La Suite (5 page)

Chapter
Six

Gaëlle lay in
bed for some time, unable to sleep and thinking over the events of
the evening. Then inspiration struck her. She got up and went to
her wardrobe. She took her diary out of its little box, which she
hadn’t touched since completing the task that Jérôme had set her,
to turn their experiences together into a story. She turned to a
fresh page, dug out a pen from her handbag, got back into bed and
began.

From Gaëlle’s
new journal

I never thought
I’d be adding to these scribblings, but it seems the logical thing
to do. When I started to write my journal, just after I’d met
Jérôme, I promised myself I would put down faithfully every erotic
experience. It would be dishonest not to carry on with it now.
So…

Gabi first. She
confuses me. Sometimes I feel that she is itching to seduce me, or
to be seduced by me. Other times she puts me on such a pedestal
that I could only disappoint her if something did happen.

She paused,
tempted to scrub out what she had just written. Then she shook her
head, told herself to let it stand, as a reminder to be totally
honest, and went on.

I must be as
truthful with myself as I used to be. Gabi is a very sensual woman.
If she wants to have sex with me, then my body has let me know that
I’d like it, too. When she lifted my dress this evening, I could
feel how warm and damp it made me. If she’d touched my knickers
she’d have known, and just for that moment, I hoped that she would.
However, she is a lot younger than me…

The “girls’
night out” was fun. It reminded me of the evenings with what Leila
calls the “gang of six”, but with an added sexual tension. With
them, nobody has ever suggested that one of us should take her
knickers off! Nor, when we have dinner together, has anyone ever
sat topless at the table. Our relationship wouldn’t allow for
it.

Now I come to
think of it, though, perhaps they do that sort of thing in other
circumstances. It’s an interesting possibility. Why has it never
occurred to me before, I wonder? Maybe because, when we met, I was
the only one who was really fit? I’ve never really considered them
as sexual women. Very unfair of me. It would be interesting to give
that some more consideration, when I have a moment.

Gaëlle paused
again. She got up and went to get a red pen. She drew a red circle
round the paragraph she had just written, so she wouldn’t forget,
then changed pens and went on.

Nathalie is
also quite attractive physically, but, like Gabi, is much younger
than me. Perhaps Gabi is right, and I’m the older sister for them,
and big sisters don’t think in a sexual way about their siblings…at
least that’s how I see it. It won’t prevent me from enjoying how
pretty and sexy they are to look at, though.

Barbara seems
to be the most important player in promoting the erotic aspect
within the dining group. She isn’t especially attractive, but is
clearly trying very hard to overcome that. I don’t find enhanced
boobs attractive, certainly not when they are as artificial as hers
are.

As usual, I’ve
been delaying putting down on paper the aspect of the evening that
made the most impact. Jérôme would have been in hysterics. I can
just hear him saying…”And?…And?” So…

I found
Barbara’s swollen nipples…fascinating, I think is the word. To see
them so distended gave me a funny feeling in my belly, reminding me
of some of the more extreme experiences of my sexual life. It
wasn’t pretty, but it was definitely erotic.

Honesty,
Gaëlle!

I wonder how I
would look with my nipples swollen like that. Does it make them
more sensitive? I only have a vague memory of how it felt with
Vivienne and, of course, I never got to see myself on that
occasion. I know I’m not built like Barbara, but at this moment, if
I had the equipment and the chance, I think I would try it. The
butterflies in my belly remind me of how I used to feel when I was
contemplating committing myself to one of the more demanding
experiences of my erotic life. It’s a curious mixture of nerves,
anticipation, fear and sexual excitement, and it’s a sensation that
I love, have missed and am now—I think—ready to rediscover.

There, it’s in
front of me in black and white. Tomorrow I’ll read this again and
see how I react.

She put the
journal and pen on her bedside table and turned over. She tucked
her hand under her body and brought herself to a quick climax
before drifting off to sleep
.

Chapter
Seven

The first thing
she saw on opening her eyes the next morning was the journal. She
read again her entry from the night before. She reflected on what
she had written as she showered, dressed and had breakfast. As she
was putting on her eye makeup and lip-gloss to go shopping, she
made her decision. She looked her reflection straight in the
eyes.

“Well, Gaëlle,”
she said, “Admit it. Say it out loud. If you get the opportunity to
try the pump, you’ll do it.” Hearing herself make the statement and
watching her lips form the words gave her a buzz, and she knew from
past experience that she had just made a commitment to herself that
she would honour.

By the time
Gaëlle got back from town, Gabi had phoned her from Belgium and
left a message on her answering machine . “Hello, Gaëlle. It’s
Gabi. I’m sorry I couldn’t come swimming with you the other night.
Nath tells me you enjoyed yourself, and I hope that’s true. I’m
green with jealousy that the others have seen you stripped off and
I haven’t! Unfair! I won’t be able to visit you this coming week.
Work here is frenetic at the moment. I’ll give you a call when I
can, just so you don’t think I’ve forgotten you. Kisses. Bye.”

Gaëlle put in
more hours of work than usual that week, to fill the gap. She’d
grown used to sharing tea and thoughts with Gabi. The next message
sounded weary.

“Oh, Gaëlle,
I’m so sorry. I’m stuck here for another week at least. I can’t
make it to the next girls’ night out either. Shit! I miss our
little chats. I must go. Sorry again. Kisses.”

That Saturday
afternoon, Gaëlle had promised to help out at a charity event. She
felt it was important to contribute where she could to raising
funds for cancer research in memory of Jérôme. She was
concentrating on counting banknotes while the public swirled about
her, when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Hello. Gaëlle.
What a surprise.”

She turned and
saw Odile, whom she had last seen at Barbara’s house. They
exchanged greetings. “What brings you here?” Odile asked. “Most of
us give our time because we’ve had direct experience of the pains
of losing someone to cancer. In my case, because I lost my husband
two years ago, suddenly.”

Gaëlle gulped.
“Me too,” she managed to say. “Last year. Jérôme, my husband.”

Odile gave her
a hug. “They say it gets easier, but I still miss Paul a lot. It’s
harder when you loved them, isn’t it?” Gaëlle couldn’t speak. Just
when she thought she was back in control, moments like this
reminded her of her fragile state.

“Look, finish
off your admin, and come with me for coffee and cakes,” Odile
suggested.

“Give me ten
minutes and I’m with you.”

It was more
like twenty minutes by the time Gaëlle had completed her task, but
Odile waited patiently, then led her out into the street and to a
pâtisserie.

“Goodness, it’s
nice to have a little peace and quiet,” Odile said when they’d
found a table, sat down and ordered.

“I hadn’t
realised you and I were in a similar situation,” Gaëlle said. “I
only just started meeting new people very recently, thanks to
Gabi.”

“It takes time,
I know. There was a period of about eighteen months when I didn’t
know what to do with myself after I lost Paul. I imagine you
recognise that?”

“Oh, yes. Until
I bumped into Gabi, I was mostly feeling very sorry for
myself.”

Odile smiled,
almost to herself. “Different people react in different ways. I
tried to deal with it by going wild.”

“Wild? What do
you mean?” Gaëlle asked. “You’ll have to explain that for me.”

Odile took a
deep breath. “I was a deeply conventional woman, both by nature and
upbringing. Paul and I fell in love at sixteen, married at
eighteen, and I was thoroughly happy being a good wife and mother.
I brought up three children who are now young adults, and I never
looked at another man. I didn’t need to, I had Paul. We were so
looking forward to growing old together and enjoying each other’s
company. So when he was snatched away from me, I was very angry. It
had never been an effort to be faithful to Paul, but suddenly, I
wanted to know how a wanton woman felt, to take revenge on my body
for having been satisfied with one man for so long. I suppose I
also wanted to affirm to myself that I was a desirable woman. So,
over that year and a half, I went hunting for sex.”

“Oh,” Gaëlle
said.

“It dulled the
pain, I suppose, like a drug. But although there was a lot of
variety, in the end they were all the same. Black men, brown men,
white men, young, old, in between. In the end I realised that a
hard dick may be good to find, but it always comes attached to a
man with his own agenda. Some of them were happy to enjoy the sex
for its own sake, but after a while, I could sense some of them
working out how they could take advantage of this woman who craved
cock. Some wanted to move in with me, some wanted to borrow money,
some wanted me to change to fit their fantasies. All I wanted was
to be fucked until I was numb.” Odile paused, aware that she had
raised her voice a little. She giggled and looked round to see if
anyone had heard her declaration. Fortunately, there was enough
chatter going on at other tables to cover her words. “Sorry, that’s
a bit vehement, isn’t it?” she said.

“I think I
understand,” Gaëlle said.

“I thought you
might. Look, next week, I’m house sitting for Barbara. Her mother
lives in one wing of the house and she needs someone on call. Will
you come round for a swim and a chat? I’m sure we have a lot in
common. I can finish telling you about that period of my life as
well, if you’d like. Once Françoise, Barbara’s mother, goes to bed,
my evenings are rather long sometimes, and I’d welcome some
company. Give me a couple of days to set up a routine, and I’ll
call you.”

“My evenings
are not too full either, at present,” Gaëlle told her. “Call me and
I’ll be there.”

Chapter
Eight

It was almost a
week before Odile called. Gaëlle agreed to go round the same
evening.

“I’ve made us a
little supper,” Odile said as she arrived. “I thought we could swim
later.”

“That’s fine by
me.”

They went into
a large kitchen where food was on the table. They ate, almost
without talking, then Odile led Gaëlle through into a sitting room.
Over the next hour, they told one another about their respective
husbands. Knowing that Odile had suffered in a similar way made it
easier for Gaëlle to talk intimately about Jérôme, and it appeared
that the same was true when Odile told her about Paul.

“Your sex life
didn’t have the complications created by children,” Odile
commented. “You can’t imagine how easy it is to be caught in
situations where a quick explanation needs to be created on the
spot!”

“There have to
be some compensations for being childless,” Gaëlle agreed, hiding a
grimace. “What sort of thing do you mean?”

“Well, for
example, have you ever had an orgasm on the corner of a washing
machine during the spin cycle?” Odile enquired.

“Of course,”
Gaëlle said. “I imagine that we all have, at some time.”

Odile laughed.
“I suppose so. Well, one day when Cécile was maybe three, I was
sorting the washing. I remember there was a white wash finishing,
about to spin. I had almost enough for a dark load, so I looked at
the jeans I was wearing and decided they could go in, too. So, I
was just in my knickers and as I reached across the machine to get
the basket, the corner of the machine was just at the right height,
if you know what I mean?” Odile looked up. Gaëlle nodded.

“I was just
getting into it, when suddenly I heard a voice behind me. It was
Paul, back to collect some tools for work. He said
I think those
knickers need to go in the wash
. He whipped them off me, and
took me from behind, both of us jammed up against the corner of the
vibrating washing machine. It was lovely, until a little voice said
Daddy, why are you pushing Mummy into the washer
? Cécile had
decided that she’d played long enough on her own and had come
looking for me. I was too deep into the fucking to think of a
reasonable response, but Paul said, quick as a flash, ‘The washing
machine needed to be pushed back against the wall. I’m helping
Mummy to do it, because it’s heavy.’ Cécile said
Afterwards,
will you come and play with me?
and wandered off, leaving us to
finish as best we could.”

“It must have
been awkward,” Gaëlle said. “I can see that.”

“The funny
thing is,” Odile went on, “years later, when Cécile must have been
about sixteen, I happened to catch a glimpse of her doing the exact
same thing! She thought she had the house to herself and she was
just reaching her climax when I passed by the utility room door. I
have to admit she looked very sexy, even if she is my daughter, so
I watched for a moment. Then I sneaked back out, and came noisily
into the house a few minutes later, to give her time to organise
herself. I shouted hello, got the things I’d come for and was about
to leave again when she came out of the utility room, fully
dressed. As I went out of the door, I said, “If the washing machine
needs to be pushed back, it’s best to do it when you’re sure
there’s nobody else around.” She went bright pink and we both burst
out laughing. I’d been going through a difficult patch with her,
but that incident turned us from spitting cats into best
friends.”