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  “I’d like to live long enough for you to tell me why you think so,” Gaëlle said, clutching the sides of her seat. “Can we slow down just a little, to a speed which is just frightening instead of a total nightmare?”

  “Hey! I’m Italian! We drive like this!”

  “Well, so am I, a bit further back, and I don’t!”

  “You see? More secrets. I never knew that either.”

  They arrived at a Winstub, one of the small traditional restaurants in the old town.

  “We always book a private room,” Gabi explained as she pointed the remote to lock the car and walked across the car park beside Gaëlle. “No outsiders, no men, not even waiters, only waitresses, so we can be as silly as we like.”

  There was a long table, set for ten, in the room. Gabi set down a carrier bag that she had brought in from the car. She took out a kitchen timer and a conductor’s baton. Gaëlle peered at the incongruous items.

  “I hope you’re going to explain what this is all about,” she said.

  “It’s my turn to deal with the first part of the evening,” Gabi said, as she set the timer on the table, closed her eyes and twirled the knob that controlled the alarm.

  “There,” she said. “It has to be random. Now we’re organised. People will be arriving from now on. The person who gets here last before the alarm goes off is in charge for the rest of the evening. We have to call her Madame President. Whatever she says goes. She can punish anything that she feels like, and whoever it is, usually finds fault with many things. Anyone who arrives after her suffers for it.”

  “It sounds like the rugby evenings that Jérôme used to tell me about.”

  “That’s where we got the idea. My friend Nathalie is married to a rugby player. She’ll be here in a moment, she’s always early.”

  Gaëlle was soon lost in names. Women of all ages from early twenties to fifty-year-olds were arriving, greeting each other and being introduced to Gaëlle, then chatting among themselves and with her. When the alarm went off, Gaëlle jumped. Gabi went over to the most recent arrival.

  “Madame President,” she said, bowing and handing her the baton. Madame President was a dark-haired, well-built woman in her middle thirties. Gaëlle recalled her name was Martine.

  “Places, girls,” Madame President called, tapping the baton against her glass. They all went to stand behind their place card. Just then another woman came in, looking very rushed.

  “Too late, Marie-Ange!” went up the general cry.

  “What a surprise. My first duty as Madame President is to deal with Marie-Ange, who is late, yet again,” Martine announced. “I think an apology is appropriate. An apology in song…to the tune of the Marseillaise…on one leg…on a chair, if you please, Marie-Ange.”

  “In these heels?” the woman called Marie-Ange started to protest.

  “Did I hear a complaint? I hope not, or did you really want to be apologising without underwear as well as shoeless?” Martine asked, raising an interrogative eyebrow. Marie-Ange took off her shoes and climbed onto her chair. She wobbled furiously as she struggled to keep her balance, her free leg waving in the air.

  “I apologise most hum…beer…lee,” she warbled, sounding anything but humble.

  “Most inelegant. Very tuneless. Apology accepted…just.” Madame President decided.

  Marie-Ange returned to her seat.

  “Second ruling—no watches, and complete silence when the President is speaking,” Madame President said.

  There was a rustle as those women wearing a watch took it off and put it away.

  “Third ruling—no tights!” Martine declared.

  Nicole, the woman who was seated on Gaëlle’s left, groaned.

  “I knew it! It just had to be Martine tonight! She always does that and I didn’t have time to buy stockings.” She was the only one to have to stand and, without further ceremony, hoist up her dress and pull her tights off. The others watched, clapping rhythmically.

  “I see what you mean about silly but fun,” Gaëlle murmured to Gabi. “I’m enjoying this,” she added.

  “Shush,” Gabi whispered.

  “Good,” said Martine. “Service will now begin.”

  When they were all at the coffee and liqueurs stage, Martine rapped on her wine glass again. There was instant, total quiet. “You may recall what I said earlier about absolute silence,” she said. “However, I distinctly heard Gabi’s guest whispering. Gabi will therefore perform a forfeit.”

  “That isn’t fair,” Gaëlle protested. “Gabi isn’t responsible for what I do, surely?”

  “Gabi will now tell us a suitably embarrassing story, or suffer the consequences,” Martine continued imperturbably, with a broad smile. “An embarrassing story about her guest, of course.”

  Gabi glanced at Gaëlle and whispered, “There’s only one thing I know, and I can hardly tell them that, can I?”

  Gaëlle thought for a moment. “Why not?” she murmured. “Your forfeit is my responsibility.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  Gabi told the story of the vibrating egg. Gaëlle could feel the eyes of the group on her. It was good to be the focus of an erotic story again. Her body thought so too, she realised, noticing a warm sensation between her thighs. Gabi finished, and she was about to sit down when Martine stopped her.

  “Have you no shame, Gabi? It isn’t nice to tell tales in public,” she said, ignoring the fact that it was she who’d defined the forfeit.” As a punishment for your lack of discretion, come over here.”

  Gabi obediently went to stand beside Martine, who used her baton of office to lift Gabi’s short red dress, revealing her knickers. They were white, decorated with a pattern of little pink roses. Hoots of laughter greeted this revelation.

  “Little girl knickers!”

  “Pretending she’s innocent!”

  “Who does she think she’s kidding?”

  Gabi gave them the finger.

  “Behave yourself, Gabi,” Martine told her. “And sit down nicely.”

  The evening progressed. As Gabi had warned, any perceived transgression called for a forfeit to be paid. One woman had to sing a rude drinking song as a result of using what Martine chose to call foul language. Everybody joined in the chorus. Another had to drink from the wrong side of her glass, as a punishment for spilling wine on the table. She ended up with yet more wine down her front, of course.

  “My blouse is soaked and I’ll catch cold!” she declared. Without further comment, she unfastened it and took it off.

  “Typical of Barbara,” Gabi’s friend Nathalie snorted. “Any excuse to show off her expensive boobs!”

  Barbara stuck out her tongue at her. “Just because you’re flat-chested, Nath!”

  “Flat-chested? Me? Let’s get an opinion on that!” Nathalie said, unbuttoning her own blouse. She had no bra under it. She stood and thrust out her chest. “So? My firm little boobs, or Barbara’s big bazookas?” she demanded.

  Opinion was split. Clearly, this group enjoyed letting their hair down, Gaëlle realized, also noting that it was all very good humoured.

  At eleven o’clock, Gabi pulled Gaëlle to one side. “I have to go soon,” she said. “I’m off to Brussels on the bike in the morning. Nath will give you a lift. It’s already arranged.”

  “You should have said. I could have taken a taxi.”

  “No way. Nath is happy to take you.”

  Gaëlle turned to Nathalie. “Sure?” she asked.

  “No problem.”

  Gabi said her goodbyes and left, waving to Gaëlle and miming a telephone call.

  Chapter Five

  A little later, Barbara came over to Gaëlle. “Want to come swimming?”

  “A swim? At this hour? In the Rhine, I suppose?”

  “Of course not.” Barbara laughed. “In my pool. Nath usually comes.”

  “I suppose I should too, then,” Gaëlle conceded.

  Although Barbara had put her wine-stained blouse back on, she didn�
��t bother to fasten it when she strolled out into the car park and got into a big BMW. A woman called Odile joined her. Nathalie, with Gaëlle as her passenger, followed them, as the little convoy of two cars drove to a house in one of the wealthy suburbs, and parked in a garage that Gaëlle reflected was about the size of her own apartment.

  Once inside, Barbara led them down a spiral staircase.

  “It’s huge,” Gaëlle exclaimed, looking at the swimming pool that came into view.

  “Twenty metres,” Barbara said proudly. “No point in divorcing a rich pig of a husband if you don’t get to enjoy what he had to hand over!”

  There were little cubicles beside the pool, and Gaëlle went into one of them. As she stripped she recalled the last time she had swum naked in a pool. It had been with Jérôme, two years previously. They’d been on their way to Vilnius, and had stopped for a day in Lübeck, in northern Germany. She’d noticed that the pool there was having a non-textile evening, and had suggested that they try it out. It had been one of the least sexy occasions of nudity in Gaëlle’s life. They’d had to wear swimming caps that were the colour and texture of condoms, and Jérôme had picked up a fungus that had taken several treatments to remove. Gaëlle realised that she was able to think of Jérôme without tears, now. She was making progress. She still missed him desperately, but he was a warm presence in her head now, rather than an open wound in her heart.

  While her mind was wandering, Gaëlle had stripped naked, rather conscious of her pubic hair, which had regrown over the months of neglect. However, as she started to open her cubicle door, Odile walked past, still wearing her knickers. Gaëlle quickly put hers back on and came out into the pool area.

  The others were already in the water. Unthinkingly, Gaëlle dived in, then had to grab hastily for her knickers and haul them back up from round her knees. She swam a few lengths, glad that she hadn’t overindulged at the meal. The others paddled around, doing more chatting than swimming, she noted. Gaëlle had a chance to examine them. Barbara’s boobs had clearly had assistance to be the size they were. Nathalie was quite a contrast. Her breasts would not have looked out of place on an adolescent. Odile’s body showed signs of having had children, with stretch marks around the nipples as well as on her stomach.

  “I need bubbles!” Barbara announced after a while. “I’ll see you up in the bar. Give me twenty minutes to give it a chance to chill.”

  She disappeared up the spiral staircase, not bothering to dress. The others swam and paddled and chatted. When Odile looked at the clock and declared that Barbara had had long enough, the trio climbed out of the pool and went to dry themselves. In her cubicle, Gaëlle peeled off her sodden knickers. Even wrung out, they weren’t wearable. She’d have to do without. She put her dress on and left the cubicle, just in time to meet Nathalie, who was wearing only a towel round her waist.

  “I’ll get dressed after the champagne,” she explained, seeing Gaëlle’s quizzical expression.

  “I don’t think my knickers will be dry even then,” Gaëlle said. “Perhaps I should have worn a longer dress.”

  “With legs like yours? Never! By the way, before we go up to the bar, there’s something you should know. It’s probable that you’ll notice something different about Barbara, but we aren’t supposed to comment on it, okay?”

  “Different? How?”

  “You’ll see. Come on.”

  The bar was up two flights. Gaëlle’s mind was working hard as she walked up the stairs. If she’d been at home, she would have been muttering aloud. She’d been so used to sharing everything with Jérôme, that she was conscious that she talked to herself quite a lot.

  I’m out of practice at walking around without underwear, even though I did it often enough with Jérôme, she told herself. She breathed out, emptying her lungs to relax. But I must stop referring everything back to him. But think, woman! What would he have wanted to know? Well, Gaëlle, How do you feel? You have no knickers on, and you’re walking up a spiral staircase. Two people you met only hours ago are just behind you, with a clear view of your bare bottom. Are you enjoying it? Be honest and admit that you are. Without the support of Jérôme, you would never have dared to try so many of the experiences you’ve known. What you’re doing now is your proof to him that you’ve learned how to accept responsibility, and to enjoy all the sexy possibilities that he opened up for you.

  While she had been thinking this through, they had climbed one of the flights of stairs. Gaëlle spent the second flight wondering what Nathalie had been hinting at regarding Barbara. Piercings, perhaps? She shook her head. She’d find out soon enough.

  The bar was too rococo for Gaëlle’s taste, with antiques everywhere. Nathalie and Gaëlle were first to arrive, but Odile soon joined them, fully dressed. Barbara was nowhere to be seen.

  “It’s good to have one of us who looks fit, but doesn’t make a song and dance about it.” Odile commented, looking at Gaëlle. “We usually have to put up with Gabi telling us that we need to go to the gym more.”

  “Gym? What an unpleasant word,” Barbara said, coming in clutching an ice bucket containing two champagne bottles. “Drinkies, girls! Much more fun.”

  Now Gaëlle could see what Nathalie had meant about Barbara, who was wearing only a pair of skin-tight shorts. She was a sturdy woman, built like one of Maillol’s female nudes. Gaëlle’s eyes were drawn to Barbara’s bared breasts. Surely nipples as long as that couldn’t be natural? They hadn’t been so prominent earlier, Gaëlle was certain. Nathalie nudged her, and she tore her gaze away in time for Odile to hand her a flute of champagne. Gaëlle and Nath didn’t intend to stay long and after a couple of glasses, Nathalie said she had to head off home. Gaëlle, feeling the effects of the drinks and also exhausted after this, her first social outing for many months, also said goodbye.

  “You will come again, won’t you?” Barbara asked. “Maybe next time we’ll have the opportunity to have a proper conversation.”

  “Of course, if you’ll have me,” Gaëlle replied. She kissed Barbara on both cheeks, very aware of the other woman’s distended nipples pressed against her, and trying not to stare.

  In the car, Nathalie started the motor and then, as she drove out into the road, she said, “Aren’t you going to ask?”

  “About Barbara? I was wondering how to put the question,” Gaëlle told her.

  “Barbara desperately needs to feel she looks sexy, even if she isn’t really the shape for it. You must have noticed she’s had a boob-job?”

  “That’s pretty obvious.”

  “Well, even after she’d had that done, she still couldn’t compete with the likes of Gabi, and no matter what she does, she’ll never look as sexy as you, for example. I hope you don’t mind my saying that.”

  “It’s a welcome compliment, and I rather need those at the moment, so thank you.” Gaëlle smiled at Nathalie.

  “So then she discovered pumping.”

  “Pumping? What’s that? I’m sorry, I’ve spent almost a year not thinking about sex, so you’ll have to explain.”

  “The idea is that you fit a plastic tube over your nipples and pump the air out with a vacuum pump. It makes them swell up and become longer.”

  Now Gaëlle understood. She was reminded of her submissive evening with Vivienne. The memory of how the vacuum pump had felt on her nipples and sex gave her a warm glow. She shifted in her seat, conscious of her bare bottom and hoping she wasn’t going to leave a damp patch on the leather. Her dress wasn’t long enough to tuck it under her.

  “Barbara’s nipples certainly stood out,” she agreed, trying not to sound as interested as she was. “And they stay like that for how long?”

  Nathalie laughed.

  “I don’t really know, but I suspect that Barbara must do it quite often, and maybe that increases the lasting effect. What did you think of how it made her look?”

  “Um. It certainly caught my eye. If you want to attract people’s attention, it does the job. It must feel weird, �
��she suggested, trying to find out how much Nathalie knew.

  “I’ve no idea. I’ve never tried it. Barbara seems to enjoy it, though, especially when people stare.”

  “I suppose it’s a bit like being pierced,” Gaëlle mused out loud. “When you have a piercing you’re conscious that people can’t resist looking twice.”

  “That sounds like personal experience. You had pierced nipples?”

  “Absolutely not! Mine are much too small and sensitive.”

  “But you did have a piercing, though? Where?”

  The champagne made it simple for Gaëlle to be frank. “Through my clitoris hood. I used to be depilated, too, to make the jewellery stand out even more.”

  “Oh wow!” Nathalie gasped. “You know, Gabi has been going on about you since you met up again. She’s convinced herself that you’re some sort of sexual icon, as well as a professional one. Even just this evening, I’m starting to understand how she got that impression. But I bet she doesn’t know you used to be pierced.”

  “No, she doesn’t. Are you going to tell her?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  “Thank you.”

  Gaëlle sat in silence as the car swept through the empty early-morning streets of Strasbourg. Back in her apartment, she showered to get the pool chemicals off her skin, then got into bed, naked. She lay back with her hands behind her head and reflected on the evening. She hadn’t felt so relaxed for ages. And she had to admit to herself that it had also been a pleasantly sexy outing. She glanced at her nipples, which were erect. Yes, she thought, it had been really quite stimulating.

  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.