Authors: Michel Farnac
Yours,
Michel”
She
soon
realized
that
the
same
went
when
they
spoke
and
she
soon
found
herself
often
yielding
to
the
pleasure
of
asking
him
in
mid-‐conversation
where
they
were.
“How
rude
of
me!
We
are
in
Florence.
We
arrived
from
Rome
yesterday.
I
wanted
to
show
you
the
cathedral.
We
are
walking
down
one
of
the
side
streets
that
leads
to
its
rear.
You
see,
I
approach
my
Cathedral
like
I
approach
my
Catherine.
There,
look
at
this
beauty!
The
stripes
are
actually
alternating
green
and
white
marble.
How
brilliant
is
that?
But
let’s
get
a
drink.
It’s
like
France
here:
there’s
always
a
café
next
to
the
church.
They
make
the
most
wonderful
fruit
drink,
so
refreshing…”
and
on
it
would
go,
and
every
time
she
was
transported.
When
later
she
would
look
up
pictures
of
these
places,
they
would
feel
pleasingly
familiar.
France,
Italy,
Spain,
England,
Japan.
“All
these
places
I’ve
been,
and
it
was
all
a
waste
until
I
met
you”
he
told
her.
“And
I
can
share
it
all
with
you
and
it
doesn’t
scare
you
away,
it
doesn’t
overwhelm
you.
I
do
that
to
people,
you
know?”
“Not
to
me”
she
replied,
“how
could
it,
since
I
trust
you?
You’re
so
sincere,
so
open…
I’m
always
the
one
who’s
prying,
because
you’re
so
open,
though
half
the
time
you
answer
my
questions
before
I
even
ask.
I’ve
never
met
a
man
who
could
so
easily
say
what
he
feels,
though
I’ll
have
to
admit
I
don’t
always
understand
what
you
mean.”
“No,
it’s
not
obscure,
it’s
just
that
there
are
things
you
say
that
I…
well
it’s
‘guy’
stuff
I
guess
and
I
don’t
always
know
what
it
means.”
He
was
intrigued.
“Do
you
have
an
example?”
She
hesitated.
“Yes.”
Her
voice
had
gotten
softer,
more
hesitant.
“Like
the
one
time
you
said
something
about
‘endowing
the
extra
inch’.
What
does
that
mean?”
She
knew
that
she
was
in
for
a
ride
just
by
asking
such
a
question.
Michel
was
a
whirlwind
who
blew
wide
any
door
opened
ajar.
“Oh,
that?!
Well,
it
has
to
do
with
how
an
erection
comes
about.
Hmm,
yes
of
course,
there
are
a
couple
of
prerequisites
to
this
conversation.
You
see,
you
and
I
have
something
that
your
husband
does
not,
namely
a
prepuce.”
She
could
not
contain
her
laughter.
“That’s
right,
thanks
to
that
whacko
American
version
of
the
protestant
ethos
and
some
freakish
obsession
for
a
warped
version
of
hygiene,
he
is
circumcised.
I
am
not.
So
even
though
what
I
am
about
to
describe
applies
to
him,
not
in
equal
measure.
As
you
know,
as
our
organ
grows,
the
skin
is
pulled
taught,
but
an
erection
will
not
reach
its
full
potential
without
some
assistance.
Now
when
you
are
not
circumcised,
the
tip
of
the
phallus
will
not
be
fully
revealed
until
the
sheath
of
skin
is
manually
pulled
back,
or
by
some
other
form
of
friction.
When
this
does
not
happen,
intense
frustration
can
result.
Mind
you,
wiggling
in
your
jeans
will
do
the
trick,
but
loose
clothing
is
of
no
assistance.
This
is
of
less
consequence
for
those
who
are
circumcised
but
remains
true.
The
touch
of
a
woman’s
hand
will
do
the
trick
every
time
which
is
why
so
many
of
us
react
so
strongly
to
the
initial
touch.”
Such
insights
were
as
potent
for
her
as
the
astral
projection
that
took
her
around
the
world.
Part
of
it
she
knew
stemmed
from
the
fact
that
she
could
not
detect
in
Michel
a
single
ounce
of
jealousy.
She
spoke
freely
of
having
sex
with
her
husband,
just
as
she
might
to
an
intimate
girlfriend,
and
he
engaged
with
as
much
pleasure
as
he
would
on
any
other
topic
which
left
her
facing
yet
another
seeming
paradox:
the
more
she
got
to
know
Michel
the
better
she
understood
her
husband.
He
looked
at
her
with
those
smiling
eyes
and
that
look
on
his
face
of
when
he
knew
he
had
found
yet
another
soft
spot,
one
more
door
to
have
her
push
open.
In
the
short
pause
that
followed,
she
thought
of
asking
him
where
they
were,
but
it
came
to
her
that
this
must
be
a
café
in
Paris.
“Should
I
be
led
to
understand
from
your
last
remark
that
no
man
has
ever
told
you
what
he
feels
during
an
orgasm?”
He
instantly
knew
he
was
on
to
something
big.
“No”
she
murmured
in
reply,
a
sigh
barely
audible
over
the
din
of
traffic
and
the
heated
conversations
all
around
about
whatever
it
is
the
French
seem
to
be
so
passionate
about
all
the
time.
When
he
teased
her
as
he
was
about
to,
it
was
mostly
for
her
pleasure,
not
his:
a
part
of
the
game
that
he
felt
was
still
acceptable.
“Good
catholic
girls
don’t
talk
about
such
things”
she
said
to
which
he
quickly
replied
“Nor
do
they
smooch
with
boys
in
the
back
of
cars,
nor
have
affairs
once
they
are
married,
both
of
which
you
talk
about
on
occasion.”
She
would
have
said
“touché”
had
they
not
been
in
France
but
instead
waited
for
him
to
launch
into
his
explanation.
Here,
they
call
it
‘la
petite
mort’
which
would
translate
to
the
little
death,
and
I
find
it
to
be
a
very
apt
name.
As
soon
as
the
explosion
of
the
orgasm
is
over,
there
is
a
contraction,
a
drawing
inward
of
the
senses.
To
some,
any
intrusion
from
the
outside
at
this
point
is
unwelcome,
be
it
the
touch
of
a
loving
hand.
The
brain
is
rejecting
external
stimulation
after
the
intensity
of
the
internal
stimulation
it
just
underwent.
It
is
as
if
one
were
seeking
a
form
of
sensory
depravation
to
allow
the
immense
feeling
of
well-‐being
that
follows
the
orgasm
to
pervade
the
body
unhindered.
The
body
is
at
once
suffused
with
comfort
and
completely
raw
and
defenseless.
Every
sound,
touch,
smell,
if
not
blocked,
is
amplified
to
the
point
of
overwhelming.
We
are
blind,
deaf,
trembling,
defenseless,
at
the
mercy
of
everything,
floating
in
an
ether
of
pleasure
where
gentle
waves
that
are
the
echoes
of
the
orgasm
wash
over
you
in
a
slowly
receding
tide
which
as
it
wanes
takes
you
back
ever
so
gently
to
the
reality
you
left
when
the
orgasm
started.”
He
felt
that
they
had
moved
and
paused
briefly
to
listen
to
her
breathing
in
his
ear.
“Of
course,
this
is
only
the
way
things
can
progress
naturally
if
uninhibited.
Needless
to
say
that
there
are
a
lot
of
men
who
could
not
allow
this
to
happen.
It
is
a
loss
of
control
that
is
nearly
total
and
which
we
all
learn
early
on
to
harness,
one
way
or
the
other.”
“Powerful
it
is,
especially
once
it
has
begun,
but
a
spell
that
can
be
broken
nonetheless.
You
see,
it
proceeds
from
a
removal.
The
orgasm
takes
you
away
from
where
and
even
who-‐with
you
are
for
a
few
instants,
but
you
can
pretty
much
beam
yourself
back
at
any
time,
it
is
just
a
question
of
will.
With
a
sometimes
tremendous
effort
you
can
grasp
on
to
outside
stimulus
with
a
conscious
effort
and
use
it
to
stay
in
the
room,
so
to
speak.
Did
you
ever
read
that
Matheson
book,
‘Somewhere
in
Time’?”
And
of
course
they
were
in
a
hotel
room.