together.
The boarders picked up their post in the evenings, after classes, from pigeonholes in the lobby of the residence. Almost every day, there would be a white envelope with his address on the back. The paper changed sometimes, or the color of the ink. A brief note or a thick bundle. This was her regular rendezvous. She liked the prestige it gave her among the other girls. But she wasnât going to open up to them. It was her own business. Her link. Often, she didnât read the letter right through. But she would have been in despair if nothing had arrived, or if the few sentences she did read hadnât been loving and passionate. She knew the words he liked best, his expressions, the jokes heâd tell. It was sweet and reassuring, a landmark. So she wasnât quite alone. In her letters back, she kept clumsily putting off the moment of seeing him again. But he wouldnâtlisten: he wanted sex. Heâd loved getting her letters, writing, all that stuff, but now it was time to fuck. He talked about her body in almost every line. It was hard to ignore. Gloria was not keen at all. She was the kind of girlâthere were quite a few of them around in those daysâwho couldnât reconcile sexual attraction with intellectual companionship. There was too much tenderness between the two of them, too many discussions on paper, too many confidences. That took her outside her erotic safety zone. A long way outside, in fact.
She wrote him things like, âWouldnât you prefer for us to run through the countryside hand in hand?â pretending this was a joke. She was afraid that sex wouldnât work, that it would be embarrassing, awkward. She knew enough about it to be aware that intercourse can seem very long when youâre not in the mood. Very long and very prosaic.
But for the first time in her short life, she couldnât manage to be brutal, to tell him sheâd changed her mind. It would have been easy just to stop writing, even simpler to send him a short note along the lines of, âDo me a favor, get lost.â But although she didnât want them even to meet, let alone touch each other, she didnât want to lose him either. Obscurely, she felt she couldnât allow herself to do without him. Or not entirely. He gave her moral support, bombarded her with his love, his esteem, his respect, his taste for her.
She managed to stall for a few weeks, keeping him hanging on without giving him a date. She pretended she didnât go home on weekends, whereas every Friday night she was back at the Campus, her local nightclub.
In May she was expelled from the school. Sheâd been stealing cash from girls in her class, taking it from their bags in the cloakroom during gym lessons. It wasnât the cleverest thing sheâd ever done. At the time, she was in the habit of stealing. The moment circumstances made it possible to pinch something, she told herself it was provocation. Everywhere. All the time. She felt she was in a kind of cosmic test. Having the feeling that some mad education specialist had put cameras everywhere, and that it was her duty to show this person that she didnât care and was going to steal anyway. These were years when she was playing games, but in a confused state of mind. Anyway, everything cost such a lot of money, beer and cigarettes for a start, and after all you had to live. So some stupid local girl had complained that sheâd lost five fifty-franc notes (it was still francs in those days). Hard to deny it when the exact sum was found in her pocket. Sheâd denied it anyway, on principle. Summoned to see the headmistress: fiftyish, small and plump with huge breasts, lots of makeup, big tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and a smile. She was sincerely sorry it hadnât worked out, and wished Gloria better luck elsewhere, as she told her firmly she would have to leave. Gloria was not unduly distressed at her expulsion: she didnât
The boarders picked up their post in the evenings, after classes, from pigeonholes in the lobby of the residence. Almost every day, there would be a white envelope with his address on the back. The paper changed sometimes, or the color of the ink. A brief note or a thick bundle. This was her regular rendezvous. She liked the prestige it gave her among the other girls. But she wasnât going to open up to them. It was her own business. Her link. Often, she didnât read the letter right through. But she would have been in despair if nothing had arrived, or if the few sentences she did read hadnât been loving and passionate. She knew the words he liked best, his expressions, the jokes heâd tell. It was sweet and reassuring, a landmark. So she wasnât quite alone. In her letters back, she kept clumsily putting off the moment of seeing him again. But he wouldnâtlisten: he wanted sex. Heâd loved getting her letters, writing, all that stuff, but now it was time to fuck. He talked about her body in almost every line. It was hard to ignore. Gloria was not keen at all. She was the kind of girlâthere were quite a few of them around in those daysâwho couldnât reconcile sexual attraction with intellectual companionship. There was too much tenderness between the two of them, too many discussions on paper, too many confidences. That took her outside her erotic safety zone. A long way outside, in fact.
She wrote him things like, âWouldnât you prefer for us to run through the countryside hand in hand?â pretending this was a joke. She was afraid that sex wouldnât work, that it would be embarrassing, awkward. She knew enough about it to be aware that intercourse can seem very long when youâre not in the mood. Very long and very prosaic.
But for the first time in her short life, she couldnât manage to be brutal, to tell him sheâd changed her mind. It would have been easy just to stop writing, even simpler to send him a short note along the lines of, âDo me a favor, get lost.â But although she didnât want them even to meet, let alone touch each other, she didnât want to lose him either. Obscurely, she felt she couldnât allow herself to do without him. Or not entirely. He gave her moral support, bombarded her with his love, his esteem, his respect, his taste for her.
She managed to stall for a few weeks, keeping him hanging on without giving him a date. She pretended she didnât go home on weekends, whereas every Friday night she was back at the Campus, her local nightclub.
In May she was expelled from the school. Sheâd been stealing cash from girls in her class, taking it from their bags in the cloakroom during gym lessons. It wasnât the cleverest thing sheâd ever done. At the time, she was in the habit of stealing. The moment circumstances made it possible to pinch something, she told herself it was provocation. Everywhere. All the time. She felt she was in a kind of cosmic test. Having the feeling that some mad education specialist had put cameras everywhere, and that it was her duty to show this person that she didnât care and was going to steal anyway. These were years when she was playing games, but in a confused state of mind. Anyway, everything cost such a lot of money, beer and cigarettes for a start, and after all you had to live. So some stupid local girl had complained that sheâd lost five fifty-franc notes (it was still francs in those days). Hard to deny it when the exact sum was found in her pocket. Sheâd denied it anyway, on principle. Summoned to see the headmistress: fiftyish, small and plump with huge breasts, lots of makeup, big tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and a smile. She was sincerely sorry it hadnât worked out, and wished Gloria better luck elsewhere, as she told her firmly she would have to leave. Gloria was not unduly distressed at her expulsion: she didnât
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