The Pleasure of M (20 page)

The
  right
  index
  and
  middle
  finger
  pressed
  together
  in
  a
 
  horizontal
  sign
  of
 
benediction,
  I
  slowly
  press
  the
  back
  of
  my
  hand
  to
  the
  curve
  at
  the
  base
  of
  your
 
spine
  where
  back
  becomes
  buttocks.
  Slowly
  stroking
  up
  and
  down
  the
  back
  of
  my
 
fingers
  espouses
  the
  contour
  of
  the
  gentle
  slopes.
  I
  let
  my
  warm
  breath
  cover
  the
 
back
  of
  your
  neck
  and
  drift
  on
  your
  shoulders.
  My
  other
  hand
  rises,
  the
  tip
  of
  my
 
fingers
 gently
 alight
 between
 your
 shoulders,
 slowly
 moving
 up
 to
 the
 base
 of
 your
 
scalp.
 I
 caress
 your
 neck
 while
 I
 let
 my
 other
 hand
 lower,
 turn
 and
 mold
 one
 cheek,
 
then
  the
  other
  and
  I
  trace
  the
  separation
  upward,
  then
  your
  spine,
  bringing
  my
 
hands
 together.
 Shoulders
 under
 my
 hands,
 I
 let
 my
 thumbs
 find
 the
 contour
 of
 your
 
shoulder
  blades
  before
  gently
  caressing
  your
  back
  with
  full
  hands
  in
  downward
 
circular
  motion.
  My
  hands
  pass
  over
  your
  hips
  and
  clasp
  for
  a
  moment
  over
  your
 
navel
 as
 I
 rest
 my
 chin
 on
 your
 shoulder.
 My
 left
 hand
 slowly
 moves
 to
 your
 right
 
breast,
 and
 my
 right
 hand
 moves
 down.
 My
 mouth
 has
 found
 its
 way
 to
 your
 earlobe,
 
which
 my
 tongue
 now
 explores.
 I
 bring
 your
 body
 to
 mine
 and
 let
 my
 phallus
 press
 
against
 your
 back
 like
 an
 obelisk
 in
 a
 bas-‐relief.
 My
 fingers
 have
 been
 navigating
 the
 
folds
  of
  flesh
  between
  your
  legs
  with
  abandon,
  befriending
  your
  clitoris,
  at
  times
 
pressing
 against
 the
 orifice
 with
 their
 tips,
 but
 only
 to
 gage
 the
 caper,
 to
 determine
 
how
 easily
 the
 gates
 would
 open
 under
 pressure…
 

Time
  is
  suspended
  as
  I
  wait
  for
  the
  tension
  to
  build
  in
  you,
  our
  bodies
  becoming
 
fused
 in
 an
 ancient
 dance.
 Soon
 you
 rhythmic
 motion
 is
 disrupted
 by
 the
 first
 spasm
 
and
  I
  gently
  tighten
  my
  embrace,
  enveloping
  your
  body
  in
  mine
  as
  you
  let
  the
 
orgasm
 reach
 and
 fire
 every
 synapse
 in
 your
 brain.
 When
 you
 can
 no
 longer
 stand,
 I
 
gather
  you
  up
  into
  my
  arms
  and
  take
  you
  to
  the
  couch
  and
  lay
  there
  with
  you
  in
 
silence
 for
 a
 moment.
 

Yours
 always,
 
Michel”
 
“Dearest
 Michel,
 
 

I
 was
 touched
 to
 see
 your
 message
 this
 morning
 and
 to
 be
 reassured
 that
 I
 remain
 
on
 and
 in
 your
 mind.
 

I
  find
  myself
  spending
  much
 of
  my
  day
 fixating
  on
  prior
  phone
  conversations
 and
 
email
  messages.
  I
  love
  to
  go
  back
  into
  my
  secret
  folder
  and
  re-‐read
  some
  of
  our
 
missives.
  Very
  potent
  material,
  indeed
  -‐
  mine
  as
  well
  as
  yours.
  Here
  is
  a
  short
 
excerpt
 from
 my
 day.
 

I
  see
  a
  therapeutic
  massage
  therapist
  about
  every
  3
  weeks
  and
  today
  was
  the
 
appointed
  day.
  I
  am
  very
  appreciative
  of
  his
  very
  strong
  hands
  -‐
  strength
  that
 
females
 just
 do
 not
 possess.
 Today
 I
 am
 wearing
 a
 calf-‐length
 skirt
 with
 high
 slit
 in
 
the
  back.
  If
  you
  were
  following
  along
  behind
  me,
  you
  would
  be
  able
  to
  catch
  a
 
glimpse
 of
 that
 area
 behind
 my
 knees
 that
 you
 seem
 so
 fond
 of.
 I
 am
 also
 wearing
 a
 
blouse
  with
  hidden
  snaps
  down
  the
  front.
  Once
  I
  am
  in
  the
  treatment
  room,
  you
 
would
  hear
  a
  series
  of
  clicks
  as
  my
  blouse
  opens
  with
  one
  swift
  tug.
  I
  proceed
  to
 
remove
 my
 skirt
 and
 then
 my
 panties.
 I
 leave
 the
 bra
 for
 last,
 remembering
 how
 you
 
spoke
  of
  that
  image
  once.
  I
  think
  about
  standing
  before
  you
  in
  that
  guise.
  I
  don't
 
believe
 I
 have
 ever
 left
 my
 bra
 for
 the
 end
 before.
 There
 is
 a
 full-‐length
 mirror
 on
 the
 
back
 of
 the
 door
 and
 I
 see
 myself
 as
 you
 would
 see
 me.
 And
 so,
 totally
 naked,
 I
 slip
 
between
 the
 sheets
 for
 this
 little
 bit
 of
 relaxation.
 

My
 silky
 skin
 beckons
 to
 you...........
 
Yours,
 Catherine”
 

Catherine
  often
  introduced
  into
  their
  exchanges
  allusions
  to
  their
  previous
 
conversations
 which
 Michel
 perceived
 as
 a
 touching
 form
 of
 attentiveness,
 a
 tender
 
and
  careful
  yet
  not
  self-‐conscious
  weaving
  of
  a
  sense
  of
  continuity
  in
  their
 
relationship,
  a
  subtle
  counterbalance
  to
  the
  ever
  changing
  nature
  of
  his
  discourse,
 
the
 ever
 morphing
 backdrop
 of
 his
 dreamscapes.
 It
 was
 in
 a
 way
 akin
 to
 the
 gentle
 
ministering
 of
 a
 female
 touch
 to
 the
 sheath
 as
 the
 sword
 within
 grows
 erect,
 a
 gentle
 
waxing
  and
  waning
  to
  encourage
  and
  grow
  the
  inexorable
  advance
  of
  their
  affair.
 
Theirs
 was
 a
 dance
 of
 the
 seven
 veils
 in
 many
 ways,
 bound
 from
 beginning
 to
 end
 in
 
an
 ancient
 choreography,
 an
 event
 out
 of
 the
 normal
 flow
 of
 time
 and
 space
 where
 
the
  object
  of
  desire
  surges
  and
  recedes
  in
  co-‐centric
  circles,
  never
  letting
  its
 
presence
  be
  ignored.
  Catherine
  had
  developed
  a
  certain
  fondness
  for
  the
  subtle
 
sound
 of
 his
 arrhythmic
 breathing
 on
 the
 phone
 whenever
 he
 was
 aroused,
 and
 she
 
would
  often
  turn
  their
  conversations
  to
  descriptions
  of
  torrid
  foreplay,
  describing
 
how
 she
 would
 touch
 him,
 please
 him,
 make
 him
 squirm
 with
 pleasure.
 This
 had
 on
 
him
  the
  desired
  effect
  and
  their
  conversations
  would
  echo
  in
  his
  mind
  and
  in
  his
 
loins
 for
 hours
 after
 they
 ended.
 

“Dear
 Catherine,
 

What
  happened
  after
  we
  hang
  up
  is
  worthy
  of
  the
  most
  wicked
  script
  by
  Charlie
 
Kaufman
 (Being
 John
 Malkovich,
 Eternal
 sunshine
 of
 the
 spotless
 mind...).
 You
 have
 
left
 us
 floating
 in
 a
 very
 vivid
 scene
 of
 fellatio.
 You
 sit
 back
 in
 a
 comfortable
 chair,
 
cradling
  your
  glass
  of
  wine
  with
  its
  few
  remaining
  sips,
  and
  begin
  picturing
  the
 
scene.
  Now
  if
  the
  phallus
  is
  a
  sword,
  it
  can
  be
  pointed
  inward
  as
  well
  as
  outward,
 
depending
 on
 circumstance,
 and
 my
 erection
 at
 that
 point
 is
 piercing
 my
 gut.
 At
 first,
 
as
 I
 feverishly
 begin
 to
 masturbate,
 I
 am
 watching
 us:
 watching
 myself
 receive
 your
 
selfless
  gift
  of
  pleasure,
  watching
  and
  becoming
  the
  me
  whose
  cock
  is
  engulfed
  in
 
your
 mouth.
 But
 then
 I
 notice
 you
 afar,
 watching
 us
 just
 as
 I
 am,
 holding
 the
 glass
 in
 
one
 hand,
 gently
 caressing
 yourself
 with
 the
 other,
 a
 Mona
 Lisa-‐like
 smile
 on
 your
 
dimly
 lit
 face.
 And
 I
 am
 transfixed;
 and
 suddenly
 I
 am
 standing
 behind
 you,
 stroking
 
myself
 feverishly.
 So
 now
 I
 am
 watching
 you
 watching
 yourself
 giving
 me
 head.
 

That
  vision
  was
  short-‐lived,
  cut
  short
  by
  the
  ejaculation
  that
  thrust
  me
  back
  into
 
your
 mouth
 for
 an
 instant
 before
 finding
 myself
 back
 in
 my
 apartment,
 quite
 alone
 
and
 yet
 somehow
 deliriously
 happy.
 

Yours,
 
Michel”
 

This
 kind
 of
 prose
 had
 on
 her
 the
 desired
 effect
 and
 his
 messages
 would
 echo
 in
 her
 
mind
 and
 in
 her
 loins
 for
 hours
 after
 she
 had
 read
 them.
 

 

“Dearest
 Michel,
 

Just
  when
  I
  think
  your
  words
  can
  take
  me
  no
  further.........it
  happens
  again.
  Your
 
words
 elicits
 vivid
 images
 in
 my
 mind
 and
 powerful
 reactions
 in
 my
 body.
 I
 was
 not
 
expecting
  a
  message
  this
  morning,
  but
  of
  course
  was
  secretly
  hoping
  for
  one,
  and
 
you
 did
 not
 disappoint
 me.
 No
 one
 has
 ever
 written
 such
 things
 to
 me
 before
 

I
  awoke
  at
  4
  am
  this
  morning
  and
  my
  first
  waking
  thought
  was
  of
  our
  last
 
conversation.
 It
 took
 some
 time
 before
 I
 could
 put
 myself
 back
 to
 sleep.
 
 

Yours
 devotedly,
 
Catherine”
 

Such
  messages
  often
  left
  Michel
  in
  a
  mixed
  state,
  joyous
  and
  perplexed.
  That
  he
 
could
 so
 freely
 evoke
 his
 innermost
 sentiments
 with
 her
 and
 have
 her
 react
 in
 such
 a
 
strong
  way
  was
  at
  once
  liberating
  and
  stunning.
  It
  reminded
  him
  of
  the
  moment
 
when
 the
 slaves
 are
 freed
 in
 Verdi’s
 Nabucco,
 blinded
 by
 the
 light,
 freed
 but
 stunned.
 
He
 and
 Catherine
 could
 speak
 of
 anything
 unencumbered.
 They
 were
 curious
 about
 
each
  other
  and
  enjoyed
  the
  satisfying
  of
  the
  other’s
  curiosity,
  a
  form
  of
 
exhibitionism
  exacerbated
  by
  the
  physical
  separation
  and
  encouraged
  by
  their
 
reciprocal
  tendency
  toward
  voyeurism,
  sexual
  surely
  but
  also
  emotional.
  They
 
shared
 stories
 of
 their
 present
 and
 their
 past,
 as
 teenagers
 would
 with
 this
 notable
 
difference
  that
  they
  had
  many
  more
  stories
  to
  tell
  and
  a
  far
  larger
  vocabulary
  to
 
recount
  them
  with,
  but
  with
  the
  same
  shedding
  of
  self-‐consciousness
  that
  only
 
bonded
  trust
  can
  provide,
  the
  confidence
  born
  of
  powerful
  shared
  secrets.
  In
 
response
 to
 Catherine‘s
 questions
 and
 his
 own
 growing
 interesting
 in
 remembering
 
these
 events,
 Michel
 tried
 to
 track
 the
 moments
 in
 his
 memory
 that
 added
 up
 to
 his
 
sexual
  awakening.
  What
  stunned
  him
  at
  first
  is
  how
  vivid
  these
  moments
  were,
 
years
  after
  they
  occurred.
  Of
  course,
  considering
  that
  the
  absence
  of
  a
  context
  in
 
which
  to
  evaluate
  them
  defined
  them
  to
  a
  large
  extent,
  they
  were
  seared
  into
 
memory
 quite
 naturally
 by
 their
 novelty
 and
 power,
 so
 that
 their
 clarity
 was
 not
 so
 
much
  a
  surprise,
  but
  rather
  the
  clarity
  of
  the
  feelings
  that
  he
  had
  experienced
 
stunned
 him
 in
 that
 their
 evocation
 in
 a
 semi-‐meditative
 trance
 could
 allow
 him
 to
 
remember
  them
  viscerally:
  for
  a
  moment
  he
  was
  there
  again.
  The
  first
  event
 
occurred
 when
 he
 was
 eight.
 He
 debated
 for
 awhile
 whether
 or
 not
 to
 include
 it
 in
 
his
 account
 of
 first
 sexual
 pleasures,
 since
 that
 was
 the
 self
 imposed
 theme
 here.
 But
 
in
  thinking
  about
  it,
  he
  felt
  that
  there
  was
  truly
  a
  great
  importance
  in
  recounting
 
that
  narrative
  in
  its
  entirety
  because
  of
  the
  importance
  that
  he
  was
  suddenly
 
realizing
  that
  it
  must
  have.
  Indeed
  if
  the
  first
  sexual
  experiences
  of
  a
  person
  are
 
without
  context,
  they
  become
  the
  context
  for
  much
  of
  the
  experiences
  that
  follow,
 
since
  their
  apprehension
  defines
  the
  tone
  for
  those
  to
  follow.
  But
  while
  one’s
  first
 
driving
  experience,
  for
  instance,
  might
  have
  a
  bearing
  on
  how
  one
  will
  drive
  for
 
many
  years,
  the
  sexual
  gestalt
  necessarily
  has
  an
  influence
  over
  a
  much
  wider
 
palette
 of
 traits
 and
 behaviors.
 And
 if
 the
 apprenticeship
 of
 sexual
 pleasure
 defines
 a
 
person’s
 ability
 to
 give,
 receive
 and
 seek
 pleasure,
 then
 to
 understand
 a
 person
 fully
 
in
 sexual
 terms
 one
 would
 have
 to
 know
 how
 they
 first
 encountered
 sexual
 pleasure,
 
something
 of
 an
 unfolding
 that
 would
 naturally
 occur
 over
 a
 span
 of
 several
 years
 
and
  could
  only
  be
  fully
  appreciated
  and
  understood
  within
  the
  emotional
 
framework
  within
  which
  it
  had
  been
  received.
  As
  such,
  the
  first
  moment
  of
 
awareness
 that
 there
 is
 such
 a
 thing
 as
 sexual
 pleasure
 sets
 the
 path
 upon
 which
 the
 
sexual
  adventure
  will
  unfold:
  good
  or
  evil,
  natural
  or
  unnatural,
  casual
  or
  sacred,
 
mysterious
 or
 anatomical,
 guilty
 or
 open.
 And
 this
 first
 event
 at
 eight,
 innocent
 as
 it
 
was,
 contained
 so
 many
 elements
 that
 would
 have
 their
 significance
 that
 in
 the
 end
 
he
 felt
 compelled
 to
 include
 it.