It’s over.
He’s telling me He’s lost His desire for me.
After all this waiting and hoping and dreaming of His hands on me, He phones to invite me, in a voice as polite as it’s kind, to accompany Him to an awards ceremony, where adventurous young lawyers receive recognition for their oratory.
I’m at the end of the phone, unable to breathe. My heart stops beating. I understand.
I stumble a bit, stammer a kind of “Why not?” I try to hide my dismay, regain my composure, tell Him I’m very pleased. At least He’s sufficiently well bred to show me I’m more than just a doll you can blindfold and torture with clothespins.
Anyway, when I think about it, I realize it’s better to see Him again, even like this, even if it’s always going to be like this. For the first time, He’s showing me some consideration, He’s going to take me out in public, the whole of the bar association will be there and I’ll be at His side.
His words echo deep down in my heart, convincing me to accept: “There’s nothing wrong with two friends going to a professional engagement together.”
Two friends, two friends.
Can we really be friends? I’ve suffered so much, wanted His body so much, wanted at last to feel His cock inside me, just once, His unknown cock, needed Him to take out just a little of His perverted frenzy on me again.
His secretary calls mine to ask me to pick Him up at his office.
So be it.
I feel completely disoriented.
I think of wearing jeans and sandals, just to show Him that I expect nothing more of Him, that I’ve understood, and to spare myself the final humiliation of getting all prepared to be His object and finding He doesn’t even deign to make use of me.
I’m supposed to be having lunch with a girlfriend, but she cancels, giving me a chance to spend some time with my beloved mare. I’m happy to see her again, I stroke her shiny mane and kiss the star adorning her nose and hug her neck and whisper in her ear that I really need her because I’m a bit sad and only she can cheer me up.
Later, galloping along the sandy avenues of the Bois de Boulogne, I feel her heart between my legs, her powerful muscles as she gallops, carrying me along with her. We form one body; I think about nothing except this beloved horse I know so well, who shakes her head when she sees me. I stroke her rounded neck and forget everything, think about nothing, I’m just fine.
She’s sweating, her veins stand out. Whenever we come to a dangerous road, she stamps the ground before crossing.
By the time I dismount, I’m exhausted, drained but happy, my neck and temples bathed in sweat, ready to face His indifference with all the self-confidence I can muster.
That mad gallop has given me the calm and balance I needed.
When evening comes, I stand in the shower for a long time, eyes closed, and let the water flow over my shoulders. I know He knows I’m coming and how impatient I am to see Him again. I’m quite determined to remain totally in control of myself. I don’t put on any makeup, put my hair up in a bun, and run a Chinese pin through it and put on a little black-and-white cotton dress, buttoned all the way down. But, as a matter of form, I also put on high, black, open sandals.
I arrive outside His office, and call up to suggest He come down, which will avoid me having to park. At least He’ll know I’ve understood.
“I’m on the phone. I won’t be long. Park your car and come up. I still have a couple of little things to see to.”
His assistant opens the door for me. I recognize her, a young auburn-haired woman with long, slim legs and a high rump. I met her when we were both looking at files in the legal records office.
I wonder how He treats her. At her invitation, I sit down in the waiting room like a good girl and listen for the sound of His steps. All at once, I feel a little less determined. I become aware that my heart is beating faster.
I haven’t seen Him for two months. When He appears I hold my breath.
He’s wearing a light suit and tie.
I’ve never seen Him in anything but a black suit before. With a black tie.
He smiles, holds out His hand, and kisses me on the cheek.
I’m prepared. I pretend to be relaxed and really pleased at the prospect of going out with Him.
But He takes a few steps back and looks me up and down. Gradually, His expression changes. I recognize that look in His eyes, I’ve dreamed about it.
“Of course,” is all He says.
I know my dress fits me like a glove, I know I’m a lot slimmer now, I’ve noticed the looks I’ve been getting from men in the street.
My high black sandals have four very thin straps that cross over my foot, like ropes tying a body.
His eyes linger on them.
He likes me. He quickly draws me to Him and touches my skin.
Without even a word from Him, I join my hands behind my back.
He smiles. He knows I haven’t forgotten.
“I thought you didn’t like me anymore,” I say, in a whisper.
“You were wrong.”
I want to ask Him why, why so long? But I don’t dare. Of course.
“What time do we have to leave? Where is it?”
“We have time.”
His hands have climbed up my bare thighs.
His hands undo the buttons of my dress.
His hands take hold of my breasts and pull them out of my bra.
Without Him asking, I arch my back.
He strokes my buttocks and slaps them with the flat of His hand.
He asks me if I’ve missed His blows.
I don’t reply, just lower my head. That wasn’t me—He’s never hit me. I know it’s not a deliberate mistake. I don’t say a word. I don’t have time to feel sad, or the right to be jealous.
Still smiling at me, He strokes the back of my neck with His fingers, then asks me to touch Him.
For the first time, He’s there in front of me and I’m not blindfolded.
Without removing His trousers, he takes His cock out. I’m fascinated by it, it’s so broad and heavy, and so taut it looks as if it’s about to explode. I’d like to take it in my hand, but He pushes my hand away and grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head down until my mouth is on His engorged cock. I try to swallow it, but find it hard to get my lips round it, my throat catches. I suck it very slowly between my closed lips, really applying myself, lingering on the tip. My tongue comes and goes, licking, lingering on the most sensitive spots. I concentrate on His pleasure, which I can feel rising. I take it deep in my throat again, then pull it out again very slowly, accentuating the pressure of my lips, aware that His breathing is getting faster. I take my time. I stop when I feel His pleasure mounting and for a few seconds I slow it down, keeping only the end of His cock on my tongue, before plunging it deep in my throat again, savoring with infinite slowness every fraction of an inch of His most precious, most fragile asset.
I feel His left hand slip between my thighs. He introduces one finger into my anus, then two. I think it’s just two. He pushes His fingers all the way in. He seems to be creating a loop deep inside me, with a slow and sustained rhythm, the same rhythm with which I’m sucking Him. I want Him.
I NEED HIS COCK INSIDE ME.
But although I haven’t yet made Him come, He’s already walking away.
“I’m going to put a little dildo inside you for the evening. It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Don’t move.”
He goes and rummages in one of His desk drawers.
I don’t dare move an inch. He’s placed one of my legs on a chair, so that my back is even more arched. My breasts are out of my bra. I wait, not daring to turn around and look at Him. But He’s already behind me.
I haven’t seen the thing. He kneels in front of me, opens my cunt, and plunges an oblong rubber object into it.
I have to hold back a shudder.
He smiles and moves forward on my right.
“Touch yourself. Quicker.”
I obey.
“Wait.”
I stop. In His hand is a kind of pearl rosary.
He lightly touches my breasts, which strain toward Him.
There are little slipknots at both ends of the rosary. He ties them round my nipples, very light, like a garrote. My nipples turn blue.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have to get used to the pain. Touch yourself again.”
I overcome my usual modesty and obey. Luckily, part of my dress has fallen, which means He can’t see this very intimate thing I’m doing, can’t see me touching my cunt with my fingers.
He’s taken a step back, and He’s looking at me and smiling.
He’s touching himself, too.
I’m overcome with emotion. I haven’t seen Him for two months and I’ve forgotten how good it was.
“Touch yourself. Don’t stop. That’s it.”
His voice is urgent, commanding, just like my dreams.
I concentrate.
“Come. Now. I want to hear you cry out.”
As if my senses are connected to His, the orgasm immediately contorts my body. I bite my hand to hold back my cries.
“You’re beautiful. Let’s go now.”
“I’m not going to the conference wearing these things, am I?”
“Of course you are! What do you take me for? I forbid you to touch them!”
I don’t dare protest, and I follow Him outside without another word.
The people in the street stare at me. I’m sure they’re puzzled by the hesitant way I’m walking.
I look at the women and wonder if any of them can guess that between each unsteady step I feel a sharp pain in the three strategic points of my body.
I tell myself that none of them has ever received such a tribute.
I’m proud of Him.
I’m proud to be His.
I get painfully into my car and try to concentrate on my driving, without much success.
He tells me off for not taking the shortest route.
Before I can stop myself, I reply that I’m not used to driving with this thing stuck inside me, and then immediately apologize for my insolence.
He smiles and orders me to get over it.
As if all the gods have conspired against me, the parking lot in the place Dauphine is full.
“Just drop me here, we’ll meet inside.” And He quickly gets out of the car, leaving me to park it. I’m a bit upset by His rudeness, but don’t dare say anything. I think of my husband, and how much he respects me.
Naturally, there’s no parking space nearby, and I have to walk two hundred yards to join Him.
The whole of the Paris Bar is here. He ignores me, or pretends to. I realize He doesn’t want us to be seen together.
I move through the gathering—as much as I can with this thing tearing me apart—and a few minutes later find myself in the hall, sitting next to a colleague I don’t know.
As for Him, He’s sat down next to a former president of the Bar Association and is showing off. After all, He’s a leading light of the Bar and it means a lot to Him.
The speeches start. All I can think about is Him and the object cutting my body in two.
My neighbor must be wondering about my state of health, he keeps looking at me anxiously as I change position to try to lessen the pain.
On the other hand, my breasts have almost stopped hurting. I must have gotten used to it.
When the speeches stop, a former “first secretary” comes up and kisses me and invites me to the cocktail party he’s giving after the conference, in the big waiting hall. I thank him, pretty sure I’ll be able to get out of it, and sit down again carefully on my chair.
But by now His neighbor’s left the hall and He signals for me to join Him. I do as he asks, threading my way with difficulty through my colleagues. I see the handsome Hassan and kiss him. Hassan watches me with what seems to me a mocking smile as I go to Him.
At last I reach Him and sit down next to Him. The current president of the Bar Association starts speaking.
“Have you any idea what you’re making me do?”
“Of course.”
I’m happy.
The pain is unbearable.
My body feels bloated, I try to find a position that will make me less aware of the size of the object inside me, but each time I move, my insides seem to swell even more, screaming in protest.
I see Him smile, and while everyone’s hanging on the words of a man who represents law and order, He puts His hand under my buttocks and pushes the object even farther in.
He slides His hands under my dress and puts His fingers inside my panties.
He rubs my cunt and immediately lifts His fingers to my mouth.
“Wipe my fingers. You’re soaking wet.”
I’m more excited than I’ve ever been in my life.
The president of the Bar Association makes a moving speech about a colleague of ours whose talent for oratory was recognized by everyone and who died recently at the age of forty-two, struck down by a sudden cancer. He was my best friend. In fact, he was almost like a big brother. We went to parties together, shared many carefree times. I remember going to see him at his parents’ little house in the place des Vosges, knowing I’d probably never see him again, I remember hugging him, I remember his face when he looked at me for the last time.
Suddenly He takes my hand.
I could die right now and not regret a thing.
I stroke His fingers, massage His palm, squeeze His thumb—which I’d really love to put in my mouth—and follow the lines on His hand with my nails.
It’s the first tender gesture He’s ever shown toward me. The emotion I feel is stronger than the pain of the dildo.
Everyone stands. I beg Him to spare me the Bar Association cocktail party.
I’m unsteady on my legs. I feel as if I’m wide open.
No, He whispers in my ear, He’s expecting me to go to the party and show I’m worthy of Him. To overcome any attempt at resistance, He places an imperious hand on my hip.
I don’t dare answer.
Everyone is here. I see Hassan again. He introduces me to his Victoria, who looks like she’s come straight from the Ford Model Agency. She doesn’t touch the petits fours, the sight of Hassan is all the food she needs. The whole of the Bar Association council is here, and all the new secretaries surrounded by their adoring parents, smiling and exchanging polite chitchat.
I accept the glass of champagne I’m handed. The alcohol will make me feel more at ease.
I hope with all my heart that He loves what He’s making me do. Discussing the merits of judges in financial cases with my buttocks pulled apart by a dildo is no easy task. I’m drunk on champagne and weak with hunger. For a moment, the whole thing comes home to me: here I am, at this ritzy party, full of members of the Bar, which is my world, the world where I’m trying to carve out a niche for myself, with a dildo stuck inside me and my nipples imprisoned by knots. I rise to my full height and smile, trying to seem as natural as possible.
I’m pleased to see my good friend Sara. She’s as dark as I’m blond, as high-spirited as I’m introverted. I hug her and kiss her affectionately. I’d like to be able to tell her, but I know nobody would understand.
He’s been talking to a young woman, making her laugh. Now I see Him move away from her and come toward us. He whispers in my ear that He’s proud of me. I feel ready for anything. Then, with total nonchalance, He turns to Sara and asks her if she’s noticed anything unusual about me.
Sara is clever enough, and close enough to me, to know He’s not talking about business law anymore. She laughs gaily and says I’m quite secretive. Then she looks closely at me and says no, but she does think I’m looking very slim and very beautiful. I thank her with a look, trying not to let her see how flustered I am.
“Look closer.”
Sara puts out her hand, touches my chest lightly, and moves over my stomach.
“That doesn’t matter. Concentrate.”
However hard she stares at me, she can’t see anything.
“Turn around,” he says to me.
I immediately turn.
“Look at your friend, Sara. She’s completely submissive. She’s capable of great things. Compared with her, you’re a child.”
I blush at the compliment.
“Touch her.”
Sara touches my shoulders, moves her hand down my back.
My back is naturally very arched, but now it’s even more so.
In the middle of this big hall, with our most brilliant colleagues gathered around us, Sara stops at the small of my back.
“Is she wearing a bustier?”
I laugh and shake my head.
“She’s wearing a G-string.”
“Not just that.”
“I really don’t understand.”
“Go on. Keep touching her. All over.”
Although Sara and I are quite intimate, and she tells me all about her love life, I’ve never dared talk to her about my enslavement, and I feel very embarrassed at the thought that she might find out about it like this.
I feel her hand moving over my buttocks and hips and I tremble. I feel sure she’s going to discover the foreign body inside me.
“Come on, now, don’t you know your friend’s body?”
Puzzled, she moves back up toward my chest and holds back a cry of surprise as she touches one of my nipples, which is squeezed tight by the garrote and makes a bump the size of a big walnut under my thin dress.
“What’s this? What have you done to her?”
“Guess,” He whispers in her ear. “Imagine those breasts in your mouth.”
She immediately blushes. All of a sudden, she seems disconcerted. He smiles and kisses the back of my neck. I’m very grateful to Him for not forcing my friend to explore any further.
“Come on. It’s time.”
I follow Him like a blind woman, and pray with all my might that none of the assembled guests has noticed how strangely I’m behaving.
When we reach my car, I don’t feel capable of driving and I ask Him to take the wheel.
He acquiesces with a smile, and I sit down awkwardly beside Him. The pain is intense. I feel as if I’m being torn in pieces.
“Where are we going?”
“You must learn to keep quiet. There are some questions I haven’t given you permission to ask.”
I don’t say any more, just let Him drive.
We reach the avenue de l’Opéra. He turns from the avenue onto the rue Thérèse and parks at the end.
I open the door to get out.
“You can take it out now.”
“Here?”
I lift myself up in the car and put my left hand under my dress.
I can feel the rubbery base of the object. I slowly extricate it from deep inside me.
No sooner have I taken it out than He slips two fingers between my bruised buttocks.
“That’s perfect, you’re well spread now.”
He moves his fingers to the front.
“You’re soaking. You’re drenched.”
He’s right. I want Him.
We walk along the street and He takes me by the hand.
I’ll never get used to His occasional shows of affection.
The touch of His hand excites me and I want to kiss Him but He doesn’t kiss me.
We stop in front of a black door, under a sign showing nothing but a bull’s-eye. He pulls me to Him and hugs me.
“Listen to me. You’re mine. You’ll stay mine. Even if other men touch you, even if I order you to touch other men’s cocks, or women, I’m your Master and I want to be proud of you.”
“You have nothing to be afraid of.”
“I’m here. I’ll protect you.”
He pushes open the big black door.
We find ourselves in a little foyer, with a closed door at the end. He rings. A few seconds later, the door is opened by a woman in a severe black suit.
We enter a kind of cloakroom.
I hand Him my jacket and my handbag.
He takes me by the shoulders and pulls me toward a small spiral staircase.
At the bottom of the steps there is a buffet of sugary petits fours and Haribo candies.
Then a nightclub of the most classic kind, with a bar and a bartender and a little dance floor on which people are shimmying, hardly more high-spirited or more undressed than they would be at a club like the Queen.
He hands me a glass of champagne—the umpteenth of the evening—and sits down on a stool beside me and puts His arm around my shoulders. I turn toward Him and kiss Him as hard as I can. He returns my kiss, with surprising tenderness. I’m completely carried away.
The room is dark, much darker than in a “normal” club.
I look around me at the people: a lot of young women, some of them quite pretty. I don’t look at the men.
I feel I’m His.
The atmosphere of male lust is palpable, and it makes me uncomfortable. I search for His hand and squeeze it. His arm is still around me, protecting me from any approach by third parties. But just as I’m starting to relax, He stands up and pulls me after Him.
He pushes me into a corridor to the left of the dance floor.
I hold my breath and listen. I’m startled to hear moans of pleasure and heavy breathing coming from an almost dark room.
After a few seconds, my eyes adjust to the darkness and I make out a wide bench seat where a woman is kneeling, sucking a man’s cock, almost oblivious to the fact that two other men have their hands on her cunt and are fondling it, sometimes taking turns, sometimes together.
To their right, a man is lying on his back and two girls are masturbating him. Their hands crisscross as they climb up and down his cock.
Some distance away, a woman is being fucked doggy style—and making a lot of noise about it.
On the wall to the left, there’s a kind of cross with a man tied to it. He’s on his own, apparently abandoned. I notice he has a huge hard-on.
I jump. Someone’s touching me and it’s not Him.
I haven’t let go of His hand, and now I squeeze it with all my might. He pushes the pest away.
He takes me by the shoulders and pushes me in front of him along the corridor. On the right is an alcove hollowed out of a cobbled wall. He pulls back the curtain.
Two couples are lying there, languidly.
The two men are rather potbellied, and one of the women, who’s very thin, seems at least as old as my mother. I’m struck by the sad expression on her face.
I catch myself hoping I won’t be here, making a spectacle of myself, in thirty years’ time.
We continue along the corridor and come to a large square room. The whole right-hand side is covered with a huge bed.
At the far end of the room there’s a recess behind a wire mesh door.
It’s quite dark here and I can’t see very well, but it looks like a cage.
On the big mattress, a few naked bodies, entwined. In front of them, several couples, embracing, fondling.
The room is surprisingly silent.
He’s placed Himself behind me, with His arms around my shoulders. He brushes my cheek and the back of my neck with His lips.
I close my eyes. I’m happy.
I’m in a swingers’ club with a man who treats me as if I were nothing, who doesn’t show me the slightest affection, the slightest feeling, who lives with another girl, and plays around with several others, a man who hasn’t called me for two months then takes me to a meeting of our colleagues with a dildo inside me, tearing me apart, but I’m fine. I feel more fulfilled right now than I’ve been for a very long time, fulfilled by the smallest sign of tenderness from Him.
But now He takes His arms away from me and takes my hand and pulls me out again into the corridor, which leads to other back rooms.
There’s only one couple left in the first room we passed.
A very white man whose face I can’t make out has his mouth in the cunt of a young woman with long slender legs.
She’s on her back, her legs wide open, arching her upper body, biting her fingers and throwing her head back.
She’s slim, with small breasts that point upward.
He squeezes my hand and for a few minutes we stand there watching them. We don’t speak, just watch this beautiful young woman, her face contorted as her pleasure mounts.
“Go ahead,” He whispers in my ear.
I tremble and try to look in His eyes. But He’s staring at the girl.
He lets go of my hand.
“Go on, now. Take her.”
Overcoming my shyness, I walk unsteadily toward the couple. There’s a knot in my stomach, but I really don’t want to let Him down.
Slowly, shaking with trepidation, I sit down beside them, then edge forward on the bed. I’m frozen with nervousness, but try to overcome it and reach out my hand toward her breasts. I’m afraid she’ll push me away, but she seizes my hand in hers and places it on one of her breasts.
The room is very dark, but I can feel the softness of her skin and the hardness of her nipple.
I stroke her breast and follow the outline of her nipple with the tip of my finger.
I turn to look at Him.
He’s smiling at me. Encouraged by this, I feel confident enough to go further, and for the first time I touch and then hug a woman’s body that isn’t mine.
He sits down behind me, and I let Him stroke my hair and my buttocks and my cunt.
The girl sits up and draws my face to hers.
She kisses me.
I feel her tongue in my mouth, our bodies merge, her kiss is infinitely sweet, and her skin is silky. I’m discovering a woman’s body, and it’s incredibly supple and slender.
He’s still touching me. He’s taken my breasts out of my bra. The garrote is still there, and the nipples are hard and protuberant. The girl’s kisses get more intense, and she strokes my breasts.
We touch each other, taste each other’s tongues, her jade-black hair merges with my long blond hair, I can feel Him behind me, I can sense how proud He is, my senses are racing.
The young woman’s kisses are a little sugary, and so is the back of her neck, I sniff it, breathe it in.
Her lover sits up and tries to touch me. He puts his hand on the small of my back and moves it slowly down between my legs.
I look at Him anxiously. He smiles at me and grabs the man’s hand. Then He gathers my hair behind my neck and pulls on it, guiding my face between the girl’s legs.
I know what He wants me to do. I’m still hesitant, doubtful, but His action gives me strength. He leans toward me and whispers to me to get on with it.
“Do it, now, make her come, I want to see you suck her, do it.”
I submit, and for the first time touch a woman’s cunt, so brown and hairy and thick, so different, I’m afraid of disappointing Him, disappointing her, not knowing how, I search with my finger, insert it between the labia, gently push it in, she’s very wet, whether from the man’s saliva or her own juices I don’t know, my finger meets something hard, I think I’ve found it, I part the skin and hair a little and plunge my face and nose and mouth between her slender legs and into her cunt, which is so strange and yet must be like mine, my tongue lingers, turns, accelerates, I concentrate, apply myself, trust to my instinct or my unconscious, I don’t know which, my senses are guiding me, I push my tongue in and gently lick, it’s slightly bitter, slightly acidic, like a tiny lime on which I’m sucking, turning it in my mouth, I can smell it and the smell excites me, so I venture a little farther, introducing first one finger then two, and massage the interior of her vagina, press on her inner wall as if I wanted to push it aside, press my nose into her cunt, while my other hand grows bolder and goes a little farther down and searches for her anus and I immediately put my middle finger inside, taking care not to hurt her, not to scratch her with my nail, her pelvis strains toward me and I feel as if her womb is opening.
I keep sucking and licking her, moving slowly in and out, I feel the pressure of her mucous membranes on my fingers as I continue burrowing inside her, she stretches, arches, offers herself up. She’s shaking, my tongue is determined, resolute, my forefinger works faster, stronger, assisted by my tongue, I can feel her sweat, the moisture of her mounting excitement blinds me like tears, she’s dug her fingers into my hair, she clings to it, bracing herself, and suddenly she screams and her orgasm overwhelms her and inflames me.
I’ve stopped moving my head, my fingers are still deep inside her orifices. I wait. I hear her cry mounting, continuing, becoming more intense, then fading away in a moan, a last spasm.
I sit up and see His face. He kisses me, sucks my tongue, hugs me against Him. His tenderness bewitches me.
I want to feel His hands gliding up my thighs to my buttocks and removing the G-string.
My hands move to His cock. My body is aching for it.
I’m overwhelmed with desire for Him. I beg Him to take me: “Please, take me, fuck me, it doesn’t matter how, but do it now, I can’t wait any longer, I want it so much, I’ve dreamed about it so many times, if only You knew, I’ve dreamed and dreamed, I so much want to be Yours, You’ve taken possession of me, I’m Yours, I’m Yours, please, fuck me, fuck me, without stopping, I want to make you come, I want to make you come till you cry out. Please, beat my buttocks with your cock, your violence will be incredibly sweet to me, I’ll forget the girl next to me and the man who’s on his feet now and the circle that’s formed around us, and I’ll bury my head in the sheet that bears the traces of so much fucking and cry out.
“You’ll cry out, too.
“Our fingers will clasp and unclasp, and we’ll collapse together.”
He squeezes my buttocks and His nails dig into my skin, and His fingers touch my clitoris, and I squeeze His hands in mine, squeeze them like a madwoman, and arch toward Him, open for Him, but He doesn’t fuck me, and I set off on a journey where I’m alone and He’s only a dream.
It’s three in the morning when I drop Him in front of His building.
“See you very soon,” He says, and then He’s gone.
I spend the whole night with my eyes open, remembering every minute of that incredible evening.
To live only for that, just once.
The next day, there’s a meeting to decide on a tricky legal strategy, which requires all my attention. The phone rings.
I recognize His number and my heart stops beating. I quickly pick up the receiver and press it against my ear so that my colleagues can’t hear.
“Remarkable. You were remarkable.” And He’s already hung up.