Blue Movie by Terry Southern Page A

mean, I thought it would destroy my parents to find out. So the next day was Saturday, which was the day we, that is, the women—Denise, and I, and my aunt—always went to the village, to do the marketing. He told me to say I was sick and couldn’t go—and to stay in bed.”
    It seemed for a moment that she didn’t want to continue, but Boris now had his own reasons for pursuing it.
    “Yeah?”
    “Well . . . I stayed, the way he said, telling them I felt sick, so they left for the market without me . . . and I lay there, listening, waiting—it was horrible—then I heard, in another room, his shoes drop against the floor—heavy shoes that farmers wear—and I knew he was coming, I closed my eyes, it was unbearable, and he came in, very quietly, like he might be on tiptoe.
    “‘Pretend you are asleep,’ he said in a whisper, as though he thought someone would hear us, but, of course, he knew there was no one for miles—and he got into bed, with his clothes on, except for his shoes . . . he unbuttoned the top of my pajamas—I just lay still while he did that, but then he began to pull off the other part, and I tried not to let him, but he kept saying, ‘I won’t hurt you, I just want to hold you’—I still had no idea what he was going to do—then he was on top of me, pulling my legs apart and pressing himself in between them . . . and his thing, his penis, was out, hard, pressing against me, already hurting, and I tried to pull away and said, ‘You promised you wouldn’t,’ and he said, ‘I just want it to touch you,’ and he was trying to force it inside, but it wouldn’t because I was dry and everything, and he put saliva on the end of it and forced it in, very hard—oh it was unbearable, it was such pain—and I was crying and he kept saying, ‘Is this how your lover does it?’ and ‘Is mine as big as your lover’s?’ and terrible things, I would gladly have died to stop it. I didn’t even have the presence of mind to ask him not to come inside me—not that he would have listened . . . so anyway he finished, and he looked at the bed, for blood, but of course there was no blood—a ballet student loses her hymen on the first plié, and I had been dancing for six years. Well, he was relieved that there was no blood, but I was still crying, almost hysterical, and now that it was over, he began to be afraid I would tell—so when I said I wanted to go home, he took me straight to the station. Later he told my aunt and Denise that I was sick and had insisted on going home. Afterward I saw Denise a few times, in Paris, and we made love, but I never went back to stay with her again.”
    She looked over at Boris and smiled faintly. “So, Mister B., there you have my story—‘The Loves of Arabella’—or at least the first chapter.”
    Boris was somewhat astonished to find himself thinking along the very lines for which he had earlier chided Sid.
    “Well,” he asked, “did you ever, uh, you know, try it again? With a man?”
    “Yes. When I was still very young, before I had accepted myself. I tried it twice, as a matter of fact—and each time it should have been ideal . . . each time it was with someone I was very fond of . . . someone gentle and loving . . . someone I wanted to please. And each time it was terrible—I could feel nothing . . . except fear and resentment. I couldn’t even begin to relax, much less . . . to give anything.” She turned to Boris with her famous smile. “Well, Doctor?”
    Boris shook his head. “Incredible,” he said softly.
    “Incredible? You mean you don’t believe it?”
    “No, no, I mean it’s . . . astonishing . . . it’s great. We’ve got to use it—for your sequence in the film.”
    “You can’t be serious—what about the story you already had prepared?”
    “Mickey Mouse compared to yours. No, we didn’t really have a story—just some ideas, images mostly, about two girls making love. This way we can use the uncle as well. It’ll be