The Belt

Rome.

Already a memory receding. Those three weeks with Gian were idyllic, but he left last night for Oman, engaged by that high dignitary in the Sultan’s circle.

And for four days now Claire has been in Florence, in Gian’s old family house.

The house has something silent and worn about it that she is only beginning to tame. High lime-washed walls, and narrow windows that let in a pale light, already golden despite the early hour. Under her feet the old parquet creaks sometimes for no reason. The furniture, heavy and dark, seems to have been there for ever: a big table of waxed wood, a few armchairs in faded fabrics, a bookcase covering almost an entire wall. A discreet smell of wax, old wood and coffee floats through the rooms.

Through the living-room windows you can see the little cobbled street, still quiet at this hour. A sound of footsteps echoes now and then between the façades, then fades.

Claire looks at Soo-ah, Gian’s assistant.

She still knows her only through what he has told her, a few confidences in passing. A young Korean woman who arrived in Europe eight years earlier, in circumstances Gian says little about. A family in debt. Men who had already decided her future for her. Then Gian stepped in. He settled what had to be settled, took her away with him and made it possible for her to continue her studies. He protected her, of course. But he also gave her the time and the freedom to become a woman.

This morning they are alone in the vast sitting room.

The Florentine morning light comes through the high windows and cuts rectangles into the old parquet. They have settled near the bar, each on a stool, a cup of steaming Italian coffee in front of them.

Soo-ah is slim, fine-boned, taut. Her tanned skin contrasts with the clear light of the room. Everything about her seems precise: the gestures, the posture, the way she lifts her eyes when she listens. There is something held back in her elegance, almost secret.

Frida, her partner of two years now, has gone to Norway to visit her parents.

She is, by all accounts, a spectacular young woman, full-figured, with hair so blonde it looks almost white. A Renoir model, in a Nordic version.

Soo-ah is in a vest top and very short white shorts. Her thighs and legs are loose-limbed, harmonious; her pear-shaped breasts are very present — an unusual build for a Korean woman. Claire is fascinated by the mass of her black hair, gathered up into a high ponytail.

And she feels Soo-ah’s eyes on her, taking her in without restraint.

Claire recognises that look. For some time now she has learned to recognise the effect her body has on men. She doesn’t have Soo-ah’s slender, svelte beauty. She is tall, voluptuous, heavy-breasted, full-hipped, and her backside…

And since Gian, she has begun to accept the obvious.

She is beautiful, with that carnal beauty that overturns the world of the men who cross her path.

She knows it when she catches her own reflection. She knows it when Gian’s hand comes to rest on her. She knows it in her belly, in her skin, in the way her body now answers desire.

But Soo-ah’s gaze, this morning, unsettles her in a way she hadn’t expected.

Soo-ah talks to her about Gian, in that well-pitched voice that had struck her at their first meeting. She tells her what she does for him. She talks about their life.

Then she falls silent.

And she looks at Claire.

Without looking away.

Intensely.

Like the first time.

A month earlier, while Claire was waiting for Gian without much belief left, Soo-ah had appeared to bring her a gift from him: a small bottle of perfume and a letter. At Gian’s request she had photographed her naked in front of the big mirror in the sitting room. And when Claire had finally agreed to that unsettling request, Soo-ah had already been watching her with the same disconcerting precision.

Claire remembers it now with a slight discomfort.

She ends up saying:

— I don’t know what to do when you look at me like that.

Soo-ah doesn’t answer straight away.

Then:

— You’re incredibly beautiful.

Claire gives a small, embarrassed smile.

Soo-ah doesn’t smile. She lets a few seconds pass.

— I didn’t really believe Gian when he told me about you. He’s known so many women… But when I saw the spark in his eyes and heard his voice vibrate, I thought he might have found the one he’d been looking for all this time.

Claire listens.

— And that intrigues me.

Claire stays silent.

She searches for words. She doesn’t find them.

Soo-ah’s gaze, meanwhile, is perfectly clear.

Claire hadn’t been able to identify it a month earlier, with the perfume and the letter. And this morning she had no idea of the turn this conversation was going to take.

The way Soo-ah is looking at her is desire.

The realisation comes to her slowly.

Soo-ah’s gaze is intense. Her eyes are black.

They are sitting very close. Their coffees almost forgotten. Their legs aren’t touching.

Claire repeats, lower:

— You’re looking at me…

This time Soo-ah answers at once.

— I want you.

Claire doesn’t move.

A silence.

Then, simply:

— I want to make you scream.

Claire stares at her, stunned.

No woman has ever spoken to her like that. She doesn’t know what to say, and her voice shakes a little when she does.

— Stop… you’re making me uncomfortable.

A faint smile appears on Soo-ah’s lips.

Claire changes the subject, almost in spite of herself.

— I don’t really understand your relationship, with Gian.

The smile disappears.

— I’ve lived with him for eight years.

Soo-ah holds her gaze.

— He is my life.

Claire frowns slightly.

— What does that mean?

— That I live for him.

She says it without emphasis, as though stating the obvious.

Claire makes up her mind:

— And do you sleep together?

Soo-ah looks her straight in the eyes.

— Sometimes. If he wants me, he takes me.

Claire is taken aback for a moment.

— And does that happen often?

— No. Not often. Sometimes I feel he needs a woman, and I give myself to him.

She thinks.

— When it happens, it confirms that the bond between us still exists. That it’s still just as strong.

Claire shakes her head.

— But then you’re his wife… And all the others? He can’t ask you to live like that for him.

— I’m not his wife, and he asks me for nothing. You’re the one he was waiting for. He chose you from the first night. From that moment you became something sacred to me, and I will never be an obstacle between the two of you.

She pauses.

— He’s often told me he doesn’t want me to stay the prisoner of a vow I made as a teenager. I could leave tomorrow. I think it would affect him, but he’d accept it.

Soo-ah pauses.

— He’d even take care of me. I know he’d make sure I never went without.

— Then why?

— Because it’s my choice, since the day he gave me this life. I’m here for him because I want to be here.

She looks Claire straight in the eyes.

Claire struggles to understand a bond like that.

And yet she can’t deny that it exists.

There in front of her, obvious, powerful. Almost palpable.

Then something changes in Soo-ah’s eyes.

She is very close now.

She puts her hand on Claire’s.

A firm, warm hand. Fine fingers, nails simply manicured, a pretty wrist, faintly tanned skin.

Claire looks down at their hands, then up again.

Soo-ah is still watching her.

A shiver runs down her back.

She suddenly perceives every detail: the stool under her thighs, the light cloth of her trousers, the thin straps of her white top on her shoulders, the fabric rubbing lightly against her breasts.

— Have you ever made love with a woman? Soo-ah asks.

— No… never.

— Do you want me?

Claire doesn’t answer.

She thinks of Gian.

— I don’t know… You unsettle me, it’s true…

A silence.

— What would Gian say?

Soo-ah gives a small movement of her shoulders.

— He doesn’t want to own people. And he loves us both, differently. I think he’d be interested to know that we’d slept together.

— Interested?

— Yes.

Soo-ah says the next word with an almost mocking shade:

— To see that you’re… open.

Open.

Claire repeats the word inwardly.

She’s no longer quite sure what is happening. She only knows that her body has already understood something before she has.

Soo-ah stands up.

She takes Claire’s hand and draws her gently towards the big futon, in the huge room, near an old window looking onto the little Florentine street bathed in sun.

They stand a moment, facing each other.

So different.

Then Soo-ah moves behind her.

Her hands settle on Claire’s waist. Her muscled belly presses against her buttocks.

Claire breathes in sharply.

Soo-ah’s hands slide under her top and come to envelop the mass of her breasts. Her fingers find the areolae, stroke them and pinch them lightly. Claire feels her nipples harden under the contact.

Soo-ah breathes against her neck.

Claire is already breathing faster.

— I don’t know if I can… if I should…

Soo-ah doesn’t answer.

Her right hand goes on kneading Claire’s breast, slowly, while the other moves down to the drawstring of her trousers. She undoes it without haste. The knot gives. The fabric loosens on her hips.

Claire doesn’t move.

Soo-ah’s hand goes down between her thighs.

This time Claire flinches slightly when she feels the fingers slip between her lips. A tiny movement, almost a recoil, but Soo-ah doesn’t stop.

Claire is wet.

The fact strikes her with an almost brutal clarity. Soo-ah must feel it too. There’s no more taking refuge behind her hesitation, behind that I don’t know she has just murmured. Her body has answered in her place.

Her breathing quickens further.

Soo-ah withdraws her hand, takes Claire by the waist and draws her towards the futon. She turns her gently to face her.

They look at each other.

Then Soo-ah takes hold of the hem of the little white top.

Claire understands what she is going to do.

And this moment, absurdly, seems decisive to her.

She could still stop her, but she doesn’t.

On the contrary — as Soo-ah begins to lift the fabric, Claire feels her arms rise almost of their own accord. She helps. The top passes over her chest, her face, her arms, and falls somewhere behind them.

She is naked to the waist.

Soo-ah looks at her barely a second before pulling her against her and taking her mouth.

The kiss is nothing like a question.

Claire feels Soo-ah’s tongue slide between her lips, seeking hers. Her firm belly presses against her own. A leg comes forward between her thighs; Soo-ah sets a foot on the edge of the futon and holds her there, pressed tight against her.

Claire could still do nothing.

But her tongue answers.

That simple movement unsettles her almost more than all the rest.

She is the one who has just done it.

Soo-ah cups her right breast in her palm and gradually pinches the nipple.

Claire moans.

Then Soo-ah pushes her gently backwards.

Claire lets herself go onto the futon and props herself on her elbows.

Soo-ah stands in front of her.

For a few seconds she does nothing.

She looks.

Claire lies stretched out, breasts bare, spreading a little over her ribs, her trousers undone on her hips. She sees Soo-ah’s gaze travel over her belly, her chest, her legs. A month earlier, in front of the big mirror, that same gaze had made her uncomfortable.

Today it’s something else.

Soo-ah leans down and takes hold of the trousers with both hands.

She pulls.

Claire catches herself lifting her hips to help.

Once again, her body decides.

The trousers slide down her thighs, her legs, then disappear at the foot of the futon.

Soo-ah straightens.

Their eyes meet.

Then Soo-ah lifts a leg, lets her white shorts drop and, in one quick movement, pulls off her vest top.

Claire sees her naked.

She barely has time to look.

Soo-ah comes onto her.

The contrast between their bodies is striking. Soo-ah’s taut fineness against Claire’s full curves. Her slim, firm thighs between her own. Her hard belly against her belly. Her chest, surprisingly full on so lithe a body, crushing against hers.

Soo-ah takes Claire’s wrists, brings her arms above her head and holds them there with one hand.

Claire freezes for a second.

There is something in that gesture, in Soo-ah’s strength, in her quiet assurance, that she hadn’t expected.

An absurd thought crosses her mind.

She almost has the feeling of being taken by a man.

Soo-ah is terribly feminine in her body. Claire feels perfectly the breasts against her own, the smooth belly, the thighs, the absence of a man’s sex between her legs.

It’s something else.

The way she holds her.

The not hesitating.

The knowing what she wants.

And abruptly, Claire thinks of Julien.

Of that other night.

Of the precise instant when her body closed while her head was still trying to say yes. That refusal, physical, absolute, impossible to negotiate.

For a second, she waits.

She wonders whether it’s going to happen again.

Whether something in her is going to tighten.

Push Soo-ah away.

Say no.

But nothing comes.

Nothing of the kind.

Quite the opposite.

Soo-ah releases her wrists and her hand goes down between Claire’s thighs, brushes the elegant fleece covering her already wet sex, then enters her with one finger, with two.

Claire closes her eyes.

Soo-ah doesn’t fumble. Her fingers slide into her with a calm precision, come almost all the way out, return. Claire feels her hips lift to meet them.

She goes with Soo-ah. Her belly knows.

Her thighs open wider.

The fingers come back, enter her more deeply, and Claire feels her own body take them in. She is open, soaked around this other woman’s hand, around these woman’s fingers, and that fact unsettles her almost as much as the pleasure itself.

Soo-ah watches her.

She doesn’t look away.

Claire is breathing fast. Her chest rises beneath her. She opens her eyes and meets that black gaze that has been watching her from the start.

Soo-ah slows.

Then she asks:

— Claire… do you want to make me come?

The question hangs between them.

Claire stares at her.

Her green eyes stay a few seconds in Soo-ah’s.

She could answer.

She doesn’t.

Her eyelids close slowly.

Yes.

Soo-ah understands.

She withdraws her hand and moves up along Claire’s body.

Claire opens her eyes just in time to see her bring a knee to either side of her head.

She understands what is going to happen.

And this time again, she says nothing.

Soo-ah lowers herself.

Claire feels her full thighs against her temples. The weight of her hips. Then her sex against her mouth.

Everything suddenly becomes terribly concrete.

The wet heat.

The taste of Soo-ah.

Claire stays still for a second.

She has never done this.

She has never had a woman’s sex in her mouth.

And yet, when she begins to lick her, the gesture seems almost natural.

Her tongue explores Soo-ah’s vulva.

Cautiously at first.

She discovers the wet softness of the lips, their shape, their heat. She searches. Moves up. Finds the clitoris.

Soo-ah tenses immediately above her.

That reaction goes through Claire like a discharge.

She is the one who has just caused it.

She does it again.

Her tongue grows surer. She licks, comes back to the clitoris, moves down between the lips, discovers Soo-ah’s taste. She feels the thighs tighten around her face.

Soo-ah is moving against her mouth now, and something finally shifts in Claire’s mind.

Since Soo-ah’s first look, she hasn’t stopped wondering what was happening to her.

Whether she wanted it.

Whether she could.

Whether she should.

What Gian would think.

What it said about her.

Now there is only Soo-ah against her mouth. She presses Soo-ah’s thighs to make her sit more intimately on her mouth. She explores her belly with her nose, her mouth, and goes seeking the small forbidden opening with her tongue.

Soo-ah is crying out now. And Claire has stopped wondering what she ought to do.

She simply feels.