Read The Pleasure of M for Free Online Page A

 but
 it
 was
 not
 him
 she
 was
 afraid
 of,
 but
 of
 herself.
 Never
 had
 she
 so
 willingly
 
given
  up
  control
  to
  anyone,
  and
  this
  was
  “so
  unlike
  her”.
  Naturally,
  she
  reveled
  in
 
doing
 things
 that
 were
 unlike
 her
 as
 after
 all
 that
 is
 the
 point
 of
 a
 prim
 and
 proper
 
façade,
  but
  only
  when
  it
  was
  by
  design.
  Whenever
  Michel
  asked
  for
  something,
 
Catherine,
 as
 she
 now
 should
 be
 called
 since
 it
 was
 around
 then
 that
 Michel
 noticed
 
the
 unpleasant
 imbalance
 at
 the
 pleasure
 she
 had
 in
 saying
 his
 name,
 said
 yes
 before
 
even
  realizing
  the
  word
  had
  come
  out
  of
  her
  mouth,
  and
  this
  too
  was
  very
  much
 
unlike
 her.
 For
 the
 name
 also
 she
 said
 yes
 without
 thinking,
 and
 within
 seconds
 she
 
was
  flooded
  with
  a
  wave
  of
  conflicting
  thoughts.
  “What’s
  wrong
  with
  Cathy?”
  “Of
 
course
  he
  can
  call
  me
  Catherine:
  that’s
  my
  name!”
  “Nobody
  calls
  me
  Catherine!”
 
“Good
 lord!
 It’s
 not
 my
 name
 anymore,
 it’s
 his
 name
 for
 me!”
 “Why
 am
 I
 panicking
 
like
 a
 little
 girl?”
 But
 then
 she
 listened
 as
 he
 said
 her
 name
 and
 the
 instant
 pleasure
 
she
 derived
 from
 it
 erased
 any
 doubt
 in
 a
 flash.
 Soon
 enough
 she
 would
 find
 it
 pure
 
magic
  when
  he
  would
  answer
  the
  phone
  with
  her
  standard
  issue
  “Community
 
Relations,
  this
  is
  Cathy,
  how
  may
  I
  help
  you
  today?”
  only
  to
  be
  met
  with
  a
  pause
 
followed
 with
 a
 suave
 “Hello,
 Catherine”,
 the
 prelude
 to
 often
 over
 an
 hour
 of
 sheer
 
conversational
  bliss.
  And
  every
  conversation
  gave
  rise
  to
  renewed
  ardor
  in
  their
 
messages,
 electronic
 echoes
 of
 their
 melding
 thoughts
 across
 the
 ether.
 
“Dearest
 Michel,
 
    It
 is
 unbelievable
 how
 time
 flies
 when
 I
 am
 talking
 to
 you.
 It
 is
 quite
 paradoxical
 that
 
the
 more
 we
 speak,
 the
 greater
 the
 desire
 I
 have
 to
 continue
 the
 conversation.
 This
 
morning
 was
 lovely,
 and
 how
 near
 you
 felt
 to
 me.
 Almost
 as
 though
 I
 could
 reach
 out
 
and
  touch
  you.
  I
  left
  the
  patio,
  entered
  the
  house
  and
  climbed
  the
  stairs.
  There
  I
 
finally
 removed
 my
 robe
 and
 stood
 before
 the
 mirror.
 Your
 eyes
 taking
 in
 my
 sun-‐
warmed
  body,
  jewelry
  glowing
  at
  my
  neck,
  wrists
  and
  earlobes.
  Reluctantly,
  I
 
donned
 clothing
 and
 made
 ready
 to
 face
 the
 day.
 But
 your
 voice
 remained
 with
 me
 
and
 in
 me.
 
    Yours,
 
Catherine”
 
“Dear
 Catherine,
 
    Indeed
 time
 ceases
 to
 exist
 when
 we
 are
 together,
 and
 it
 is
 always
 a
 bit
 of
 a
 surprise
 
when
  we
  are
  re-‐immersed
  in
  its
  continuum
  and
  find
  that
  the
  shadow
  on
  the
 
quadrant
 has
 moved
 quite
 a
 bit.
 So
 also
 it
 is
 when
 I
 write
 to
 you.
 I
 have
 just
 put
 on
 
an
  old
  album:
  Kate
  Bush's
  "the
  kick
  inside".
  The
  first
  track
  says
  many