Consequences by Philippe Djian

he did at her thighs emphasized by silky pantyhose, the color of cream. It wasn’t hard to imagine her in a bathing suit—or better yet, in her underwear. Not much more than forty-five years old. In peak condition. Intellectually mature. What more was there to say about it? Could you imagine a more perfect creation, more unnerving company?
    The idea of awakening the interest of a person like her wasn’t a turn-off; it was actually good for his self-esteem, he supposed—being able to interest someone with a mind, who had taste and experience in life. Suddenly he was struck by the mediocrity of his relationships with the student population. Sexuality hadn’t made that world any less impermeable. Most of those women had turned out to be kind, clever, energetic lovers; but no real exchange had taken place, no real connection been made. Now he understood why.
    Something inside him had opened up, hatched inside his chest—passing from childhood into adulthood provoked similar feelings. Something had slowly matured, a secret gestationthat had produced a new man, born on that night. After this , he asked himself as he pressed the buttons of the CD player in search of that heartrending voice, can I ever go back to the young girls I liked before? Will I lose all interest in them ? For one thing, as a professor, a person who spent the better part of his time with them, he wasn’t especially looking forward to such a change—although it wasn’t up to him. These things couldn’t be controlled.
    She placed her hand on his arm. “Isn’t this a strange situation?” she said. “But I would do something like that. I’m exhausted, don’t sleep well, so I’m not thinking very clearly.”
    â€œYou know, when you touch me, I feel something like an electric current. Don’t you?”
    â€œNo. I mean I don’t know.”
    â€œAny news from your husband?”
    She shook her head. He reached for the key to the ignition, but she stopped him again.
    â€œI can’t even remember his name anymore,” she said, staring into space. “This morning I drew a blank. It took me several seconds before I could say it. . . . It’s awful of me, I know, truly awful on my part. Disgraceful.”
    â€œNo it isn’t. Not on your life. Listen to me, Myriam, not on your life. No one forced him to have an army career. He’s got only himself to blame.”
    â€œThat electric current you mentioned, what is it?”
    â€œThat electric current I mentioned?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThat electric current I mentioned?”
    â€œYes.”
    He felt his mouth becoming dry. It was cold outside, and sowas the inside of the Fiat, because he hadn’t started the motor yet. His nose felt frozen.
    â€œI’m afraid of us getting stuck in here,” he said. “We’d better not linger. It happened to me once. Luckily, it was summer.”
    â€œMarc, if you only knew how much I’m longing for summer to start.”
    â€œIt’s coming. The buds are here. When you look up it’s green.”
    The conversation was becoming surreal. They could have floated to the middle of the cosmos, to the dead center of night, lost themselves in the middle of nothingness. What difference did it make?
    Now his heart was beating as if he’d begun jogging peacefully along the lake. No student had ever had such an effect on him. Karen Dalton was singing “Everytime I Think of Freedom.”
    â€œI love that woman’s voice,” he declared.
    She nodded. Then she took his hand and pressed it to her cheek.
    On such occasions , he said to himself, you miss being the owner of an Audi A8 with leather interior.
    Now it felt like he was going as fast as the wind, at about 140 rpm. Despite the fact that he wasn’t moving. An amazing phenomenon in itself.
    Her lips brushed his hand, and she raised her eyes to his. “Do I kiss you?”