The Pleasure of M (23 page)

“Dearest
 Catherine,
 my
 soulmate,
 
The
 canonical
 term
 in
 French
 for
 soulmate
 is
 "âme
 soeur"
 which
 translates
 as
 "sister
 
soul".
 I
 prefer
 it
 slightly
 to
 the
 English
 version
 in
 that
 it
 evokes
 its
 cousin
 "kindred
 
soul"
  with
  stronger
  implications.
  In
  "âme
  soeur"
  is
  the
  lingering
  notion
  of
  two
 
sibling
 souls
 separated
 that
 have
 found
 each
 other.
 I
 find
 that
 very
 fitting
 for
 us.
 Not
 
that
  I
  would
  reject
  soulmate,
  by
  any
  means!
  But
  this
  idea
  of
  a
  separation
  that
  has
 
ended
 is
 closer
 to
 what
 I
 feel.
 Your
 love
 of
 language
 is
 but
 another
 indication
 that
 I
 
was
 made
 to
 please
 you.
 It
 seems
 that
 every
 part
 of
 me
 I
 thought
 wasted
 or
 useless
 
was
 dormant
 waiting
 for
 you
 to
 be
 awakened...
 

Your
 âme
 soeur,
 
Michel”
 

In
  his
  mind,
  they
  were
  perhaps
  more
  like
  cousins,
  come
  together
  for
  a
  summer
 
vacation
  in
  the
  country,
  for
  a
  season
  of
  discovery
  that
  neither
  expected
  full
  of
  the
 
freedom
  and
  immediacy
  of
  a
  youth
  he
  had
  somehow
  forgotten
  he
  still
  possessed.
 
They
 were
 each
 other’s
 Rosebud
 the
 mere
 thought
 of
 which
 projected
 them
 into
 a
 
distant
 place
 where
 the
 daydreams
 are
 fragrantly
 vivid
 and
 the
 air
 is
 always
 warm
 
and
 soft.
 Together
 they
 entered
 a
 distinct
 liminal
 state
 whose
 flux
 was
 soothing
 in
 
mysterious
 ways
 and
 from
 which
 they
 emerged
 more
 balanced.
 
 

Of
 the
 two
 of
 them,
 he
 was
 clearly
 the
 one
 with
 the
 more
 esoteric
 imagination,
 but
 
this
 very
 much
 appealed
 to
 her.
 She
 knew
 that
 her
 Catholic
 upbringing
 was
 in
 part
 
responsible
 for
 perhaps
 stifling
 in
 her
 that
 creative
 streak
 but
 her
 remaining
 tastes
 
were
 a
 testimony
 to
 her
 true
 leanings.
 Some
 of
 his
 writing
 resonated
 with
 her
 weeks
 
after
 she
 had
 read
 them.
 

I
 sit
 here
 still,
 daydreaming
 of
 you.
 I
 allowed
 myself
 a
 few
 moments
 for
 another
 treat
 
and
 went
 back
 and
 read
 a
 little
 of
 the
 ‘Easy
 Pieces’
 series.
 Just
 marvelous.
 Thank
 you
 
again
 for
 all
 the
 words
 you
 have
 shared
 with
 me.
 They
 never
 fail
 to
 lift
 my
 spirits.
 

Is
 it
 not
 amazing,
 that
 out
 of
 all
 the
 people
 in
 this
 world,
 we
 have
 found
 each
 other?
 
Your
 soul-‐mate,
 
Catherine”
 
 “Dear
 Catherine,
 

It
 is
 your
 gaze
 that
 turns
 me
 into
 a
 magus,
 a
 caster
 of
 ancient
 spells.
 If
 I
 were
 not
 in
 a
 
state
 of
 stupor
 following
 each
 of
 our
 conversations,
 I
 might
 be
 a
 tad
 amused
 at
 the
 
stupor
 that
 overcomes
 you
 in
 reading
 my
 prose.
 There
 is
 no
 way
 you
 could
 know
 the
 
effect
 you
 have
 on
 me.
 And
 yet
 you
 must.
 Sometimes
 I
 think
 I
 see
 you.
 Could
 it
 be?
 I
 
am
 not
 sure.
 I
 dare
 not
 dream
 of
 this.
 Or
 dare
 I,
 and
 seize
 a
 moment
 of
 bliss?
 And
 so
 
we
 are
 back
 in
 that
 sunlit
 room.
 I
 am
 still
 behind
 you,
 holding
 you
 tight,
 one
 hand
 on
 
your
 belly,
 the
 other
 firmly
 pressed
 against
 your
 breast.
 You
 have
 pleasured
 me,
 and
 
now
  I
  you,
  but
  this
  was
  just
  the
  antechamber,
  and
  the
  inner
  hall
  beckons.
  I
  wait
 
patiently
 for
 the
 tremors
 to
 subside
 and
 for
 your
 breathing
 to
 steady.
 At
 last
 I
 feel
 
you
 are
 ready
 and
 I
 slowly
 release
 my
 embrace.
 You
 position
 yourself
 to
 receive
 me
 
as
 my
 hands
 move
 to
 your
 hips.
 You
 reach
 between
 your
 legs
 and
 find
 me.
 I
 am
 hard
 
as
 rock.
 Your
 hand
 guides
 me,
 but
 I
 know
 not
 yet
 where....
 
Michel”
 

A
  caster
  of
  spells
  he
  was
  indeed,
  his
  magic
  ancient
  and
  powerful,
  redolent
  of
 
forgotten
 ages
 and
 timeless
 tomorrows.
 Even
 to
 her,
 for
 whom
 the
 supernatural
 had
 
always
  been
  confined
  to
  a
  single
  book
  whose
  soul
  allowed
  interpretation
  was
 
reinforced
 every
 seventh
 day,
 there
 came
 an
 élan
 to
 share
 the
 thought
 that
 maybe
 
there
 was
 more
 to
 them
 than
 mere
 chance:
 if
 two
 people
 have
 the
 same
 dream,
 is
 it
 
a
 dream?
 

“Dear
 Michel,
 
How
 you
 make
 me
 smile!
 Can
 you
 hear
 it
 in
 my
 voice?
 

We
  have
  barely
  scratched
  the
  surface.
  I
  am
  always
  learning
  new
  things
  from
  you.
 
For
  example,
  how
  your
  foreskin
  acts
  as
  a
  natural
  condom
  (fascinating!)
  Your
 
mention
  of
  French
  filmmakers.
  Weltanschauung.
  And
  your
  childhood
  stories
  of
 
sexual
  discovery
  which
  are
  so
  ‘foreign’
  to
  me.
  In
  browsing
  through
  some
  of
  my
 
earlier
  writing
  efforts,
  I
  found
  the
  following
  story
  which
  I
  had
  composed
  a
  few
 
weeks
 before
 we
 met.
 I
 think
 you
 will
 find
 it
 interesting:
 

I
 am
 staying
 at
 a
 friend’s
 house
 on
 the
 beach
 along
 with
 others
 whom
 I
 do
 not
 know.
 
I
 awaken
 in
 the
 morning
 and
 go
 down
 to
 the
 kitchen
 to
 make
 some
 tea.
 I
 am
 wearing
 
an
 oversized
 shirt
 and
 panties.
 A
 much
 younger
 man
 begins
 to
 enter
 the
 room
 but
 
then
  stops
  in
  the
  doorway.
  I
  look
  in
  that
  direction
  and
  feeling
  slightly
  exposed,
  I
 
return
  to
  my
  position
  in
  front
  of
  the
  sink
  without
  exchanging
  any
  words.
  The
 
stranger
  approaches
  and
  rather
  than
  passing
  me,
  stops
  when
  he
  is
  directly
 
immediately
  behind
  me.
  I
  am
  startled
  and
  slightly
  uncomfortable
  as
  I
  feel
  an
 
unmistakable
  hardness
  close
  to
  my
  buttocks.
  Before
  I
  can
  react,
  he
  moves
  on
 
through
 the
 room
 and
 out
 the
 back
 door.
 

Later
 I
 am
 seated
 alone
 in
 one
 of
 the
 local
 restaurants
 where
 I
 am
 about
 to
 order
 a
 
drink.
 The
 mystery
 man
 slips
 into
 the
 seat
 opposite
 me
 and
 asks
 if
 he
 can
 join
 me.
 
He
  begins
  his
  conversation
  by
  commenting
  on
  my
  long
  legs
  which
  he
  had
  noticed
 
earlier
 today.
 
 He
 falls
 silent
 as
 he
 slowly
 watches
 for
 my
 reaction.
 I
 squirm
 under
 
his
 gaze
 but
 am
 very
 intrigued.
 We
 sip
 our
 cocktails
 and
 from
 time
 to
 time,
 he
 drops
 
some
 hints
 as
 to
 how
 he
 might
 like
 to
 spend
 the
 afternoon.
 -‐
 

Michel,
 have
 I
 always
 been
 searching
 for
 you?
 
Your,
 
Catherine”
 

By
 weaving
 this
 new
 thread
 into
 the
 tapestry
 of
 their
 affair,
 she
 was
 tapping
 into
 a
 
well
 of
 feelings
 bordering
 on
 mystical
 beliefs
 that
 few
 people
 around
 Michel
 knew
 
of.
 Perhaps
 the
 fairest
 way
 to
 phrase
 it
 would
 be
 to
 say
 that
 he
 believed
 in
 patterns.
 
He
 had
 long
 struggled
 as
 a
 youth
 to
 decide
 whether
 to
 embrace
 science
 or
 the
 arts
 
and
  had
  in
  fact
  attempted
  to
  study
  physics
  and
  mathematics
  with
  paltry
  results
 
which
 landed
 him
 eventually
 in
 the
 Paris
 conservatory
 instead
 of
 the
 Grandes
 Écoles
 
he
 (and
 his
 family)
 had
 once
 aspired
 to.
 He’d
 learned
 enough
 about
 science
 to
 know
 
that
  what
  fascinated
  him
  were
  things
  such
  as
  chaos
  theory,
  fluid
  dynamics
  and
 
information
  theory,
  and
  that
  the
  common
  denominator
  to
  his
  fascination
  was
 
patterns:
 their
 emergence,
 recognition
 and
 taxonomy.
 His
 approach
 to
 music
 and
 his
 
eclectic
  influences
  were
  not
  dissimilar
  in
  origin.
  He
  gave
  great
  importance
  to
 
wisdom
  of
  the
  ages
  and
  its
  dictums
  such
  as
  the
  notion
  that
  ignorance
  of
  the
  past
 
leads
 to
 needles
 repetition
 of
 mistakes.
 He
 believed
 that
 there
 are
 tales
 that
 must
 be
 
told
 at
 every
 generation
 lest
 they
 be
 forgotten
 and
 relived
 in
 full
 tragedy,
 for
 it
 is
 the
 
tales
  that
  are
  the
  pattern
  of
  history
  and
  every
  generation
  brings
  to
  the
  tale
  those
 
who
 will
 play
 its
 parts.
 Every
 age
 has
 its
 kings
 and
 its
 priests,
 its
 poets
 and
 its
 lovers.
 

For
 years
 I
 had
 been
 groomed
 for
 your
 arrival,
 and
 in
 dream
 you
 had
 been
 told
 of
 
my
  coming.
  Being
  who
  I
  am,
  of
  course,
  the
  question
  of
  'why'
  has
  no
  meaning
  and
 
therefore
 I
 am
 not
 burdened.
 For
 an
 existentialist,
 there
 is
 no
 intrinsic
 meaning
 to
 
such
  coincidences
  other
  than
  the
  one
  we
  assign
  to
  them.
  That
  leaves
  me
  with
  the
 
sole
 obligation
 of
 making
 you
 a
 happier
 person
 as
 a
 just
 payment
 for
 making
 me
 a
 
better
  human
  being.
  While
  I
  am
  content
  to
  not
  create
  an
  external
  'why'
  for
  our
 
relationship,
 there
 are
 two
 things
 that
 I
 do
 believe
 in:
 first,
 that
 if
 we
 had
 not
 wanted
 
and
  subsequently
  crafted
  our
  bond,
  it
  would
  not
  exist,
  and
  second
  that
  there
  are
 
patterns
 in
 human
 history
 that
 we
 are
 not
 exempt
 from,
 archetypes
 of
 humanity
 that
 
we
 fall
 into,
 and
 that
 you
 and
 I
 are
 not
 the
 first
 to
 share
 this
 bond,
 nor
 the
 last.
 We
 
are
  reenacting,
  and
  by
  doing
  so
 
being
,
  a
  piece
  of
  human
  history.
  There
  are
  songs
 
about
 us,
 books
 about
 us,
 and
 among
 those
 who
 read
 and
 listen
 are
 many
 who
 envy
 
us.
 I
 used
 to
 envy
 us.
 Of
 course,
 we
 are
 not
 those
 who
 came
 before
 us
 and
 we
 have
 
enveloped
 the
 old
 tale
 in
 our
 own
 little
 twists
 and
 flourishes.
 We
 do,
 after
 all,
 have
 
free
 will
 (interesting
 to
 find
 yet
 another
 point
 on
 which
 we
 agree
 for
 very
 different
 
reasons…)
 and
 the
 internet.