Chapter 13: Caroline - Part 2

When I arrived at Caroline's apartment the next day, she opened the door dressed in a silk gown which showed off her stunning figure to best advantage. The garment was held together around her waist and whenever she walked and later when she sat down the gown opened and her beautiful long legs came into view.

I was amazed to see her like that. My surprise must have shown on my face, because she said, "I hope you don't mind that I receive you like this. I had a quick shower when I got home and there wasn't enough time to get fully dressed."

Caroline had laid a small table and asked me if I preferred tea or coffee. I opted for tea and she disappeared into the kitchen to prepare it. I had a look around the room. It gave the impression that the person owning this place was quite wealthy. Everything was of the finest quality and had been carefully chosen to combine with everything else. Although this wasn't how I would have decorated my own home, I had to admire Caroline's good taste.

When the tea was ready, Caroline made me sit down on a small sofa and then sat down next to me, her legs almost touching mine. I found her a warm and charming person; any shyness had disappeared. Perhaps being in the familiar surroundings of her own home made her feel more secure, more relaxed. I started to wonder which of the many Carolines I had met so far was the real Caroline.

As I was a guest in her place, I thought it appropriate to wait for Caroline to start the conversation. I didn't have to wait long. Soon she said, "There are so many things I want to tell you, I hardly know where to start."

I suggested to start at the beginning and she accepted my suggestion.

"I'm twenty-two years old now. When I got married I wasn't yet eighteen."

That hit me like a bombshell.

"You're married?" I asked.

"I'm a widow. Billy, my husband, died more than a year ago."

I told her how sorry I was to hear about her loss.

"You probably wonder why I got married so young. No, it wasn't an unexpected pregnancy. We were infatuated with each other. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. We were constantly rolling around on some bed. Quite often we didn't make it to the nearest bed, so strong was our passion. You wouldn't believe the things we used to get up to.

"I didn't feel that our relationship needed an official stamp of approval but Billy insisted that we get married. He wanted to make sure that I would be provided for. You see, he was a test pilot - no, not airplanes, motorbikes. He used to test those heavy racing machines and fine tune them to get the best performance out of them. This job was considered dangerous and the people he worked for took out a life insurance policy in his name as part of his contract.

"Although Billy never seriously believed that anything could happen to him, he assumed that I could only benefit from the insurance as his lawfully wedded wife. So I finally gave in to his pleas and agreed to get married. Billy was twenty-one at the time.

"In addition to his job, Billy also participated in bike races on the weekend. Not the big international events; small amateur races on secondary race tracks. Billy loved motor racing, it was his number one passion. I only came in second place; I wouldn't even say I was a close second. In the beginning, I tried to compete with his number one passion, tried to force him to choose between me and racing, but I soon realised that I couldn't win.

"Then, I tried to share his passion for the sport. I went to a few races with him, but by the time it was over I was a nervous wreck. So I stayed at home waiting for his phone call. He always called me immediately after each race to tell me that he was okay.

"That day, when the accident happened, the phone also rang, but I knew instinctively that it wasn't him calling. I almost fainted before answering the phone. It's ironic that his number one passion did not want to share him with me and took him away from me for good."

As she spoke I had placed my hand on hers to comfort her. It was clear from the tone of her voice that it was not easy for her to talk about Billy's death. And I believed she had all the reasons in the world to feel cheated by life.

"The life insurance only covered accidents during the exercise of his job. Participation in races in his spare time was not included. However, his employers persuaded the insurance company to pay up and I received a considerable sum of money. But I didn't want any money. I wanted Billy back. Without him, life wasn't worth living.

"I went into a state of deep depression, refusing to eat and sleeping very little. I didn't have the guts to commit suicide, but I was in the process of killing myself slowly by refusing my body the food and sleep it needed. When Billy's parents noticed the decline in my physical and mental health, they had me placed immediately in a hospital where I could receive psychiatric treatment.

"There were daily sessions with psychiatrists and psychoanalysts. It took me a long time to accept that Billy had gone for ever, that nothing could bring him back and that my life had to go on. When my physical health had recovered and the doctors were confident that I wouldn't do myself any harm, I was released from hospital. I continue to see a psychoanalyst twice a week. It was her who suggested I should get a job to keep me occupied and to give me a chance to meet other people.

"That's how I joined the department where Claude works, about three months ago. I don't need the money - I have enough for the rest of my life - and the job isn't challenging nor satisfying, but it gives me something to do during the day.

"I was completely unprepared for the impact my arrival at the department had on my male colleagues. At first they showered me with compliments about my good looks. When they found out that I was living on my own - I didn't yet feel strong enough to talk about Billy - they kept asking me for a date.

"The idea of starting a relationship with another man terrified me. It wasn't that I had decided to be faithful to Billy even after his death. It wasn't that I thought no other man could replace Billy. It was the fear that I wouldn't be able to handle it, should that relationship ever end.

"I didn't want to get emotionally involved with anybody for fear of disintegrating emotionally if it ended. The pain I experienced over losing Billy had been so intense, nothing seemed to justify risking a repetition of that pain. I decided to tell my suitors that my refusal to accept their invitations wasn't anything personal, I just wasn't interested in men. And as a kind of proof I put up pictures of scantily-clad women on my office wall - which brings us to your picture and the reason why we are here together today.

"Although most of what I told my male colleagues about being attracted to women was just a trick to keep them off my back, there was something on that poster which attracted me. It wasn't your body, it was your face. It has this serene expression of a person who is at peace with herself and with the world, a fulfilled, happy person. I was almost the exact opposite, and your face gave me hope that I could one day achieve this state of happiness again."

I was touched by her description of my face and amazed by how much she could see in a simple photograph of a girl in sexy underwear. But she was right: I had been feeling happy and fulfilled when the picture was taken and it probably showed. Come to think of it, feeling happy and fulfilled and being with Ramon were almost synonymous.

"Of course, I didn't lose my sex drive because of Billy's death. Once I had recovered the will to live, my sexual desire also returned. But as I didn't want to get involved with anybody, I was reduced to having sex on my own. I started a collection of sexy lingerie, scouring the shops for the most seductive garments I could find.

"I would put on those flimsy clothes and would stand or sit in front of a large mirror. I'd let myself be seduced by that woman I saw in the mirror who was removing her underwear in the most sensual, most suggestive way possible. And later, when I masturbated, I made love to that beautiful creature who writhed and moaned under my expert touch."

That was the most romantic description of a woman masturbating I had ever heard. I wanted to be that image in the mirror which seduced her, I wanted to feel her hands on my body and I wanted to return the pleasure she would give me by making love to her. I embraced her tenderly and we stayed like that for a long time.

"One of the dangers of these sessions was that I would think of Billy, that I would start to bemoan my loss and sink into depression. My analyst accepts that I'm not yet ready to see other men and considers masturbation a healthy and normal alternative. She also realises that I can't block Billy completely from my mind. So she prescribed me some anti-depressants or 'uppers' as they're sometimes called, with the instruction to take one of them whenever I feel in a depressed or anxious mood.

"When Claude told me that he had met you, 'the woman on the poster', and suggested we'd all go out together, I had mixed feelings. On one hand I wanted to break out of my isolation and meet a few people socially, and who better to start with than the woman with the serene, happy look? On the other hand, wasn't this whole idea of wanting to meet someone because I had seen her picture a little too school-girlish for a woman of my age?

"Then there was the suggestion to go to Le Chambre Séparée. I had a vague idea of what to expect and I would never have gone there with Claude alone. But as his girlfriend would be coming along I felt safe from his advances. It also occurred to me that casual sex without commitments might be a first step in returning to a normal sex life. After all, when I was a teenager I used to 'sleep around' until I met Billy. In the end, I accepted the invitation.

"That evening - it seems such a long time ago, but it was only the day before yesterday - I felt very apprehensive. I was worried that I wasn't yet ready for social contact, that I might spoil everybody else's fun. In the restaurant, I noticed that everybody was eager to make me feel comfortable, but that made me even more tense. I wasn't able to participate in the conversation. My mind went blank and I couldn't think of anything meaningful to say. I agreed to have some wine but the alcohol didn't have any relaxing effect.

"Then, when we got to Le Chambre Séparée, things really got bad. I don't need to tell you, you know what happened. But you probably don't know the reason for my strange behaviour. It was the mixture of 'uppers' and Champagne which sent me on a horror trip."

I looked at her in amazement and disbelief.

"As soon as we arrived at Le Chambre Séparée, I went to the bathroom and took an anti-depressant. You're not supposed to mix them with alcohol, but on a few occasions before, I had drunk some wine and when it didn't loosen me up I had taken one of those pills without any negative side effects. When I took it that evening, it wasn't my intention to have any more alcohol, but then everybody insisted that I had to join in a toast to our host. I guess, I should have come clean and said that I was on uppers and couldn't drink anything, but I didn't have the guts. I felt I couldn't explain why it had been OK to drink wine in the restaurant but not OK to have Champagne now. In the end I agreed to join you in your toast and had a little Champagne.

"As soon as it hit my stomach, I started to feel unwell. I had nightmares; horrible visions passed in front of my eyes. I don't remember everything I said or did, maybe I don't really want to know. But I remember that one half of me wanted to leave immediately and the other half said, 'If you do that, nobody will ever invite you again'. So I did hang on for as long as I could."

"You don't remember what you did or, more precisely, what I made you do?"

"I think I know what you mean. The horror trip came and went. In between I had some lucid moments and in those moments I decided to get the most out of the situation and became your slave."

"You mean you actually wanted to do this at the time?"

"Oh yes. It's a game Billy and I played sometimes. We used to take turns in taking the role of the master and the other one had to do what the master ordered. We never hurt each other, we instinctively knew how far we could go. Occasionally our games would involve other people, usually complete strangers."

I was speechless. "You're saying you knew what you were doing when I made you masturbate in public, suck Claude's cock and eat Arlette's pussy?"

She nodded. "I enjoyed those moments very much. I wasn't responsible for my actions. It wasn't me who was doing it, it was that slave girl... what did you call her?... Oh yes, Isaura. I was a little disappointed that I wasn't allowed to go all the way with Claude, but I understood that it was for a good cause. I hoped you might get someone to fuck me."

I interrupted, "You were prepared to go that far?"

"Oh yes, I was in the mood for mindless, irresponsible sex. Sex for sex's sake, without any commitments or afterthoughts. But then I started to get a splitting headache and there was no way I could enjoy myself any longer. So I decided to leave. It all happened so quickly, I didn't even have time to thank you for the lovely present you gave me."