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The party was in full swing. The whirlwind of women all around me gave me a slight vertigo; noise echoed in my ears, music, laughter, shouts, clinking of glasses and jewelry; I found myself in the middle of a slow ballet of winks, pouts, smiles, light touches, caressing gestures, fragments of movements multiplied in the long mirrors framing the living room. The narrow dress forced me to take tiny steps, and I was still ill at ease on my high heels; but little by little I found my balance, and with it I gained more self-confidence and began to laugh, talk, gesticulate, as freely as my companions. My friend handed me a cocktail, a gin and tonic, cool, sparkling, almost bitter, and leaned over to breathe a few words into my ear: “Everything is perfect here, isn’t it? We’re amongst ourselves.” There was too much noise to make myself heard, so I nodded. On a slightly elevated part of the room, three girls were dancing, swaying their hips, their pretty behinds shapely in miniskirts or shorts, their legs long and bare and smooth. Quite close to me, a haughty woman with a sculptural, exaggerated body, almost a head taller than me, was staring fixedly at herself in a mirror, her hands running up her hips and belly to gravely weigh her bulging breasts. The young woman with the blond hair in a bun whom I had seen earlier by the pool in a striped swimsuit had joined us, dressed now in a short embroidered dress with a violet stole draped over her narrow shoulders. Her hand rested familiarly on the hollow of my back and she brushed my neck with her lips: “What a beautiful dress! It suits you.” I blushed with pleasure and, pulling her neck toward me, pressed my mouth against hers. Near us, my friend was laughing; in the mirror in front of me, I could see the young woman’s back and hips, our intertwined bodies, my own gaze filtered through her loose strands of hair which smelled of heather, moss, and almond. Finally she broke away and contemplated me with a brief, joyful smile; then, stroking my face with the tips of her fingers, she moved away: “See you soon.” I sipped my drink as I watched her disappear into the crowd. My friend was still laughing and handed me a lipstick: poised in front of the mirror, I carefully retouched the outline of my lips; rolling one against the other in that so intimately feminine gesture, spreading a sensual joy through my entire body. Near me several girls were kissing now, standing against the walls or on the sofas, I could see hands with colorful nails wandering over thighs and buttocks and disappearing beneath dresses or skirts; breasts began appearing, well-rounded, the nipples erect and calling for lips; the girl with the short hair who had been doing laps in the pool was kneeling now between the thighs of the tall sculptural woman; and she, above the head pressing in on her, was still staring at herself in the mirror. I turned toward her reflection and tried to meet her gaze but it remained riveted on itself, impenetrable, and thus I could contemplate her at my leisure, without her noticing; seen from this angle her face took on a hard, angular, almost masculine aspect, her gaze, as the head with the thick close-cropped black hair moved down the length of her body, darkened, took on a fierce, wild look; and when finally the girl, with both hands, parted her thighs to place her beautiful painted mouth on her sex, her eyes came alive with a furious, devouring, superb joy. I kept sipping my drink without taking my eyes off the spectacle in the mirror; my friend was watching the couple itself over my shoulder and I could also see, in front of my own, the reflection of her ample curves and curly hair. A little silver tray that had been circulating among the guests reached us; I leaned over, delicately grasped the glass straw, and inhaled a line of white powder, followed by another; a shiver traveled through my body, I straightened up, arched nervously on my legs perched on the high heels, and with one hand smoothed the knit cloth over my hip and buttock. My friend took some cocaine as well and I helped her hold the tray. Then I passed it on to another woman and took my friend by the hand to lead her outside. As I crossed the threshold of the sliding glass door I shivered, it was cold outside the house, humid too, the grass, beneath the light of lamps placed all over, shone with dew. “There’s a lot of light,” I said to my friend. “Are you sure the fuses won’t blow?”—“Don’t worry about it. We had the entire circuit overhauled twice, by a professional electrician.” Here too there were dozens of guests, talking or kissing while drinking, laughing, smoking. Several girls, naked except for thongs or bathing suits, were swimming in the illuminated water of the pool, their beautiful, slim bodies deformed by the waves of green water. On the edge, kneeling, naked too, apart from a thin pair of black and purple lace panties, the young woman with the half undone bun whom I had kissed was scrutinizing her image in the lapping water. From where I stood, I could see her profile: her long neck freed by the bun, her sharp shoulder, the gracious curve of her back were almost those of a boy; but the round shape of her hips, when she straightened up in a fluid motion, the long firm buttocks that stretched the translucent cloth of the panties, were indeed those of a woman, a real woman. I was still drinking, my friend had handed me another gin and tonic and my lipstick stained the rim of the glass, I could feel my skin bristling in its underclothes, seeking with delight, in the places where it remained bare, silky contact with the pink lining of the dress. The young blond woman, hands on her knees and buttocks arched behind her like a little girl, was still contemplating herself in the pool water, and this spectacle filled me with joy. Then all of a sudden she stood up, arms raised and tiny breasts jutting out, took a deep breath, and dove in, erasing her reflection. I watched the long white body flow underwater, arms down by its sides, propelled by the feet. My friend was stroking my hips and my buttocks, making the almost liquid jersey of the dress slide over the rougher cloth of the lining, but I barely noticed. “You like her,” her voice spoke in my ear. “More than me.”—“It’s not that,” I said sadly. “I’m jealous of her body. Mine will never be like that.”—“You are very beautiful, too. Your body excites me.”—“Maybe. But it’s not the same thing.” I pressed against her, my heart beating. The girl was hauling herself out of the water, streaming, her hair undone and soaked, her wet panties taut over her delicate little parts. Another woman handed her a towel and she covered her shoulders with it before pattering toward us: “Give me something to drink!” she cried out, breaking into joyful laughter. Still leaning against my friend, who was now gently stroking my belly, I handed her my glass with an affectionate smile. I felt happy and light, my mind expanding from the alcohol and the cocaine, overwhelmed by the fullness of the ambiguous body that the beautiful clothes my friend had lent me shaped for me. “You’ll catch cold,” I said to the blond girl who was shivering, reaching out my fingers to wipe away the water beading on the bristling skin of her arm. “Come dry off.”