Erotic Transformation Flow
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There were no balls at that time, for all the young men were away at the war. Still, Colette taught me to dance. In the manner that all young girls learned, as she told me, she wound up the gramophone and we danced together the waltz and all the other dances. `It will be different when you dance with your first man,' she told me. I was surprised that I no longer found that idea shocking. Of course I was telling myself that I should pretend very hard in order to get away with this. I should even try to feel exactly what a young woman should. But this was already coming very easily. Indeed I was getting butterflies in my stomach whenever I thought of Emile. No matter, I was very convincing, wasn't I? And it was a few weeks after that first soiree that I received a letter from Emile. It was addressed to `Madamoiselle Antoinette.' Colette had to help me read it, because I still found it hard in places to read French. It said little other than he was thinking of me, especially in those dark times. But it was not hard to read between the lines. `He's enamoured of you, Antoinette,' Colette chuckled. Of course I was flattered, but glad he was so far away. It could be complicated otherwise. Again, I thought, a young man at the Front would be glad of a beautiful young woman to think of, and I was doing him a service. Indeed it was not so long before that I was a young man at the Front myself, as I had to remind myself at that point, and at least as a young woman away from the war I could do a little good. That was my reasoning. But over the next few weeks I was allowing myself all kinds of daydreams. They concerned myself and Emile, where I dance with him at a ball, and how we slip away, and he kisses me in the dark. I was so looking forward to seeing him again. I did write two letters to him. I used some soft, pink writing paper, and sprayed a little perfume on them. Young men like receiving letters from ladies like that. But on Colette's advice I did not write anything that sounded like I was attracted to him. Even if it were true, she told me, it was not the done thing for a young girl to appear to be `fast.' Just after Christmas, my first pleasant Christmas since my mother died, we did meet at that ball. It was to be the only ball for some time, given how the war went. How glad I was when I sat in my beautiful pink-and-white ball gown (from Colette's wardrobe, with an alteration so that I need not show much of my breasts), Emile came up and asked me to dance.
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