The Edge ~ An evening with friends

Diary writing Prologue

 I know the three of them well, as I crossed their lives at different times, before we met again, that February, in London. How I came to be in possession of those pages is, perhaps, the material for another story. Suffice to say: they trust me, all three, enough to share their most intimate feelings, hopes, and fears.

Above all else, I admire their honesty: what they write in those diaries is really how they see themselves and the others, how they relate to them, what their expectations and frustrations are. But what about me, you might ask. What is my real interest in all this, and why publishing their personal thoughts? Well, they are my friends, and I am a publisher, an entrepreneur if you wish. I admit also to being a crypto voyeur, with a sense of humour, perhaps an admirer of the other Marcel. When I read those pages I felt there was such a spectrum of human dignity, hope and disillusion in them, that I saw literature.

I only appear occasionally in their writing, which is about themselves, and for each one of them, about the other two. The small drama written therein is their drama, or their comedy, depending on how seriously you, the reader, take their words.

Their diaries appear to have been started at more or less the same time, perhaps prompted by the tremendous events of the year 2048, when the narrative begins.

I should add that I have concealed their real names. Just in case you thought you may recognise one of them…

Diary of Céline Jeurève, February 3, 2048

Our evening was full of delights. Charles was in extremely good mood, even by his own standards: I just admired his way with both of us, Monica and I, the perfect gentleman! Et quel charmeur! Monica, dear friend, was just glamour through and through, with this difference that friendship brings to her natural timidity. She was not on the catwalk, but with friends, and what friends! She was adorable, and Charles appreciated her conversation all evening, and so did I, and vice-versa.

We talked about the new fashion season, and Milan, and Paris. Monica’s enjoying her work, and I look forward to seeing her when she’s in Paris, in-between her permanent travels. She was keen to know what Charles and I were planning later in the year – of course we are equally busy, and we promised to keep her posted on our plans.

Then Mars came up, and the intentions of the BRICS Federation. Charles thinks that they will ensure a start of mission this year. After all, they have been working on the ships, around Space Station III, and recruiting and training hundreds of potential colonists on three continents, for the past four years. The Sino-Indian Space Corp. has a fleet of launchers already in Kazakhstan. The North American Union is contributing a strong team of scientists, and of course several rovers. The European Federation has mining experts and engineers lined up. Charles says that the first wave will be no less than two hundred people. We joked about me joining the medical team. Monica says she’d volunteer to be the local clothes designer there!

It is all deadly serious though. Colleagues at the faculty say that an entire surgical block is part of the payload. Someone said that a famous Chinese brain surgeon will be part of the team.

Dinner was just right, I am pleased to say, and Charles was happy with his handy work on the parfait, sweet husband! Monica had brought a bottle of Chassagne-Montrachet, apparently a present from “an admirer”, sublime. The three of us got suitably tipsy, and stayed awake just long enough for Monica’s taxi at two this morning.

Une soirée réussie. I am writing this before going to my eleven o’clock lecture on DNA testing. I must rush. Just one thing: during the evening I saw, at times, my friend’s eyes going a little misty as she was listening to Charles. Is Monica getting tender toward my husband?

Note to myself – Charles Jeurève, 1pm, February 3, 2048

Must send roses to C and M – now. They were perfect. What a couple they are.  And for whose pleasure? Mine! You’re a lucky fellow Monsieur Jeurève. Be good!

Letter to Mr & Mrs Jeurève, dated February 4, 2048, posted from Milan

Dear friends,

I cannot find words to thank you enough for a wonderful evening. As you know I am always nervous before embarking on a new show, and this was a perfect way for me to forget about my professional anxieties. Céline: I want to say that you were so beautiful, that black kimono suits you perfectly, I wish I could wear Asian chef-d’oeuvres like this with your grace, on you it looks magical, on me I’d look like a scarecrow!

Charles made me laugh, he’s such a good story teller, and has such a sense of humour. I write from my little cubicle in Milan, before makeup. It’s chaos here. But when I think of your place, near Vincennes, a haven of beauty and calm, I feel all relaxed again. I love you both, I will write again next week, after the show.

Bises to both,

Monica

#BlogMeMaybe: May 21 – May I tell you something about writing?

I am really excited by Gillian’s announcement – so much so that I re-blogged her post! On my one attempt at the genre I sought and receive some comments from that most creative of bloggers… Which decided me to rewrite it, perhaps as a teaser before a submission, he says, pondering. For now, a lady friend, who knows a thing or two on the subject of BDSM/RLV, suggested this… Of course dedicated to @GillianColbert:

The diary

Helena is sitting at her little desk, writing her diary, as Mistress G has instructed her. As she writes, she sees herself in the mirror, just in front of her. She knows how to please Mistress, when she kneels prostrate, naked and chained, downstairs, in the dungeon. Up here, in this large room, lined up with books, large windows opening on one side to the sea, on the other to the lush garden, she knows that, to please, she has to be more sophisticated: not just obedient and supple, but also cultured and amusing. Not that she’s ever vulgar, even when she submits to the ultimate humiliations, being whipped and sodomised on the cross. Mistress G has taught her standards. But Helena is still learning: there is no end to the training of a submissive. Perfection is impossible.

She looks at the perfect oval of her face, the ocean green eyes, the black hair, the greek nose, the delicately shaped lips, the slender neck, her collar. She wears her collar with pride, her name is on it, it’s her distinctive and only wealth, together with the beautiful silver ring that glimmers on her shaven labia. But of course the whole of her belongs to Mistress G.

Todays her diary tells Mistress about her dreams, always related to pleasing and serving, but also, as Mistress instructed, to her progress in her understanding of her role as an obedient yet intelligent sub. She looks now at the sea, grey and foaming under the blue sky. She hears the dragonflies hovering  around the pond, the crystal sound of the cascade, their cascade. Perhaps Mistress will take her to the garden, down to the comfortable couch under the big cypress tree.

But now she hears Mistress’ footsteps: Helena stands up, wearing only a light gown over her naked body. Taking in the sight of her slave, Mistress G smiles: “how is my little girl today?” – Helena is on her knees, kissing Mistress’ feet, then, her eyes upturned adoringly to her Mistress, she says: “This girl is so happy to see her Mistress in the house”. She’s now taken the humble nadu position, palms open, and there is only obedience and devotion on her face. Mistress G has expertly freed her slave from the gown and is admiring her naked property. Helena’s eyes are turned down to the wooden floor: she’s awaiting her Mistress’ instructions.  “Let’s have a look at your diary, my good girl” Mistress G says, cheerfully, playing with the handle of her whip. Helena feels a little anguish in her heart: has she made any grammar mistake?