An Erotic Story: An Education Part 1


While I was working on my manuscript, my magnum opus of sex, the samples I had mailed around managed to attract the attention of a publisher in New York. At that moment it was my sole purpose in life to publish my stories and thus I decided to move to New York, so I could be close to my publisher. I had high expectations of my endeavor, after all, I did not only have my own quite remarkable collection of stories, but also the stories that Gerhard Von Bodenstein had handed me in Vienna.


Things were running smoothly, as I soon found a nice apartment in the Village and at the same time, I got engaged to Tess, a lovely and effervescent girl from Toronto. I had just turned thirty and felt I was finally beginning to live the life of a normal, responsible adult.

My publisher told me he’d hook me up with a first-rate editor. ‘Justine, a French broad… but her English is immaculate. I’ll arrange a lunch meeting for the two of you. Have a good time, enjoy the lunch and each other’s conversation, but do make sure I get some results,’ he told me.

And so I found myself on a rainy spring day in a nice, somewhat chaotic bar, overlooking the East River. I was a bit early because I wanted to see if I could guess who I was meeting. I did.

It wasn’t a hard guess: the woman who entered the establishment of exuded refinement. She was a quite short, dark-haired woman, with dark, very sharp eyes, who seemed to be in her mid-forties. She was dressed in a light gray business suit, with a skirt that ended just above her knees. I couldn’t help noticing that her black silk stockings were really quite sexy. But, then I checked myself quickly, ‘I’m not here to be aroused by a woman who is absolutely not in my age category,’ I told myself, and then: ‘what am I saying?! I just got engaged to Tess!’

I raised up from my seat and cordially shook Justine’s hand.
To break the ice I asked her how she got into editing. She told me she had always been obsessed with literature. ‘I was never much into French literature though, I much preferred English authors, such as Swift, Shelley, and Byron. The only French writer I do really love is Marquis de Sade. Do you know him?’ she asked languidly in her lovely Parisian English.

I laughed, ‘of course I do! He’s… ehm, a very interesting author,’ I said, while I thought: ‘what an audacious woman! Is she coming on to me?!’

It soon became apparent that we really enjoyed each others conversation, in fact: we couldn’t stop talking to each other. The afternoon whiled away as if hours were minutes. We decided to dine together at an Italian place I had recently discovered. Justine’s apartment wasn’t far from the restaurant and I decided to walk her home.

While we ascended the stairs that led up to her front door she invited me in for a nightcap.

‘This is extremely wrong and I have to leave right now!’ I said to myself, yet I heard my voice say: ‘sure, why not.’

Several hours later we had downed two bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. I felt deeply conflicted. I wanted nothing more than to dive into bed with this mesmerizing woman. Yet I felt it not an option I could even consider. And why would I consider it? Would I normally try to seduce forty-five-year-old women..? Of course not! Then I decided to sabotage the erotic spell that was firmly establishing itself: I told Justine about my engagement to Tess.

I could see that she struggled with disappointment and annoyance in equal measure, yet she managed to feign insouciance. Noticing the effect my words were having on the poor lady, the relief I had hoped to feel after having uttered them did not at all manifest itself. Quite the contrary: I did not feel guilty when I reasoned I ought to have, and now that I was doing what I thought had been the right thing I did feel an ever-increasing sense of guilt. I decided to end all doubts by delivering the coup-de-grâce: I showed Justine some pictures of Tess and even some pictures of Tess and me.

That ought to have done it. We drank our last glass in silence and awkwardly tried to avoid looking at each other. Then Justine became white as a sheet and seemed to lose consciousness as she sank back into her couch. Needless to say, I was quite alarmed.

An Erotic Story: An Education Part 1