
 many
 paths
 that
 you
 can
 follow
 to
 tomorrow,
 depending
 on
 
which
  e-‐mails
  you
  reread,
  which
  stories,
  in
  which
  sequence...
  So
  it
  is
  also
  for
  me
 
looking
  forward.
  There
  many
  stories
  to
  be
  told,
  some
  which
  cannot
  follow
  each
 
other,
  some
  that
  can
  repeat
  at
  different
  times.
  Some
  begin
  now,
  most
  later,
  and
 
some,
 of
 course,
 have
 already
 begun.
 Here
 then
 are
 some
 fragments
 of
 narratives
 to
 
come,
 pieces
 from
 different
 puzzles
 put
 together
 to
 form
 a
 different
 kind
 of
 image...
 

...
 there
 are
 few
 people
 in
 the
 theatre
 and
 of
 course
 none
 in
 the
 second
 row
 where
 
we
 sit.
 As
 the
 plot
 of
 the
 'chick-‐flick'
 takes
 off
 in
 earnest,
 I
 suddenly
 plunge
 into
 the
 
space
 between
 your
 seat
 and
 the
 back
 of
 the
 seat
 in
 front
 of
 it.
 I
 reach
 under
 your
 
skirt
 and
 pull
 down
 your
 panties.
 Pretty
 soon
 you
 understand
 that
 the
 leather
 glove
 
I
  handed
  you
  earlier
  is
  simply
  something
  to
  bite
  on
  and
  stifle
  the
  sound,
  a
  small
 
courtesy
 to
 the
 other
 moviegoers.
 Hugh
 Grant
 is
 being
 witty
 on
 screen,
 and
 so
 am
 I,
 
between
 your
 legs...
 

...
 late
 evening,
 returning
 to
 our
 room
 in
 the
 hotel
 after
 a
 nice
 dinner,
 but
 just
 before
 
the
 elevator
 reaches
 our
 floor
 I
 hit
 the
 'stop'
 switch
 and
 the
 cabin
 halts
 just
 before
 
the
 doors
 were
 to
 open.
 Below
 us
 the
 nearly
 empty
 mezzanine
 faintly
 resonates
 of
 
the
 music
 of
 the
 lounge
 piano
 next
 to
 the
 bar,
 in
 the
 distance
 the
 faint
 lights
 of
 other
 
elevators
 lazily
 climbing
 up
 and
 down
 the
 walls
 of
 the
 indoor
 courtyard
 leading
 to
 
the
 upper
 floors.
 Safely
 suspended
 in
 the
 air,
 I
 push
 you
 against
 the
 glass,
 lift
 your
 
skirt
 
 and
 take
 you
 from
 behind,
 unbeknownst
 to
 the
 people
 far
 below...
 

...
  ten
  short
  contacts
  with
  your
  skin,
  just
  strategically
  placed.
  The
  point
  of
  the
 
blindfold
  is
  to
  increase
  the
  intensity
  of
  the
  sensations
  by
  making
  them
 
unpredictable.
 The
 goal
 is
 to
 see
 how
 still
 you
 stay
 throughout
 the
 exercise...
 

...
  in
  a
  few
  minutes,
  it
  will
  suddenly
  get
  a
  little
  cooler
  as
  it
  always
  does
  right
  after
 
sundown,
 and
 I
 will
 put
 my
 jacket
 on
 your
 shoulders
 as
 we
 head
 back,
 but
 for
 now
 
you
 seem
 content
 with
 the
 warmth
 of
 my
 arms
 as
 we
 watch
 the
 setting
 sun
 over
 the
 
Ocean...
 

...
 the
 trick
 is
 timing:
 getting
 past
 the
 sales
 clerk
 when
 she
 is
 busy
 so
 that
 she
 doesn't
 
notice
  that
  you
  are
  entering
  the
  cabin
  where
  I
  already
  am.
  After
  that,
  everyone
 
expects
 you
 to
 undress
 and
 to
 twist
 around
 in
 a
 tight
 space,
 so
 as
 long
 as
 we
 keep
 
the
  volume
  low...
  and
  if
  you
  let
  out
  a
  yelp,
  I'll
  just
  say
  something
  nasty
  like
  "I
  told
 
you
 to
 try
 a
 size
 10!"
 and
 wait
 to
 hear
 the
 other
 customers
 chuckle...
 

...
 it
 is
 one
 of
 the
 few
 spots
 of
 shade
 on
 the
 trail,
 which
 in
 this
 heat
 is
 a
 blessing.
 We
 
sit
  in
  the
  dirt
  for
  a
  couple
  of
  minutes,
  talking,
  just
  holding
  hands.
  The
  scenery
  is
 
amazing
  and
  known
  of
  so
  few
  of
  the
  millions
  who
  live
  so
  close
  to
  it.
  Silence
 
overtakes
 us
 as
 we
 stare
 at
 a
 distant
 pair
 of
 hawks
 gliding
 their
 way
 high
 above
 the
 
valley
 floor
 and
 our
 smiles
 say
 more
 than
 our
 words
 ever
 could...
 

 
But
  it
  is
  late
  and
  I
  must
  bring
  this
  reverie
  to
  a
  close.
  I
  hope
  that
  these
  'six
  easy
 
pieces'
  will
  be
  enough
  to
  last
  you
  for
  a
  few
  days.
  It
  is
  mostly
  when
  I
  take
  a
  brake
 
during
 the
 day
 that
 I
 find
 myself
 thinking
 of
 you,
 and
 often
 I
 feel
 a
 sudden
 pulse
 in
 
my
 phallus
 which
 must
 be
 contained,
 and
 I
 feel
 good.
 

Yours,
 
Michel”
 

She
 brought
 a
 printout
 of
 the
 email
 with
 her
 on
 vacation
 and
 secretly
 reread
 it
 every
 
day,
 wondering
 what
 would
 await
 her
 upon
 return,
 already
 beginning
 to
 flesh
 out
 in
 
her
 mind
 some
 of
 the
 places
 and
 scenes
 he
 had
 sketched.
 The
 only
 thing
 she
 knew
 to
 
expect
 was
 surprise
 and
 delight.
 

“So
 we
 walk
 over
 to
 the
 main
 drag
 in
 town
 for
 a
 bite
 to
 eat
 (I
 mean
 besides
 that
 and
 
sex,
 what
 is
 there
 for
 us
 to
 do,
 really?
 Oh
 yeah,
 well,
 sleep
 and
 talk)
 and
 there
 are
 a
 
few
  of
  those
  large
  clothes
  stores,
  the
  bohemian
  bourgeois
  post-‐Gap
  chain
  retailers
 
that
 call
 themselves
 outfitters
 or
 such.
 I
 pull
 
 you
 into
 one
 of
 those
 stores
 and
 as
 we
 
appear
 to
 peruse
 the
 meager
 collection
 of
 perfumes
 (you
 know,
 I’m
 ready
 to
 bet
 that
 
nº5
 would
 be
 great
 on
 you…),
 I
 give
 you
 a
 few
 quick
 instructions
 on
 what
 to
 do
 next.
 
We
 both
 go
 to
 our
 proper
 sections
 of
 the
 store
 and
 grab
 a
 couple
 of
 items,
 then
 head
 
to
 the
 dressing
 rooms.
 As
 I
 have
 explained
 to
 you
 the
 trick
 is
 timing:
 getting
 past
 the
 
sales
  clerk
  when
  she
  is
  busy
  so
  that
  she
  doesn't
  notice
  that
  you
  are
  entering
  the
 
cabin
 where
 I
 already
 am.
 After
 that,
 everyone
 expects
 you
 to
 undress
 and
 to
 twist
 
around
 in
 a
 tight
 space,
 so
 as
 long
 as
 we
 keep
 the
 volume
 low...
 and
 if
 you
 let
 out
 a
 
yelp,
 I'll
 just
 say
 something
 nasty
 like
 "I
 told
 you
 to
 try
 a
 size
 10!"
 and
 wait
 to
 hear
 
the
 other
 customers
 chuckle.
 You
 take
 off
 your
 blouse
 and
 quickly
 go
 down
 on
 me.
 A
 
few
  quick
  motions
  and
  I
  am
  lubed
  up
  enough.
  You
  get
  up,
  turn
  around
  and
  brace
 
yourself
 against
 the
 cabin
 wall.
 I
 hastily
 pull
 up
 your
 skirt,
 lest
 your
 saliva
 dry,
 and
 
unceremoniously
  pole
  my
  phallus
  into
  your
  quite
  wet
  vagina.
  One
  hand
  on
  your
 
shoulder,
 I
 move
 in
 you
 at
 the
 same
 rhythm
 my
 heart
 is
 racing,
 my
 other
 hand
 stuck
 
between
 us
 to
 dampen
 the
 sound.
 Soon
 enough
 my
 seed
 pour
 into
 you
 as
 I
 squeeze
 
your
 breasts
 in
 my
 shaking
 hands.
 I
 clench
 my
 teeth
 to
 deprive
 my
 body
 of
 the
 true
 
glory
 of
 my
 pleasure,
 thus
 minimizing
 the
 noise
 and
 my
 recovery
 time.
 
 
A
 fleeting
 moment
 
 
I
 take
 you,
 close
 to
 others
 
 
Yet
 they
 do
 not
 know…
 
Yours
 truly,
 

She
  told
  him
  of
  her
  strong
  response
  to
  the
  sense
  of
  place
  that
  he
  instilled
  in
  his
 
narratives
 and
 it
 made
 him
 blush.
 He
 told
 her
 that
 whenever
 he
 imagined
 the
 two
 of
 
them
 together,
 it
 simply
 emerged
 as
 a
 necessity
 for
 him
 to
 describe
 where
 they
 were
 
because
 of
 how
 palpable
 it
 always
 felt,
 almost
 to
 the
 point
 of
 distraction.
 

“Dearest
 Catherine,
 
it's
 funny
 the
 way
 the
 mind
 works
 (well
 mine
 at
 least...).
 I
 find
 myself
 right
 now,
 as
 
has
  happened
  before,
  struggling
  to
  figure
  out
  where
  something
  happens.
  We
  are
 
next
 to
 each
 other,
 holding
 hands,
 fingers
 interlocked.
 The
 only
 indications
 I
 have
 of
 
place
  are
  that
  we
  are
  next
  to
  a
  lake,
  perhaps
  overlooking
  it
  from
  a
  bluff
 
(Switzerland?).
  We
  are
  leaning
  forward
  against
  a
  railing,
  a
  wooden
  balustrade
 
maybe
 (Spain?).
 It
 is
 dusk
 and
 the
 air
 is
 cooling
 off
 but
 still
 quite
 warm,
 a
 summer
 
evening
  no
  doubt.
  I
  slide
  behind
  you,
  hands
  crossing
  on
  your
  belly,
  chin
  on
  your
 
shoulder
 holding
 you
 tight
 for
 a
 minute.
 You
 realize
 suddenly
 that
 the
 touch
 of
 my
 
fingers
 feels
 so
 immediate
 because
 it
 is
 actually
 against
 you
 skin:
 my
 hand
 has
 made
 
its
 way
 inside
 your
 shirt.
 My
 fingers
 barely
 brush
 against
 your
 skin
 in
 unpredictable
 
motions
  like
  ancient
  patterns
  on
  your
  skin,
  gliding
  their
  way
  between
  fabric
  and
 
skin,
 covering
 the
 relief
 and
 curves
 of
 the
 entire
 surface
 of
 your
 left
 side.
 My
 hand
 is
 
warm
 and
 its
 touch
 so
 familiar
 to
 you.
 In
 a
 final
 motion,
 my
 had
 settles
 on
 your
 belly
 
for
 a
 minute,
 flat
 above
 your
 navel.
 The
 hand
 leaves,
 gently
 refastening
 what
 buttons
 
it
  undid
  to
  come
  there,
  and
  resumes
  its
  conversation
  with
  your
  hand
  and
  fingers.
 
But...
 where
 is
 this
 place?