Manon dragged me outside to get some fresh air. We had just spent two hours setting the dancefloor on fire. The company we worked for had seen the big picture. For its annual party, the France subsidiary was gathered in this gigantic place in the heart of Paris, hundreds of people were there, swallowing petit fours, cups in hand. After a certain hour (and a certain dose of alcohol), people forgot any professional context. Everyone swayed to techno. Manon and I were playing around, tight and sensual. I loved the looks that this ambiguous complicity aroused. All of this pissed me off a lot.
STILL NEED TO PLAY
Outside, small bars decorated a giant guinguette-style terrace. Manon wanted a “granita”, something really cold. Even outside it was hot. It was July, and the heat wave had been hitting for a few days. While smoking my cigarette, I watched Manon play with the straw of her strawberry granita between her lips, beautiful, her and her Rimmel flowing at the end of the evening. She was leaning against a low wall. I was thinking of eating it raw. Which I did against all odds. I kissed her as one bites into a ripe fruit. Manon let herself go and even redoubled her voluptuousness. An endless icy kiss… In the taxi taking me home, I wondered what had been going through my head. Manon was 25, almost ten years younger than me, she was my colleague, and above all, she was a woman! I had kissed a woman, I who, since my earliest childhood, had only wanted men. And to complete the picture, I was not single. For six years, I had shared my life with Paul, a brilliant, handsome, kind, athletic, non-smoker man… It was almost painful, he was so perfect. Basically, I was bored in this story, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Perhaps because all my girlfriends dreamed of this ideal son-in-law, and I was approaching 35 with the fear of finding myself alone. It was the complete paradox. I dreamed of a settled life with husband and children, while being unable to really project myself into it. I couldn’t grow. I still needed to play, to put myself in danger and to prove to myself that I liked. But if I liked to seduce, I had never cheated on Paul, at least I had never acted out. Manon had arrived in my service six months earlier. As soon as I saw her in the open space, I liked her. Her very fashionable way of dressing, a bit of a tomboy, her peroxide bob, her smile… I quickly took her under my wing. I liked his quirky humor and this slight insolence specific to youth. It was as refreshing as it was infuriating. His presence reinvigorated me, I who couldn’t stand the digital world in which I was evolving professionally. In the evening, we would have a drink for a debriefing which regularly ended in dinner. We told each other our lives. Little by little, Manon had become my confidante. My crushes, my frustrations, my desires… She knew everything. For her part, she was more reserved, preferring to ask me a thousand questions, trying to solve my problems. One evening, when my boyfriend wasn’t there, I invited her to dinner. She landed with the meal. She had anticipated my level of fatigue, had gone to an Italian caterer and had selected everything I liked. I was impressed by so much concern at such a young age. I remember telling her jokingly that if she had been a man, I would have married her on the spot. She replied by stroking my cheek that she was a woman and that I could marry her too. That made me laugh. I was far from imagining that she could love women; she had so many men at her feet.
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The day after our granita kiss, I shaved the walls when I arrived at the office. Not only did I have a phenomenal hangover, but I was also ashamed. I missed those languorous embraces, as delicious as they were. I was afraid of having been too cavalier with Manon, and that she was imagining things. And the others, the colleagues? Had they seen us? My brain was racing when she tumbled into the open space, visibly more comfortable than me. She gave me a knowing smile. “We need to talk,” I texted him back on his phone. Two seconds later, it was mine that rang: “You’re not going to do the ‘we need to talk’ thing to me. Don’t worry, I’m not going to propose to you for two kisses! I was tense in front of a naturally disconcerting Manon. She acted like nothing had happened. It was almost annoying.
A HOT NIGHT
A few days later, we had a trip to Toulouse. I apprehended. I thought it would be an opportunity to talk to each other. But in the evening, in the hotel restaurant, sitting next to her on the bench, I was fine. Our bodies brushed against each other, and I had no desire to break the mood. At coffee time, she broached the subject of kissing with a mischievous air. “It was good, wasn’t that granita? I couldn’t lie to her. “Yes, very good, but…” She didn’t let me finish my sentence and kissed me. That was delicious. I stammered “yes, but no”, “am not available”, “I like boys” … And we kissed even more. I didn’t have to be asked to accompany her back to her room. In fact, I wanted her. But I was nervous, I didn’t know how to do it, what to do with my hands. My heart was pounding like crazy in my chest. “Leave it to you,” she whispered to me, as I sat on the bed, as tense as a crossbow. “Here, I’m going to teach you. His hands roamed every inch of my body. The neck, shoulders, breasts, buttocks … Manon took me to the realm of pleasure with infinite gentleness. The more she felt my abandonment, the hotter her caresses became. When she explored my sex with her tongue, I was so excited that I forgot to be afraid. I didn’t know what she was doing to me in that hot place, but I was getting a hell of a kick. I had never felt that, like a succession of orgasms rising crescendo.
I thought it would be the one and only time between her and me. But impossible to give up the pleasure after having tasted it so intensely. Manon lived close to the office. We found ourselves at her house almost every day of the summer, insatiable. Early in the morning, in the evening after work, and some lunchtimes when you really wanted to. We acted as if nothing had happened with our colleagues, which helped to electrify us more. Initially, it was she who led the dance by making me discover erogenous parts of my body that I did not know existed. Then gradually, she guided me to her own excitement, to each position that made her climb to seventh heaven. The joy of seeing her twist with pleasure! Was I homosexual, bisexual? I kept asking myself these questions. One day, I decided, I was “Manonsexual”. His gender didn’t matter. I wanted her, period.
Surprisingly, vis-à-vis Paul, I didn’t feel guilty, or so little, as if cheating on him with a woman was less serious than with a man. “Probably because there is no penetration…” I said to Manon one day, which made her jump. “Nonsense, what a patriarchal approach to sex! ” She was right. Even without penetration, where Manon took me looked like a real betrayal, it was so strong. So I left Paul after two months of double life, but not for her. I had finally realized that my story with him was not like me, and that the orderly life was not for me. After five months of intense relationship with Manon, we separated. Our idyll was turning into routine. And above all, she was going to live in Madrid, where she had landed a job. We thought we might meet again, the world is small, the “Cloud” too… That was four years ago. I’ve had two nice stories since then, with men, even though I haven’t closed any doors to anyone. Manon will perhaps be the only woman in my life. In the meantime, as soon as I see a granita somewhere, I think of it… and of our scorching summer.