Chapter 1

I watch John sitting next to the the chimney dressed in his grey suit. The fire flickers like so many tongues. He was my first lover. It is a happy memory, not simply because of the pleasure of his amorous attentions, but mainly because of the knowledge that it was on that frist day that I escaped Escaped to what and where?

I glance at Harry. He has grown fat in the last ten years. He has a red face now, bags under his eyes. And now there is the way he holds his cigar, as if he owned the world. He has aged. There had been a time with him too... He wanted to so terribly.

Jean, his wife, has gotten heavier. Her breasts have begun to sag after two pregnencies. Despite it all they are still beautiful and ample. I had loved those breasts when we had been girls. Their dark nipples were ringed like eyes are after having made love... They grew between my lips. We had no sense of sin. Children know no evil. They have a certain purity and so do their acts. The age of sixteen. We were two children lost in the adventure of discovering our bodies.

"Thirty years!" Richard says, "The age of maturity for a woman. It is at that moment that they become like juicy over-ripe fruits, and waiting to be plucked." He glances at my husband and mollifies, "Sorry old man..." Everybody laughs and I suddenly feel like crying. I hate these business men, too rich too young and without any doubts about themselves and no sense of mystery.

Jean has placed a record on the phonograph and in her most flute-like tones and a rather jadded coquettishness asks, "Shall we dance?"

It is our only form of distraction here. If we go to the local nightclub we have to play the part. Too many people know us. It's bad for business. Here we can do what we like. And what? All that we think to have achieved or won ends in a question. Escaped from what? Free from what?

"Honey, may I have the first dance of your thirtieth year?"

I force a smile. I allow my husband to take me into his arms. It's a slow tune. Jean has switched off the ceiling light, and the indirect lighting diffuses in blues and tender shadows. The plush of the carpet becomes as soft as an imagined velvet; the books become transformed into strange objects that could be found in a church. The candelabra become an incense burner. The couches are wide, soft and passive. To just stretch out and go to sleep... to be sixteen again...

October 1949. Angers. It is the beginning of school at the Joachim du Bellay High School. I wear my auburn hair in long braids that hang down to the small of my back. My leather jacket is open and underneath my sweater reveals two tiny breasts. I wish that my breasts be bigger, more pointed, as Jean's for example. Jean is my neighbor. She 'knows that I'm looking at her. She also looks at me. We smile at each other. "Boarder?"

"Yes. My father is a veterinary. We live thirty miles out. It's impossible for me to go home every night."

"We'll get along well. Mine is a doctor, thirty miles out in the opposite direction."

It's crazy but we both laughed. The literature professor who opens the school year with a talk to put you to sleep on the Renaissance poets taps the edge of 'his chair with a ruler: "My young ladies, I shouldn't like our first meeting to be unpleasant. If you continue however, I'll see what can be done."

She isn't bad, the professor. Her hair is very blonde, swept up on her head like a shell over her large forehead; her eyes are brown and far apart like those of an oriental woman's; her features are clear; it's surprising and pleasant I think: My God, how old I'll feel at her age! For me she belongs to another world, another universe. Jean puts on an innocent ah*. It goes well with her oval face cut by the very red curve of a thick mouth, well formed and fully fleshed. We don't say another word. We are already afraid that we might be separated.

That evening, it's a child's game to get two neighboring beds in the second year dormitory. The overseer is a fat, old woman, wearing enormous glasses. I suspect that she has false teeth as well. She begins snoring right away behind her drawn curtain.

Jean is talking. She talks of her life at home. Her father is very old and so is her mother. Both of them accord her complete freedom. She is allowed to travel around as she pleases during the vacations. She has a whole bunch of friends and flirtations. Without pausing she asks:

"Have you ever slept with a boy?"

I sit up as if she had hit me. I blurt out "oh!". She laughs and a girl at the other end yells: "Shut-up!" Jean smothers a peal of laughter and after a moment of silence, asks again:

"Is it true that you have never slept with a boy?"

"You must be crazy." "I have!"

"Youre no longer a virgin, but then..." I was going to add, "And the day of your wedding?" It's ridiculous.

"That's right but I'm still a virgin... Well, half of one". She laughs again, "Does it ever hurt, the first time!"

I don't understand. She begins to explain:

"We put up a young doctor at our house. He was thirty. He had come to help father who was tired. One night he knocked at my door. I can admit it to you; I had been waiting for that moment. He was a good looking guy: dark eyes, wavy black hair, tall and thin, a real toreador! I said, "Come in!". He was dressed in pyjamas. I gave out with a little yelp of surprise. I said, "I thought it was pop". He answered, "Who are you trying to kid!". Then he came up to me, put his hand on my head and then he kissed me right on the mouth. You really can't imagine. With what authority! He had nice lips, full and firm. It lasted a long rime. He caressed my mouth with his tongue and then stuck it in gently. I met his tongue with mine. I felt all melo, very small, all his. He then slipped his hand under the sheet I made a move to stop him but his palm was already on one of my breasts. It swelled and became firm. A funny shiver ran through the whole of my body. I felt my spine, as if it had turned into a burning rod. I had to arch myself so that it wouldn't hurt me. And I remember that I quivered like a little cat...

"Will you shut-up the two of you." a student who felt like sleeping cried.

The overseer began to moan as if troubled in her sleep. She was going to wake up. Jean stopped talking once again. I hear her breathing in the dark. Then I see her sheets being raised. She's up and bending towards me. She whispers, "Shove over". I make room for her. I feel the warmth of her body which feels so nice as it snuggles up against my own. She puts her arm underneath my neck. I'm glued against her chest. It is a chest which is already generous. I like the feel of its soft firmness beneath the coton of my boarder's nightshirt.

"This way I'll be able to finish my story."

I wanted her to finish it. I know too that I shouldn't have let her continue. And yet, I desired to hear it The words covered me. I was enveloped by their narcotic quality.

"I should tell you that my Doc's name was Joe. Well Joe slipped in beneath the sheets with an alacrity which would indicate a good deal of practise. I thought that right away. I said to myself, "Between how many sheets has he slipped in just this way? How many women had he caressed and possessed?" You'd think that that would have made me pull away. On the contrary it disturbed me and attracted me all the more. He pulled up my nightdress. One after the other he kissed my breasts. He covered them with the tip of his tongue. He went around them as if to measure them. He raised his head and looked at them and then looked at me and said, "You're beautiful. Your breasts are beautiful. They're firm, strong... I love them..." When one tells it like that it sounds a little silly. But there in the halflight of the bed lamp... and then his voice hoarse; and it was. I answered him with passion, "Yes, they're beautiful, kiss them some more." He nibbled at the nipples and then covered them with little furtive kisses as if he were treating a wound. He sucked at them and then let them go and then sucked them up again. I felt my nipples swell like buds ready to burst It was during the month of July. It had been very hot and humide all day. The rain was falling and one could hear it outside as if the earth had opened up to receive the water of our God. And I too opened myself up; I was calling for a rain still unknown, a fertile wave, a soothing one. Against my belly I felt a hard arrow, like a hot, crystaline ray of light. I also felt the calm, the good, the joy of life and of sleep, as one dies which would gush forth from this sword of flesh dressed toward the center of my body."

Jean's low and somewhat deep voice took on a strange timber. It seemed to be covered with emery. It came far from the very depths of her body, from the end of a dream printed that summer on her awakening flesh. She continued, "Joe's hand passed over my belly. His hand. Five living fingers coming and going losing themselves in the bush of my private parts. I was burning inside, burning like the summer earth, and as thirsty. My desire drizzled softely as that insufficient rain which was at that moment covering the earth's surface. It was like a pretty piece of music whose fleeing notes never rise high enough and do not have the power to transport us very far. They just permit us a glimpse of all the possible beauties luxuriantly filling the world and which we discover but slowly. Slowly but never completely. I called for more caresses. Joe gave them to me. Gently and with care. Our two bodies pressed against each other quivered and began to stick and to be united by out common sweat. I felt that he was getting the same pleasure out of it. His fingers continued to be skilfull. They played with my body as with a harp. They drew the cords ever farther to their very limit. They musn't be broken. Not to pluck from them suddenly the song which shatters. I ran my hand over his belly. I wanted to know, to discover. I touched it. It was solid and soft, burning. It moved about gently in my hand like a naked animal that tries to protect itself, or like a bird wavering on the edge of its nest of tough grass. It lived in my fingers. I kissed it, just a little, and felt it swell even more. Joe murmured, "My darling... more...". I thought he was going to faint. Then he gripped my head between his feet and his mouth crept up the insides of my thighs, slowly, going back down and then surging upward once more. When he had reached up to here... I let out a little cry. Luckily my parents couldn't hear anything. Their room is on the other side of of the house. He continued' to kiss me for a long time. I was like a bow bending toward him, quivering, begging to be wounded. Suddenly he pulled away. He placed his knees between my legs. I knew what was coming. I still don't know how I was able t oget away. I jumped. A sudden stroke of fear or of reason... a middle class education had saved me. I said to myself, "That which is about to happen cannot be undone". We struggled a bit. I kept saying "No". My refusal was thrust ou through my teeth. It was hurting me to say "No". I would have liked to have done it all. But I couldn't It was not to be done,..

"He turned me over onto my belly. His mouth ran up the length of my spine. He hit my neck. His hands kneader my buttocks. It wasn't a caress. It was hard, a 'little painful but I liked it. Then he leaned on me with his whole body. I didn't understand... It ripped through me all of a sudden... an unbearable burning. He had forseen it His hand was over my mouth and I bit into his palm. But in no time the burning of the first instance had turned into a flood of well being. It was as if I was becoming a fantome, a being without flesh who no longer existed. He lunged two or three times. It felt like I was being emptied. My thighs were damp and warm. When he fell' back down on me I was broken, done in, but happy., happy... I was far away, I felt wonderful. I thought I had made love! 1 thought, "Jean, honey, this time you've crossed over!" I began to cry. Joe took me into his arms and cuddled me, explaining that I was still a virgin; that I could get married some day without any misgivings or fear and that there was no danger of me having a child... I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder. He woke me up during the night. We began again. At first it hurt only a little and then it felt wonderful. We dozed off again.

In the morning he was gone. The Tain had stopped. The sun shone through the leaves of the trees outside my window. I was tired, very tired. We continued doing if for three nights.

It was better each time. It was beginning to be perfect when he suddenly left to go back to

Paris. The rat 'barely said goodby!"

All the while that Jean was telling her story I had snuggled even closer. She too had pressed even more against me. Our legs were welded together as our breasts palpitated, one against the other. She had put her hand on one of my breasts. My breasts are small and round, hard but inadequate. I'm ashamed of them. I let my head roll onto the cleavage of her chest, there where the shadows form a river running down to the golden beaches of the belly. All my will power gone, my mouth snatches up one of her nipples. My lips are commanded by the magic of her story. They resuscitate in the obscurity of the cold dormatory, peopled with the deep breathing of sleepers, Joe's gestures and caresses, the lover of three nights. Jean sighs and quivers. She murmurs words without end. Her voice is like a body of water going out to ans unknown sea in long ripples. Her body lifts itself towards me and offers itself. Does she dunk I'm the male that initiated her? Joe? This thought suddenly gives me courage. It's a strange feeling to feel oneself the master of a girl's emotions, melting m your arms. This confusion exasperates and pleases me. My hands lose their clumsyness. It is a if they were not my own. They are Joe's. They slide up her legs; then her we'll rounded thighs and then down again. They tremble at the first contact with the soft down. The lips of my friend are calling me. They meet my own at the same instant that my fingers meet with another mouth, hot, confidant, open to my sudden tenderness. Her hands gently answer my own, astonishing my entire body. I undress. I'm scared. We |al asleep'. Me, with my hand deliciously damp. She, with her lips parted forming a silent appeal to something far and delicious. As beautiful as a pre-Rapheal virgin. Pleasure does not spoil her.

"Where are you darling? Stay with us honeybee."

"Oh, please! Lay off those rediculous words of endearment."

"Come on girlly, no fits of bad temper on the night of your birthday."

"I'm sorry. I'm a little nervous."

I don't want to hurt Larry. He's nice. A little ridiculous with his straw colored mustache. Too small. But that was why I had loved him. Because he was small and a little ridiculous. I had thought that I was in love with him. He needed me. His straw-yellow eyes are good, the eyes of a devoted animal. He is good. He is generous.

Is that enough ?

It was for a long time. We had been happy. Yes, I had been. He as well. He still fulfills himself in our married life: good daily meals. But he doesn't know. He mustn't 'know all that I carry with me on these thirty years which are about to come. I must continue to play my part. We have a son, a house, a dog, a horse and a car. A store as well; interior decoration. At night his name is lit up in neon over the door which affords him no end of pleasure.

I no longer know how it all began. In the region where my father has has practise there is a furniture factory. That's it. He arrived there one day to work as a designer.

I was twenty-one. I had just received my B.A. degree. I wanted to be a doctor. I lived in a small room at Angers which was kept by two bid maides. Every eekend I went home to my parents' house. I wasn't a flirt. I remember that my over-protruding buttocks made me ashamed. I wore full skirts in order to hide them, ever since the day that my brother had said that those cheeks of mine must stop men dead in their tracks. I had a few flirtations. Only two; only two had succeeded in kissing me. Oh! only a little, without any pressure, just on the corners of the mouth. I had felt nothing special. I was frightned of men. Especially all those medical students with whom I spent my time. They were so sure of themselves and deliberate. I knew that they had no scruples and that they were dangerous. One day, I opened a door to one of the rooms at the hospital. It was the room of an intern who was to lend me a book. I only saw his rump which was heaving up and down between the legs of a nurse. She had not taken off her uniform nor her cap.

"Come in", he cried, "there's enough for everybody!"

The girl clucked, "Don't stop now you jerk, I'm ready to come!"

It was sordid. I didn't ever want to see that boy again and avoided the others with a vengeance as well.

During one of those weekends that I spent with my parents I was sent to attend an affair organised by the priest It was a lunch and the children of the parish put on a show for the benifit of the poor. I went. 'Larry was there. He had decorated the stage. The poor boy was at everybody's beck and call. I can still see him leaning against a wall, looking alone and a little sad. At a given moment our glances met. I'll never know why but I gave him a smile. Nothing more happened that day. The next day I received a letter overflowing with love. I would have torn it up without even so much as a smile if he hadn't repeated several times: "Don't make fun of me". That softened me.

The week following I saw him again on the main street of the town. As he passed me he became red as a beet and shied away. I went toward him. Once opposite him I no longer knew what to say. I stuttered, "Your letter was very nice... You should not be afraid of people making fun of you."

"Oh", he said, shrugging his shoulders, "I shouldn't have sent you that letter. It was stupid of me. You are beautiful and intelligent. You have no end of admirers. Me, I'm rather small and poor..."

He had captured me. The unhappy boy was in need of help, of reassurance, someone to help him to rid himself of his complexes. Not only did he not scare me, but I had found a part which

I could live up to. I felt like a nurse, like a mother. He had to be protected, to be made happy. My heart was as big as a grapefruit.

I introduced him to my parents. My mother thought that he was nice. My father made but one remark ; he thought him to be rather stupid. I heard nothing else. I had been a good little girl. I had lived the model life of a nice middle class girl, obedient, gentle and punctual. Contrary to my rascally brother who did nothing but cause trouble, never worked at school; I was the only one who had made everybody happy. Well, I was going to show them. I wasn't going to let them attack that poor boy. In order to make my decision stick and to convince myself I went to see him the next day in his room. With the purpose of doing that which cannot be undone. Afterwards no one could stop me from marrying him.

I began preparing myself. I spent all day Saturday as if it were a day before battle. Alone in my room I daydreamed of my gentle fiance, attributing him with all the graces and charms. When night had fallen I went out and started for the boarding house Where he lived. The landlady gave me an indignant look. I stepped on her toes. Yes, it was me alright, the veterinary's daughter, who was going up to a boy's room. Me, the vertuous Helen, was going to offer herself. And afterwards? I felt like I had the teeth, the nails and the heart of a warrior.

As a result of this illusion I took on the characteristics of a man.

I still remember that moment Larry was stretched out on the bed. He was reading a detective story. He gave a start when I came in and drew the bolt of the door behind me.

"Am I late? I was to come to dinner, but at eight o'clock..."

"It's only six."

"In that case, it is very nice of you to have..." "Be still..."

That surprises him. He has no time to say anything. I crush his lips with mine. I stretch out on top of him. I kiss the hollow of his neck. To tell the truth, I really don't quite know how it's done. I hope that he knows. At the age of twenty-five, after all. Even if one is small and shy...

I get back up. Suddenly I take off my tailored jacket. I pull my sweater over my head. I'm wearing a white bras with lace. My dark nipples show through like two wine spots. He straightens up with surprise. I'm standing there with my breasts bare. My torso is long, my shoulders broad and my thighs round. I know that I am well made. With the exception of my breasts. Perhaps he finds them to small.

I go back to the 'bed. I stretch out next to Larry on my back and with my hands spred fanlike over my breasts. My heart beats wildly. "There you are." I say. He starts drooling my name, adding all kinds of exclamations.

"Helen... Helen honey... oh baby--Helen darling..."

His face moves over my own. You'd think he had caught a sunburn. Red as a lobster. I close my eyes in order not to see him. Suddenly a mouth closes over mine, slides down the length of my throat and then my shoulders. The sharp teeth of a young dog nibble at my flesh. An avid tongue, lovingly enfolds the nipples of my breasts. I squirm a little like Jean had told me you should. The hand which comes down on my stomach is brutal and hurried. Immediately Larry is on top of me. He must think that I have had a million affairs. He unbottens his pants. I sigh:

"Be careful. It's the first time."

It's as if I had slapped him. He lets out with, "Oh, God." Then he rolls over to the side. Then he snivels muttering:

"But I cant honey... It isn't done... It wouldn't be right... You're too young... so pure, so innocent..."

I curse him. What's he waiting for? Why all these words which are of no use?

Suddenly he kisses my stomach and slips his hands under my loins. He's on top of me. His fingers explore my body. I don't like it very much. I notice that he is guiding himself nearer. I sense his approaching cock taking aim, and throbbing, if begins gently to enter into me.

I let out with a yell. It hurst terribly. He stops and asks, "Did I hurt you?".

I'm white with rage: "What are you waiting for? Go to it."

I dig my nails into the small of his back. I grit my teeth. I make love to him. The pleasurable sensation begins to mount. He fills and swells out my stomach. I'm the one that calls the shots; that directs. The pain has disappeared into the depths of me. I shall never feel it again. He's panting. His movements are uncoordinated. Then, all of a sudden, he gives a little groan and crumbles over to the side. Once more. I'm frustrated1, I feel robbed. I remain stretched out. Well, I'm no longer a little girl-I'm a woman. So that's all there's to it. That vague feeling of pleasure. No, I sense that it can be better.

I went back ten, perhaps twenty times, to Larry's room during the three months before our wedding. He threw himself on me like a young goat in heat. But just when I was beginning to get really hot he would be finished. It was a terrible sensation, a feeling of being left completely alone. I felt as if I had been dirtied. But it was myself that I blamed, not him.

John and Jean dance together cheek to cheek. Harry moves about with Barbara, a tall girl with pink cheeks and a lovely 'body. He kisses her neck. She giggles.

Larry sighs, "I love you as I did from the very first"

"I love you too."

Of course I love him. Without me he would be lost. Is my other life cheating? If it is, I cheated on him before knowing him. All that is so far removed from him and so complicated...

"Larry, how can I explain? you who belong to the race of the simple, and therefore the implacable?"