She took down the photo I coveted, paid the asking price and brought it to me with misty eyes. She propped her trophy against a radiator. The monochrome print showed a white plate on an ancient wood floor. A brunette stood jauntily with hands on hips, aiming her urine at the plate; her waist was cinched in a tight corset with a pair of sculpted breasts bulging over the top. Lou took my hand. We communed in silence before the performance in the photo. As an epilogue to a furtive trance, the force of the enactment carried us away. But suddenly my deep indifference to her attractions spoiled that beautiful euphoria. My grip on her hand weakened. Aware of my detachment, Lou withdrew her hand and licked my palm like a dog. It was her way of saying good-bye. She vanished through the door-curtains with her hand on her cheek.
A singer from New York waved to me. I’d interviewed her in the days when there still were BDSM magazines in France. Muffled up in a pink angora sweater, Emily was smoking an extraslim on the sly. Seeing I was alone, she came over and held out a damp hand. The woman in her life had just walked out on her. Her pupils were dilated by tranquilizers, and she rolled her eyes as she beseeched me. “I’m a little heart for the taking, Gala, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity…. I’ll be your submissive and you’ll see just how submissive I can be! Do with me what you will!” I felt sorry for those trembling lips, that lost-blonde-with-no-collar look. She clung to my arm. I felt the moist warmth of her palm through the rubber sleeve. She lived in a hotel in the 12th arrondissement, close to the Métro entrance: one room and a washstand with a shared loo on the landing. Her dream was to be taken in hand, in the name of love and solidarity. Submissives always knew how to get my pity. Except that the woman who surrendered to those periwinkle-blue eyes would have to possess qualities I lack. The need to love, for example, even if a stray arrow from Cupid’s bow does get to me now and then. And a taste for blondes… Not to mention the self-denial involved in any relationship with a tyrannical submissive. Still shaken by the intensity of my experience with Little Lou, a gratuitous and transgressive act, I resented Emily’s forced landing in my field. I thought of lending her money to salve my conscience, but then I had a fit of pride, pleaded a previous engagement and walked away.
It was snowing. Lou was propped against my front fender, her hair dotted with flakes. She gave me her address. She knew I wasn’t going to take her home with me. When I dropped her off on rue Mademoiselle, she kissed me on the cheek. Watching her disappear inside the apartment house, my conscience was clear: I’d driven her home hadn’t I?
ANN’S ADRENALINE RUSH
Sarah Ellen
Ann took a last look in the mirror before grabbing her gloves and sunglasses. If she didn’t force herself now, she knew she would spend her whole vacation regretting her inaction. The ski lessons themselves should be easy enough to arrange, she guessed, but engaging Frankie’s services could prove a little more difficult. It was all Tess’s fault for persuading her she needed an active holiday. “And I mean in the sheets as well as on the slopes,” Tess had pointedly said when she dropped Ann off at the airport.
Ann crossed the icy street from the hotel to the nearby ski school office.
“Hello,” she said as she approached an elderly man sitting behind a desk. “I’d like to arrange some ski lessons.”
“Of course.” His German accent sounded strange to Ann’s ears. “At what level?”
“Just above beginner. This is my second time skiing,” she told him. “Is Frankie available?”
“Frankie!” He threw her an amused look.
“She was recommended to me by an old school friend,” Ann replied.
“Ah.” He scanned the appointment book in front of him. “It looks as though you are in luck. Although she has a class this morning, this afternoon she is free.”
Ann smiled warmly at him. “I was thinking of making the arrangement over several days.”
He grinned. “Naturally.”
With Frankie officially signed over to her for the next few days, Ann happily made her way to the ski rental shop and picked out her equipment. Her lift pass would be waiting for her back at the hotel. So far, she thought, all was going according to plan.
When Tess had suggested she take a skiing trip, Ann had readily agreed, not realizing Tess had no intention of joining her. That her closest friend had her best interests at heart Ann had no doubt. Her social life had all but ended when Suzanna had walked out six months ago, and Ann knew she needed to get it started again. But the real incentive, as Tess was fully aware, was sex; Ann was sick of pleasuring herself.
They had joked about traveling to Austria. It was where, years before, Tess had met Frankie, a veritable snow whore, who lived for the moment every moment. It had been one of the most exciting periods of Tess’s life, she told Ann. Which was why Ann now found herself alone, far from home, waiting for a ski lesson with someone she’d never met.
“Miss Carson?”
Ann turned to find a tall, long-limbed woman striding confidently toward her. Underneath a blue fleece beanie her brown eyes sparkled with intensity.
“My name’s Frankie, but then you already know that, don’t you?”
Ann wondered whether Frankie was annoyed with her. She was certainly direct.
“Erik said you’d asked for me by name?” she continued.
“A friend of mine recommended you.” Ann quickly appraised the woman in front of her. Though hidden beneath layers of clothing, it was obvious her body was perfectly toned. Her teeth flashed white against the tan of her face and a small dark curl escaped from her hat. Tess was right: she was gorgeous. Ann refocused her eyes only to meet Frankie’s raised eyebrows. “Tess. My friend… her name is Tess,” she stammered in embarrassment.
Frankie shook her head. “I meet a lot of people.”
“I’m Ann.” She offered her hand.
Frankie looked at it then gave it a firm, short shake.
“I thought we’d start on the beginner’s slopes just over there.” Frankie pointed past a picturesque church toward a small snow-covered incline. “Just to see what skills you’ve acquired so far.”
“Okay.” Ann hauled her skis from a nearby stand and carried them awkwardly across her body.
Frankie caught up with her. “You’ll find it easier over your shoulder,” she instructed, helping Ann adjust them. “Nice skis.”
The afternoon passed quickly. Frankie’s method of teaching was just as Ann had hoped and involved her closely watching Frankie’s tight buttocks and thighs making careful, deliberate movements over the surface of the snow before she tried the maneuver herself. She found falling over tiresome, but worth it, as Frankie pulled her to her feet and fiercely brushed the snow from her suit. Her almost-rough approach set Ann’s heart pounding. Twice her upturned face had neared Frankie’s and their eyes had locked while their breath sounded ragged, gasping. She felt Frankie pull away. Was it just her imagination, or was Frankie feeling the same degree of attraction?
“I think that will do for today,” Frankie announced. “A sauna or a hot bath should minimize any stiffness.”
“Fancy a drink?” Ann asked casually.
“I can’t.” Frankie said abruptly as she turned to leave.
“Another time, perhaps,” Ann managed to say despite experiencing a sudden rush of anger. How rude!
After a quiet dinner in the hotel, Ann moved into the bar to sit in a secluded corner where she watched and listened as her fellow guests regaled each other with stories of reckless alpine abandon and daring. Feeling somewhat superfluous, she gathered her things, then noticed a new crowd of people had arrived with Frankie in their midst. She decided to stay a while longer.