The Pleasure of M (19 page)

But
 ‘tis
 late,
 these
 few
 lines
 have
 taken
 longer
 to
 write
 than
 I
 expected
 and
 I
 must
 do
 
something
 about
 that
 bulge
 in
 my
 pants
 before
 I
 go
 to
 bed,
 I'm
 afraid.
 

Good
 morning
 then,
 dearest,
 and
 know
 that
 I
 have
 dreamt
 of
 you
 this
 night.
 
Yours
 always,
 
Michel”
 

The
  masturbation
  that
  followed
  brought
  an
  intense
  orgasm
  to
  Michel,
  one
  that
 
required
 fairly
 little
 work
 to
 achieve,
 one
 that
 involved
 not
 just
 a
 release
 of
 semen
 
and
 pleasure
 but
 also
 a
 release
 of
 stress.
 The
 malaise
 that
 had
 evidently
 just
 ended
 
had
  brought
  a
  number
  of
  aspects
  of
  their
  relationship
  to
  the
  fore
  for
  Michel,
  not
 
least
  of
  which
  was
  the
  clarity
  of
  his
  feelings
  towards
  the
  at
  once
  tenuous
  and
 
precious
  nature
  of
  the
  bond
  that
  united
  them.
 
  His
  quest
  for
  pleasure,
  while
 
enduring,
  was
  not
  meant
  to
  be
  overwhelming
  and
  was
  not
  that
  of
  a
  reckless
 
hedonist
 enthralled
 into
 addiction
 by
 a
 constant
 need
 for
 pleasures
 unknown,
 quite
 
on
 the
 contrary.
 He
 believed
 in
 finding
 the
 pleasure
 within
 one’s
 life,
 and
 though
 this
 
did
 imply
 a
 willingness
 to
 be
 open
 to
 new
 ideas
 and
 relationships,
 as
 was
 evidenced
 
by
 his
 affair
 with
 Catherine,
 the
 main
 tenet
 of
 that
 approach
 was
 underscored
 by
 the
 
repugnance
 he
 felt
 toward
 the
 phrase
 “you
 don’t
 know
 what
 you
 got
 ‘til
 it’s
 gone”:
 
always
 know
 the
 good
 things
 that
 you
 have;
 never
 let
 a
 good
 moment
 go
 by
 without
 
knowing
  it
  is
  a
  good
  moment.
  But
  while
  freedom
  can
  enhance
  or
  even
  bring
 
pleasure
 it
 is
 not
 always
 congruent
 with
 the
 fostering
 of
 shared
 delights.
 And
 while
 
his
 affair
 with
 Catherine
 gave
 rise
 to
 an
 unparalleled
 sense
 of
 freedom
 to
 be
 himself
 
and
 reflect
 unfettered
 on
 life
 and
 love,
 it
 was
 only
 a
 sense
 and
 as
 in
 any
 relationship
 
between
 two
 beings
 the
 boundaries
 of
 freedom
 are
 self-‐imposed
 in
 the
 discovery
 of
 
the
 feelings
 and
 needs
 of
 the
 other.
 If
 he
 had
 imagined
 that
 a
 relationship
 based
 in
 
intimacy
  was
  congruent
  with
  total
  freedom
  it
  had
  been
  out
  of
  an
  arrogance
  for
 
which
 he
 was
 now
 sorry.
 He
 knew
 himself
 to
 be
 a
 snob
 in
 many
 ways,
 a
 by-‐product
 
of
  a
  very
  bourgeois
  education
  which
  he
  had
  at
  one
  point
  in
  his
  late
  adolescence
 
decided
 to
 embrace
 rather
 than
 combat
 but
 under
 the
 strict
 agreement
 with
 himself
 
that
 he
 should
 endeavor
 to
 never
 be
 arrogant.
 The
 repeated
 failures
 of
 this
 ongoing
 
endeavor
 served
 as
 reminders
 of
 what
 he
 felt
 was
 an
 irremediable
 inability
 to
 be
 a
 
truly
 gentle
 man.
 Catherine
 knew
 nothing
 of
 arrogance
 and
 was
 gentle
 as
 most
 men
 
cannot.
 
 

He
  called
  her
  the
  next
  evening,
  and
  they
  spoke
  for
  over
  an
  hour.
  She
  made
  him
 
smile,
 he
 made
 her
 laugh,
 and
 while
 their
 conversation
 remained
 fairly
 chaste,
 the
 
sexual
  tension
  was
  clearly
  being
  ratcheted
  up.
  She
  told
  him
  of
  her
  youthful
 
indiscretions
  and
  asked
  him
  about
  his,
  though
  he
  had
  little
  to
  answer
  to
  that.
  Her
 
own
 restricted
 upbringing
 had
 left
 her
 eager
 for
 conversation
 about
 subjects
 which
 
had
 for
 her
 always
 been
 labeled
 "forbidden":
 female
 organs
 were
 typically
 referred
 
to
  as
  "down
  below".
  She
  recalled
  for
  him
  the
  story
  of
  her
  first
  orgasm
  in
  the
  back
 
seat
 of
 a
 Mustang,
 something
 that
 remained
 for
 her
 a
 wonderful
 memory.
 

“Dearest
 Michel,
 

It
 is
 unbelievable
 how
 time
 flies
 when
 I
 am
 talking
 to
 you
 or
 reading
 your
 words.
 It
 
is
  quite
  paradoxical
  that
  the
  more
  we
  speak,
  the
  greater
  the
  desire
 I
  have
  to
 
continue
 the
 conversation.
 How
 near
 you
 felt
 to
 me.
 Almost
 as
 though
 I
 could
 reach
 
out
 and
 touch
 you.
 
 

Yours,
 
Catherine”
 
 “Dearest
 Catherine,
 

my
 desire
 for
 you
 is
 long
 lasting
 and
 deep.
 Our
 relationship
 will
 continue
 for
 many
 
months.
  Last
  night
  was
  magical.
  There
  always
  comes
  a
  point
  in
  our
  conversations
 
where
 I
 find
 myself
 awash
 in
 gentle
 warmth
 and
 all
 is
 calm
 and
 voluptuous,
 a
 luxury
 
of
 the
 senses
 and
 the
 mind.
 

It
 gives
 me
 great
 pride
 that
 you
 have
 the
 trust
 in
 me
 that
 you
 do.
 
 
Your
 humble
 servant,
 
Michel”
 

The
  mildness
  of
  the
  response
  slightly
  annoyed
  Catherine
  which
  in
  turn
  made
  her
 
realize
 that
 this
 was
 perhaps
 her
 cue.
 

 

“Dear
 Michel,
 

I
 look
 forward
 to
 arriving
 each
 day
 to
 your
 message,
 and
 I
 hope
 the
 same
 is
 true
 for
 
you.
 Our
 stories
 are
 rich
 with
 imagery
 and
 pageantry.
 I
 think
 that
 is
 one
 of
 the
 
reasons
 why
 we
 are
 so
 polite
 in
 expressing
 our
 appreciation
 to
 each
 other.
 I
 imagine
 
a
 Japanese
 tea
 ceremony
 where
 it
 is
 of
 the
 utmost
 importance
 to
 follow
 the
 rites
 and
 
rituals.
 I
 realize
 that
 you
 are
 being
 careful
 not
 to
 jostle
 me
 too
 much
 after
 my
 
moment
 of
 anxiety
 last
 week,
 but
 I
 am
 feeling
 the
 need
 to
 take
 things
 up
 a
 notch.
 
Perhaps
 it
 is
 the
 heat
 of
 the
 summer
 sun,
 combined
 with
 the
 intriguing
 topics
 of
 
conversation
 and
 the
 titillation
 of
 this
 somewhat
 forbidden
 communication.
 
Anyway,
 you
 said
 you
 would
 look
 to
 me
 for
 direction
 and
 here
 it
 is.
 I
 hope
 that
 you
 
will
 stay
 by
 my
 side
 as
 we
 continue
 to
 explore...
 

I
 take
 your
 hand
 to
 lead
 you
 in
 from
 the
 garden.
 Up
 the
 stairs
 to
 the
 deck
 and
 then
 
into
 the
 porch.
 Floor-‐to-‐ceiling
 windows
 surround
 us
 with
 some
 partial
 screening
 
from
 large
 evergreens.
 A
 fan
 circles
 lazily
 overhead.
 I
 invite
 you
 to
 be
 seated
 in
 one
 
of
 the
 cushioned
 chairs
 and
 pour
 you
 a
 glass
 of
 champagne
 from
 the
 bottle
 which
 is
 
chilling
 nearby.
 I
 ask
 if
 you
 are
 comfortable;
 I
 want
 to
 see
 to
 your
 every
 need.
 After
 
sipping
 from
 my
 own
 glass,
 I
 stand
 before
 you
 and
 drop
 my
 robe,
 revealing
 myself
 to
 
your
 hungry
 eyes.
 Silently,
 you
 gesture
 with
 your
 hand,
 signaling
 that
 I
 am
 to
 turn
 
slowly
 for
 your
 inspection.
 I
 can
 tell
 that
 you
 are
 pleased
 and
 also
 that
 you
 are
 
aroused.
 Seeing
 your
 erect
 member
 ignites
 the
 fire
 in
 my
 own
 belly.
 I
 kneel
 before
 
you
 and
 draw
 aside
 your
 own
 robe.
 Your
 phallus
 stands
 at
 attention,
 yearning
 for
 
my
 touch.
 I
 bend
 my
 head
 down
 until
 my
 lips
 hover
 near
 its
 tip.
 I
 breathe
 in
 your
 
musky
 scent.
 Your
 phallus,
 with
 a
 life
 of
 its
 own,
 extends
 a
 little
 further
 until
 it
 
brushes
 my
 lips.
 I
 open
 them
 wide
 and
 pause
 just
 a
 moment
 before
 taking
 all
 of
 your
 
length
 into
 my
 mouth.
 Your
 hand
 cradles
 and
 guides
 my
 head
 as
 I
 slowly
 begin
 
pleasuring
 you.
 

Yours,
 Catherine”
 

Reading
 such
 prose
 had
 on
 Michel
 the
 desired
 effect.
 Catherine’s
 every
 message
 was
 
a
 gift
 to
 him
 and
 he
 reveled
 in
 her
 prose,
 allowing
 her
 every
 word
 to
 resonate
 with
 
his
 deepest
 longings,
 his
 passions
 and
 indeed
 his
 very
 manhood.
 His
 only
 necessity
 
was
 to
 respond
 in
 kind.
 

“Dear
 Catherine,
 sweet
 mistress,
 

When
 we
 are
 together
 I
 am
 Man,
 
sum
 homo
,
 made
 whole
 with
 humanity,
 those
 who
 
came
 before
 and
 those
 yet
 to
 come
 and
 take
 their
 place
 where
 you
 and
 I
 once
 stood.
 
You
 are
 my
 anima
 and
 by
 permeating
 my
 soul
 you
 elevate
 it.
 

When
 I
 am
 in
 your
 hands,
 I
 am
 a
 man,
 
sum
 vir
,
 made
 one
 with
 myself,
 willing
 to
 take
 
what
 is
 mine
 to
 take
 and
 is
 willingly
 offered,
 eager
 to
 give
 what
 is
 mine
 to
 give
 and
 is
 
eagerly
 received.
 

What
 you
 and
 I
 share
 has
 been
 lived
 many
 times,
 throughout
 time
 and
 in
 all
 lands.
 
We
  are
  archetypes
  of
  something
  deeply
  human,
  you
  and
  I.
  It
  is
  like
  people
  who
 
inhabit
 the
 alcoves
 of
 that
 softly
 lit
 room
 in
 the
 Canadian
 manor,
 our
 brothers
 and
 
sisters.
 We
 are
 creatures
 who
 have
 tasted
 the
 breath
 of
 life
 that
 emanates
 when
 two
 
stories
 collide
 for
 the
 sole
 purpose
 of
 passionate
 abandon.
 

But
 now
 our
 time
 has
 come
 and
 as
 we
 step
 onto
 the
 dais
 to
 enact
 this
 passion,
 this
 
mystery,
 the
 walls
 dissolve…
 

and
  are
  replaced
  with
  the
  golden
  sunlight
  streaming
  through
  the
  windows
  of
  the
 
porch.
  The
  afternoon
  light
  is
  so
  intense
  that
  the
  trees
  can
  only
  see
  their
  own
 
reflections
  in
  the
  glass.
  You
  stand
  before
  me,
  looking
  out,
  naked.
  I
  unclasp
  the
 
necklace
  that
  you
  are
  still
  wearing.
  I
  let
  it
  descend
  on
  your
  torso
  until
  the
  jewel
 
brushes
 against
 your
 nipples,
 oh
 so
 gently.
 You
 seek
 the
 touch
 of
 my
 fingers
 on
 your
 
skin
  but
  can
  sense
  only
  the
  gold
  playing
  on
  your
  skin.
  I
  put
  the
  necklace
  aside,
 
unfasten
 your
 earrings,
 carefully,
 and
 I
 slide
 the
 bracelet
 off
 your
 wrist
 and
 take
 a
 
step
 back
 to
 look
 at
 your
 back,
 your
 buttocks,
 the
 back
 of
 your
 knees.
 It
 is
 the
 last
 
time
 I
 look
 at
 you
 without
 knowing
 what
 if
 feels
 like
 to
 touch
 you.
 Each
 step
 we
 take
 
together
  will
  be
  for
  me
  a
  new
  deflowering.
  I
  will
  take
  you
  to
  an
  Eden
  I
  have
  been
 
told
 of
 and
 you
 will
 be
 my
 guide.
 I
 break
 the
 silence
 to
 ask:
 “Are
 you
 ready?”
 and
 I
 
patiently
 wait
 for
 the
 signal.
 I
 am
 in
 no
 hurry.
 I
 have
 long
 known
 where
 I
 would
 first
 
touch
 you
 when
 the
 moment
 would
 come.
 You
 must
 be
 wondering
 where
 as
 you
 say
 
“I’m
 ready”…