Authors: Michel Farnac
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
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.
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”
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
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.