Martine takes a Holliday
by Noël Burch nburch@wanadoo.fr
Judo-wise French nurse meets a viragophile


MARTINE TAKES A HOLLIDAY

Located between Saint Maxime and Saint Tropez, La Croix Valmer and its beach
are less well-known than their prestigious neighbors and consequently, in this
month of July, were less crowded as well... especially at 7 in the evening,
when the sun was already low and most holiday-makers had retired, their rented
villas their hotel-rooms or their camping cars.

Ensconced in a deck-chair near the edge of the patch of sand roped-off for the
guests of the deluxe hotel where he ritually spent his summers, Léon Schrub,
noted writer of detective fiction, gazed idly at the day's last bathers. He
was beginning to feel the cool of evening and on the point of returning to is
rooms to change for dinner in the company of two old friends.

Wading about in the shallow Mediterranean surf, four overgrown teenagers were
finding it it amusing to kick water over a couple of young women treasuring
the last rays of sunlight, no doubt hoping thus to strike up an acquaintance.
The women, however, were only irritated by this tactic and soon picked up
their towels and hurried away, ignoring the jeers and cat-calls. For the
umpteenth time, Léon Schrub wondered with distaste at the deep-rooted
aggressiveness of young males.

Soon the little gang saw a new victim come into view, as a young woman in her
early thirties emerged from the water - tanned, athletic body molded in a
low-cut one-piece suit, oddly old-fashioned with its short sleeves and
thigh-length bottom.

Léon had already admired the charms of this young woman, holidaying alone on
the Côte d'Azur, it seemed. At present, she was returning from a swim that had
taken her far beyond the authorized limits. But while Léon had noticed the
solitary swimmer, he had failed until this moment to connect her with the
attractive vacationer.

The gang of "pick-up artists" was standing in the swimmer's way, blocking her
path to the dry sand, and preparing to "court" her in their inimitable way.

Preparing to leave the beach, Léon kept a casual eye on the scene taking place
by the water's edge, idly wondering how the woman was going to deal with the
situation.

One of the young men sidled up to her and put his arm around her waist.

And suddenly Léon's interest was anything but idle: and electric shock seemed
to course through his loins.

For suddenly the impudent molester found himself on his back in the sand where
the beauty had dumped him with a quick, practiced judo move! So seeing, one of
her victim's friends took exception to this unceremonious treatment and
unwisely reached and tried to give the woman a rough shove... He immediately
found himself flying over a pretty shoulder, landing in the shallow water with
a splash and a thud. When he got up again, he seemed to have hurt his arm...
The other boys were duly cowed and obsequiously made way for this dangerous
woman, who headed straight for the showers as if nothing had happened.

She was walking in Léon's direction and he stood staring at her like one
hypnotized. She passed a few feet from where he sat, and becoming suddenly
aware of his insistent stare, returned it in full. Dazzled by the brazen gaze,
he looked away.

*

**

If Martine was alone at la Croix Valmer, it was because her relationship with
her partner Max had begun to deteriorate. Living with a woman capable of
dominating him physically had, in the first stages of their affair, had a
stimulating and indeed curative effect on the young man, whose sexuality had
been previously – and indeed criminally - disturbed. (cf. "Max and Martine:
Another Way to Love). But in the long run, this domination, which Martine
herself found increasingly arousing, ultimately weighed on "his little male
ego" as Martine regularly termed it during their all too frequent quarrels.
She still loved her Max but she felt a need for air now and then, which is why
she had arranged to take her holidays in July this year, when Max, a postal
employee, could take his only in August.

Washing the salt from her body under a meager flow of lukewarm water, her
thoughts returned to the beach incident with those silly teen-agers. It was
banal enough in Martine's eyes, she'd had dozens of encounters like it since
she'd become proficient at judo and until now, thanks to the benefit of
surprise, she had always come out on top. More interesting, however, was the
intense gaze of the middle-aged man standing by a deck-chair whom she'd just
passed on her way to the showers. To be sure, it was not the first time she'd
been the object of such a gaze, at once lustful and admiring: but never had
she felt herself the object of such intense, unabashed desire... Of course, he
was scarcely her cup of tea: much too old! Well-preserved for his probable
age, but a bit of a wimp, she thought... Martine preferred tall young men with
well-turned bodies, like Max. Still, the stranger wasn't exactly ugly... and
there was that gaze...

In the shower cabin, she rubbed herself dry, pulled on a pair of black cotton
leggings, tennis shoes and a long white t-shirt, stuffed her suit and towel
into a plastic bag and opened the door.

And there she saw the man again, standing with his beech-bag, staring at
her...She smiled at him but he was probably too far away to notice and again
he averted his gaze.

Returning to her little hotel in the centre of town, Martine had all but
forgotten her admirer – she was a woman men often stared at. But as she was
about pass through the bead curtain, she looked up and down the street... and
there he was again, twenty meters on, examining the contents of a
shop-window... or pretending to do so. She shrugged and went into the lobby.

*

**

For the next four days, Léon spent most of his time on the beach watching out
for the woman who had so deeply disturbed his tranquility. As we all know,
beaches are primarily places where bodies are on display. And during those
four days, Léon was to take indescribable pleasure in feasting his eyes as
discreetly as he knew how on that graceful body whose capacity for violence
had so excited him.

Since earliest childhood, Léon Schrub had been fascinated by athletic women,
and especially by those who practiced a combat sport. This peculiar taste
perhaps might have been traced back to a day when he was eight or nine, and
when a girl considerably older than himself had twisted his arm behind his
back to make him tell his little friends to stop throwing gravel at her and
her companions. But then who could say...?

He'd had several affairs with karate and aikido experts whom he'd had occasion
to meet, first in college, later in the boring literary cocktails he attended
for no other reason.. But even when an affair with one of these women had
lasted months, he had never dared speak of his fantasy: and her body excited
him tremendously because of its potential for absolute domination over his (at
least that was how he imagined it), such relationships had always been
immensely frustrating. He had ultimately come to realize that none of these
women would have been able to associate her athletic skills and sexual
desires.

A mind-set which Léon, moreover deemed perfectly understandable, having long
ago accepted the fact that his own sexuality was totally deviant. In fact,
after all these years, Léon had come to the conclusion that between sport and
Eros there was an insuperable contradiction and that his dream of one day
meeting a trained woman who could share his taste was quite unrealistic.

At present, thus, and in spite of his daily efforts to keep an eye on the
judo-girl whose prowess he had admired on the beach – hoping no doubt to
witness another similar scene – Léon was without illusion. He had the uncanny
feeling of walking in the footsteps of that ageing intellectual in Death in
Venice, carrying the torch for a beautiful young man on the beach whom he dare
not approach... although it should be said that Léon felt he had one advantage
over Thomas Mann's pathetic character : he, at least, was quite aware of his
"unnatural" desire, had fully come to terms with it.

Then, on the evening of the fourth day, the unknown woman caused him a shock
at least as sharp as the one he had experienced on the beach, discovering her
judo skills from afar.

He had lost sight of her for several hours, and having quit his deck chair,
was seated at his hotel's sidewalk terrasse, killing time before dinner.

Sipping a Casanis, he reread the Mann novella, discovered at the local
newsagents in a cheap pocket edition. Suddenly, some ill-bred person sat down
at his table without asking permission. A sarcastic remark ready on his lips,
he raised annoyed eyes ... and was aghast to see HER. The very woman who'd
been the focus of his voyeurism for four days now, and whom he had not dared
approach, now sat gazing at him expectantly across the little table. It was
certainly to Léon's credit that he felt a deep hatred for the macho practice
of "picking up girls" as exemplified by those ruffians on the beach the other
day. But if the truth be told, for all his intellectual self-confidence, Léon
was also simply timid with women.

Faced with this unexpected apparition, the novelist, rarely at a loss for
words, sat speechless.

The woman had only just come from the sea and her suit and hair were still
streaming with water. The word "mermaid" flashed through his mind.

"So now please tell me," she said, "exactly why have you been oggling me for
the past four days?"

"Why... because you're a very pretty woman, of course! And I for one..." he
stammered, trying to recover his aplomb.

"There are lots of women here who are prettier than me," she interrupted him
sharply.

It suddenly occurred to Léon that this was the time or never to throw caution
– and decorum - to the winds, or this woman was going to leave as she had
come: "The truth is: I saw what you did to those kids on the beach the other
day ... I have always been fascinated by women judokas..."

"Judokates"

"I beg your pardon?"

"In French now, we say "judokate".

"Oh, excuse me, I didn't know."

There followed an embarrassed silence... to which the woman finally put an
end.

"So it excites you to see a woman beat up men?"

Léon dropped his gaze: this was going a little too fast for him.

"Yes.. that's right", he admitted.

Another silence.

Léon knew it was his turn to speak.

"Are you a black belt?"

"Second dan..."

He sighed: "Oh my god..."

"Is that all?"

"This admission of mine must be very distasteful to you."

"Not at all... I can understand it very well... I've known other men like
you... more or less... There's nothing disgraceful about it. So... what can I
do for you?"

Léon burst out laughing and called the waiter. "What will you have?"

"Why are you laughing?" the woman asked, visibly annoyed.

"I shall explain. But first, what are you drinking?"

"A Mauresque."

Léon nodded his approval and ordered the same for himself. The young waiter
had never heard of the traditional drink and Léon had to explain : pastis with
a dash of almond syrup.

When the waiter had left, Léon took a deep breath... and plunged.

"I laughed because the moment had come where I would be expected to ask you
for a little demonstration, a wristlock or something that would make me feel
your power over me. Isn't that how "we" generally go about it? You must
already have experienced that sort of thing... But at the same time, I know
that if you did that to me here, I should be terribly embarrassed, for such is
the nature of male pride... It is an embarrassment I can relish in advance
(and also perhaps in retrospect) but I know that if it actually happened to
me, here and now, I would react differently ... My desire – all desire,
perhaps - has its contradictions...

The woman smiled: "My, aren't we the complicated one!"

Léon had wanted to impress the woman with his subtlety, his lucidity, but he
sensed he'd committed a faux pas... though perhaps not yet the irreparable.

"As for myself," said Martine very simply, "I don't mind giving a
demonstration... Why don't you have a go at feeling my breast, for
example...?"

Léon closed his eyes... What was going on here? Was this some kind of
hallucination? He opened them again, hesitated a long moment. The woman's
amused gaze defied him. She leaned forward: the shapely breasts in the
glistening suit were within easy reach...

He put out his right hand and gingerly touched the tip of one breast...

Despite the fact that he'd been expecting a riposte, and before he even knew
what was happening, he found himself on his knees under the table, prisoner of
an astonishingly effective wrist-lock. She was so fast, he thought!

But he was both excited and, as he had predicted, embarrassed... to a degree
which effectively spoiled his pleasure.

"You're very good, really very good, but now please let me up." He could hear
quiet laughter from other tables, mainly women's laughter.

Martine showed no signs of relenting and instead she bent over her victim.

"No, I shan't let you up, because this excites me too, especially when the
other person doesn't like it!" and maintaining her grip with just one hand,
she put her hand between her thighs... Kneeling uncomfortable beneath the
table, Léon was flabbergasted to see that she was actually caressing herself
through the elastic fabric.

"You want me to let you go, but you've got a hard-on all the same, haven't
you?"

Accustomed to far greater modesty in women he was meeting for the first time,
Léon was tongue-tied... An honest answer to her question would have been too
embarrassing for words.

She grasped his elbow, "accidentally" digging her thumb into his funny-bone ;
it must have been on purpose, tough, he thought because his arm felt suddenly
paralyzed and she easily clamped it into some kind of judo lock, forcing him
to his feet and leading him past the crowded tables towards the street. The
women's laughter grew louder as they passed, two or three going so far as to
applaud what they took for a groper's comeuppance...

Léon was experiencing contradictory sensations, but he was greatly aroused.
When they had left the terrasse, she finally released him, cast a glance at
the hump in his shorts and said:

"Yes, that excites me all right, but you're just not my type..." and Léon
noted that for the first time since they had met, she'd used the familiar
"tu". She strode away, mingling with the evening crowd. Léon was about to
chase after her when he heard the waiter behind him.

"That will be 80 francs, sir..."

There was a faint smirk on his face.

Léon felt embarrassed, of course, and paid the man as quickly as possible,
leaving an overgenerous tip. But it was too late to pursue the woman of his
dreams, she had vanished into the crowd: "shades of the final scene in
‘Children of Paradise'", was his morbid thought, but then he shook himself:
Nonsense! his "Garance", he would find again the very next day on the beach...
And anyway, he knew where she was staying.

As he crossed the vast lobby of his 4-star hotel, heading for the lifts, Léon
reflected on the woman's unexpected use of "tu"... Was it a mark of
affection... or of contempt?

*

**

The next morning, Léon went down to the public beach right after breakfast and
saw the woman lying on her stomach taking the sun. She was wearing a two-piece
suit with the strap of the bra unfastened.

She caught sight of him almost immediately and waved for him to sit beside
her, an invitation he accepted with the alacrity one may imagine. She handed
him a tube of cream.

"Rub this on my back, will you?... What's your name? Mine's Martine and I'm a
nurse in civilian life..."

He laughed and named himself, squeezing the cream into his palm.

"And what do you do for living?"

"I write."

He was at once pleased and annoyed that Martine did not know him by
reputation. Pleased because he wouldn't have to play his role... Annoyed
because sometimes it had helped him make out with women... Although, some of
his fans, he remembered, had felt too intimidated to go to bed with him! It
was hard to say which would have been the case with the strange woman who lay
beside him.

"Now tell me all about it: why are you excited by women like me?"

Still unaccustomed to her forthrightness, Léon remained silent, applying
himself to the muscular back in order to convey an impression of composure...

"It's nice what you're doing there, but answer me just the same, I'm really
interested," she murmured.

"Well, for a long time I was ashamed of it, I figured I was a masochist, I
even began an analysis to become normal again. After a few months, the analyst
told me I was in love with my symptom and that I was wasting my time and my
money with her. She also said that barring an accident, it wouldn't kill me."

Martine laughed good-naturedly.

"She was right, of course. I was, and still am, in love with my symptom, I'm
really keen to keep it, it has given me immense pleasures and I have actually
come to think it represents a judicious point of view. Especially now that
feminists have shown us that relations between the sexes are so...
infelicitous, to say the least."

And Martine smiled.

"Today, I believe this taste of mine is not as shameful as all that. A
woman-friend once said to me: ‘What you really want is to be overwhelmed by
events: as a woman, I can understand that.' It was then I realized that just
as women are always supposed to be enamored of men's muscles, what I and
others claim is the right to love a woman for her physical strength – well,
with me, it's for her skill mostly: I don't dig body-builders. The problem is
- or was, I've pretty much given up looking – to find a woman who shares this
point of view, or rather who espouses its complement, who gets her kicks from
dominating men physically... with her knowledge of judo, for example."

"Did you ever find her?"

"No, not really... Generally speaking, women athletes put up a barrier between
sport and sex, if you see what I mean."

"Very well... That's enough cream, Léon... Yes, I see very well what you mean
... But I'm different. Me, I am excited by the power I have over men..."

She turned her head and gazed at him. For several long seconds.

"Léon, you're very nice and you're very smart, but you're not really my
type..."

"Is that a dismissal?"

"Not a bit... Shall we have lunch?"

"With pleasure."

*

**

Martine joined the novelist in the dining room of his hotel where they had an
excellent lunch, washed down with an unpretentious wine from a local grower.
Martine, like Léon, enjoyed good food, insofar as it was compatible with "la
ligne".

Martine was curious: Léon was a writer. Had he ever written up his fantasy?
She was surprised and delighted to learn that he was the author of
"Fantastique Brigitte".

"Oh, I loved that! Did you really write it?"

"Yes, under a pseudonym."

"The character was wonderful... I identified with her completely... Oh, for my
taste there was too much boxing and not enough judo... But I've often
fantasized about being a bouncer in a night-club... Though actually, I know
I'd never be up to it... I'd have to learn karate too, and I'm not very keen."

"Really? Why not?"

"Too violent... I like to control guys, not injure them..."

"Have you..." he began using the vous form, but then decided he could imitate
her use of the informal "tu"... "Have you ever heard of hakko-ryu jiu-jitsu?"

"No, what's that?"

"Hakko-ryu means eighth light. It's a system derived from traditional
jiu-jitsu but of with a completely non-violent approach: only joint-locks and
pin-downs, no blows, nothing nasty... I saw a a demonstration once at the
Salle Wagram, a class of girls, very spectacular..."

Martine thought a moment: "That could interest me... Mind you, I already know
a little jiu-jitsu... I use it sometimes at the hospital to subdue manic
patients."

She shot him a piercing glance:

"Does it excite you when I say things like that?"

Léon dug into the roast pigeon on his plate: "Of course it does..."

There was an awkward pause.

Then Martine said: "Take me dancing tomorrow night?"

Léon looked puzzled: "Sure, if you like... Where do you want to go?"

"I know a club where the rowdy set goes, full of guys who spend their evening
bugging women... We could go there and pretend not to know each other...
Something amusing might happen..."

You mean like... teaching some guy a lesson?"

"Could be... You like to see that?"

Léon did not answer, but on his face there was an expression close to
ecstasy...

She laid her hand gently on his: "Don't get your hopes up, nothing may happen
at all..."

"Maybe... But just the anticipation will be worth it..."

She clicked her tongue. "What a cerebral type you are! Pick me up around
ten... I know you know where... Wait for me in the lobby, I'll be down..."

Somewhat ceremoniously, he took his new friend's hand and kissed it
passionately. She drew away with a little laugh and sauntered off down the
beach.

*

**

When Martine appeared in the lobby of her two star hotel, Léon saw immediately
she had dressed specially for him and was full of gratitude: she wore a
magnificent pair of toreador pants in chiseled black velvet and a long jacket
of pale raw silk, heavy and rough, cut to resemble a judo gi, with a broad
black velvet sash tied at the side.

A pair of supple black booties laced to the calf clung to her feet like
leather stockings and her hair was held in place with a large white headband
evocative of those worn by the samurai of old. A kinky pair of black leather
driving gloves with cut-off fingers revealing crimson nails completed the
outfit. For one who knew what this woman could do to a man, her appearance was
quite as formidable as it was adorable.

Léon congratulated her on her costume.

"You like it?"

She kissed him on both cheeks to thank him for his delicate orchid, which he
now proceeded pin on the lapel of her jacket.

"There's something "American" about the way you look, and I love it!"

"So do I... Although in fact, this is the first time I've had an occasion to
wear these clothes," she remarked somewhat enigmatically.

*

**

The patrons of the "Rock around the Clock" were a motley crew. Well-dressed
holiday-makers from the big hotels rubbed shoulders with others more
informally dressed and who came from the camp-sites. Plus a fair proportion of
locals, all young men, generally in groups of three or more, with no women in
tow. Their fantasy was picking up sexy holiday-makers. Martine had been here
once before and had not appreciated the ambience. But for the kinky purpose
she had in mind this evening, this was the ideal spot.

Léon and she arrived separately: in order to have every chance of an
exhilarating confrontation, she had to appear to be alone.

Actually, Martine was never excited by a real-life fight... except perhaps
when she thought about it afterwards. Tonight, however, knowing she was in
fact putting on a show for a person as exceptional as Léon – she'd never met a
man whose fantasies meshed so perfectly with her own and who had come to terms
with them so completely – knowing that she had this connoisseur for an
audience tonight, she was sure to be aroused if the opportunity arose tonight
to give some guy a thrashing.

*

**

Léon was already seated at a table facing the bar when Martine approached to
order a drink. She'd decided the bar was the most obvious place for a woman
presumably "on the make".

Some thirty couples were cavorting on the spacious dance floor to records of
all the great pioneers of Rock ‘n roll - Elvis Presley, Chubby Checkers, Buddy
Holly, etc. ... a music Léon appreciated very little, though he knew it was
fun to dance to.

A young vacationer stepped up and invited the comely judokate for a spin on
the floor. Léon admired the freedom and energy of Martine's style of dancing;
after a few turns in her partner's arms, she pushed him gently away and danced
alone... all the while looking straight at Léon... who understood she was
dancing for him.

When the piece was over, she took leave of her partner and returned to the
bar.

Following her with his gaze, Léon noticed two women, sitting on the edge of
the dance floor. Of these, one was petite and pretty, but the other
immediately fascinated him, clad as she was from head to foot in black
leather: an officer's tunic buttoned to the throat, tight riding breeches and
loose flat-soled ankle-boots of felt. A pair of supple gloves were tucked into
a narrow belt. She wore her blonde hair very short and her faintly masculine
features were dramatically beautiful. She had one hand on the lap of the
pretty brunette at her side... all the while gazing after Martine's slender
silhouette, which had just passed their table.

Léon had always felt drawn to lesbians, but it was an ambiguous attraction, a
mixture of passion and dread, and in any event too difficult for a man like
himself to act upon, and he had done little about it beyond spending the
occasional evening in fashionable Paris "dyke" hang-outs, like La Montagne in
the Latin Quarter or Le Monocle in Montmartre.

He looked back at Martine, drinking at the bar.

*

**

It was then that Martine saw a flock of five young men push their way into the
crowded bar. They were already pretty sloshed - but not enough for the barman
to refuse them service – and they gathered about the bar, ogling the
unaccompanied women on the stools, some professionals, others simply "girls on
the loose". Martine knew this was a good mix for entrapping one of those
presumptuous males ...

The males in question had spread out along the counter, glasses in hand, and
were chatting up the unaccompanied women. Their hands soon began to stray. The
"honest" women pushed them away, the prostitutes were more tolerant, putting
up only token resistance. Martine leaned her back against the bar, smiling
discreetly at Léon to make sure he was paying close attention.

One of the young men, the burliest of the group, came over to her and made an
obscene remark, meant to be funny: he evidently took our judo nurse her for a
whore. Martine made no attempt to set him straight... not until he lay a
familiar hand on her buttocks.

"I'd advise you to remove your hand." The threatening tone only made te man
laugh and he tried to draw her close.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Martine.

*

**

It happened so fast that Léon hardly saw it. He did see the incautious Don
Juan lay his hand on Martine's posterior, saw him try to pull her towards him.
And then suddenly the lout just fell heavily on the floor: Léon hadn't seen
her grab his jacket or his shirt to pull then push him off balance, all he'd
seen was the dainty foot that snaked around her aggressor's ankle and swept
his supporting leg. Now Martine stood looking down at her victim with a
superior smile on her lips and said something that Léon could not hear. One of
the poor sap's friends came over and tried to give Martine an outraged shove.
She trapped his arm under her armpit and ducked behind him, twisting his hand
and applying a complicated elbow-lock that made him howl with pain and put him
completely at her mercy. Now, however, waiters and bouncers and closed in on
the little drama, frustratingly blocking Léon's view. Soon Martine detached
herself from the mêlée and headed in his direction.

"Dance with me?" Martine asked.

Delighted at the invitation, Léon stood up without a word and accompanied her
onto the dance-floor. At the bar, he saw that the group of young men,
evidently known to the management as trouble-makers, were being persuaded to
leave forthwith.

"Well, did you enjoy that?"

Léon could scarcely speak, so strong were his emotions: "You were marvelous,
tremendous! I loved every bit of it, just loved it!"

They danced face to face, not touching one another; Léon shook his hips as
best as he knew how, admiring Martine's gracefulness, her extraordinary
liberties. He could tell she enjoyed dancing for him, showing off her shapely
legs and combining with her dance steps moves he recognized as the judo katas
often seen performed at Coubertin stadium.

Then he became aware that Martine had another admirer, a female admirer, whose
gaze was at least as avid as his. Moving closer to his partner, he called her
attention to the lesbian in black leather.

"Oh yes," she said without looking, "I know... Isn't she beautiful? I'm not
into leather, but that woman turns me on."

*

**

After another hour of dancing, Martine saw that Léon was exhausted and she
herself had had enough for one night. She suggested they get something to eat
in calmer surroundings. Léon readily agreed; he wanted to talk with his new
friend and here the decibels made it impossible.

They headed for the exit.

When the club-door swung shut behind them, the street seemed almost
preternaturally empty. "Let's walk a bit," he suggested, "we should find a
taxi on the square, I know a good restaurant out by the lake."

But just a few steps later, he seized his companion's arm: "Careful, Martine,
I have the feeling your little friends want a rematch."

"Yes, I saw them..."

"Let's go back inside the club..."

"No, act as though they weren't there... They probably won't have the nerve...
But if there is a fight, Léon, you let me handle it, right?"

"But there are five of them!"

"I said to let me handle it! I won't say it again!"

Then suddenly three of them appeared on the sidewalk ahead, among them the
chubby one Martine had thrown with a major outer reap.

They stood their ground ten feet away.

Martine looked back: the other two had come up behind them.

The leader of the group spoke up:

"We want a rematch"

"All five of you? Now isn't that brave!"

"No, just him..." - pointing to the lad by his side, tall and
muscular-looking. "He does karate, so you're gonna get yours, sister, right
now..."

Martine smiled and thrust Léon gently to one side.

"All right..."

*

**

The two opponents walked towards each other, in the guard positions
appropriate to their art. When the young man felt he was within range, he
unleashed a fairly credible but rather slow round-house kick at Martine's
head. She dodged the blow easily and grabbed at his ankle but missed. The man
made as if to retreat but then kicked out again and Martine caught a glancing
blow on her retreating shoulder. It seemed fairly harmless.

Before the boy could mount another attack, Martine suddenly went into action,
in a way that surprised Léon: she dove head first onto the floor, executing a
perfect somersault: her opponent caught the soles of her booties in the
breadbasket and dropped on his back with a yell. Martine was on him in a
trice, and their two bodies rolled on the floor. Léon was delighted by the
success of his champion's first initiative, but still afraid for her: the
judokate seemed so slender and frail in those tight velvet pants and her male
opponent outweighed her by at least 15 kilos.

That the judokate was the superior grappler soon became evident, however. She
clamped on an arm lock and a body scissors, but the man momentarily succeeded
in breaking free and tried to punch her on the breast. This was a bad mistake:
Martine's gloved fingers closed around his wrist, and she flipped her body
acrobatically so that a slender black velvet leg could crash down on his
throat: she lay back, holding onto his wrist with both hands, his elbow
stretched to breaking point against her thrusting pubis.

The boy screamed: "She's gonna break my arm, help me, guys..." The chubby boy
with a score to settle came up behind Martine brandishing a wine bottle. Léon
could not bear the sight of such perfidy and he grabbed the fellow around the
waist from behind and tried to wrestle him to the ground.

At the same time, he heard Martine's voice: "OK, guys, if that's the way you
want it..." and the poor karateka let out a terrified shriek: "The bitch broke
it, she broke my arm...!"

Léon had just time to see Martine leap to her feet acrobatically before
receiving a powerful punch in the back of the head. He saw stars and had to
let go: now it was his turn to be grabbed around the waist and thrown to the
pavement. From there he could see Martine facing up against three attackers at
once. She threw one of them spectacularly over her shoulder in such a way that
he fell upon one of his allies, but her attempt to throw the third assailant
onto the fourth, failed miserably and she seemed about to succumb under the
numbers. A rabbit punch caught her on the neck: she staggered and fell.

It was then that something totally unexpected happened: a black silhouette in
gleaming leather stepped out of the shadows: Léon recognized the lesbian from
the bar. Only now did Léon appreciate the extraordinary beauty of this woman's
powerful body. She seemed to stalk the gang of ruffians on her large felt
boots, lifting her knees high as she advanced, elbows bent, gloved finger-tips
pointing at her adversaries like the twin beaks of some bird of prey.

"Hey, guys, five of you against one woman, that's not fair!"

Two of the men had scarcely turned to face her when the woman gave a raucous
shout: one of them caught the sole of her boot on his knee-cap, the other a
handful of bunched finger-tips in the hollow of his throat; both collapsed
instantly, lamentably, the fight was over for them before it had begun. The
others hung back, wavering.

Martine was on her feet again and the two women stood back to back, slowly
revolving together, each on guard in her own particular way, waiting to see
what their two remaining opponents would do, who still stood defying them but
at a safe distance.

"OK, we got the message," one of them muttered.

He who'd been kicked on the kneecap needed support from his two uninjured
friends. Martine's victim shuffled off holding his elbow and moaning
piteously, while the fifth had managed to stand by himself but was still
retching horribly and holding his injured throat. They hobbled away from the
scene of their humiliation and climbed into a car parked down the street.

Martine turned to the Kung Fu specialist and kissed her on the cheek; but the
lesbian seized her face with both hands and gave her a passionate kiss on the
mouth. Taken aback at first, Martine responded in kind. Though clearly
aroused, she finally detached herself and ran to Léon, who was still on all
fours, shaking the cobwebs from his brain.

"I told you to stay out of it! Are you hurt?"

"No, just a bump on the head, nothing serious...What about you?"

"Nothing at all, thanks to..."

The woman in black leather joined them and greeted the writer with a tight
smile.

"Hello... My name is Petra, I am German... I am her on vacation with my
friend...?" And to Martine: "Can I have a word with you?"

She took the judokate to one side and whispered in her ear. Martine registered
surprise, looked back at Léon. There was a quizzical expression on her face
but then she smiled, and finally nodded "yes." Petra strode back to the club
entrance where Léon saw that her pretty friend was patiently waiting. The Kung
fu specialist put her arm around her shoulders and spoke to her in a low
voice.

Martine quickly told Léon what was afoot: "She wants to see me fight you... Is
that OK with you?"

"Fight me? But she knows I don't know how!"

"I guess that's what turns her on, she's very kinky... But then she's so
attractive, don't you think?"

Léon could only agree. But in his heart of hearts the woman filled him with
awful dread, for he remembered the effortless damage she'd inflicted in
milli-seconds on those two young men.

"You know, Léon, it was bad of me to take you to that place... I wanted to
give you pleasure, and part of the reason I got my kicks humiliating those
guys in there was because you were watching, but it was also because I knew
the management would stop the fight. This last bit... well, I didn't get any
kicks at all! I hope you did, at least!"

"No way, I was too frightened for you... Well no, in the end, when Petra
showed up, it was pretty exciting and pretty scary, too... But you're not
being square with me: if we hadn't gone there, how else would you have met the
goddess Petra?"

"I didn't need to have a fight for that..."

"True enough..."

Petra appeared to made her arrangements with her companion, who was evidently
sulking as she re-entered the club.

Petra rejoined them just as a roving taxi went by; Léon hailed it.

"Where are we going?" he asked the two women.

"Didn't you say you had a suite in that fancy hotel of yours?" asked Martine.

"Well, two rooms..."

"Then let's go."

Léon sat in front with the driver and tried to make small talk with the two
women to hide his feeling of exclusion.

"With the two of you there, those guys walked right into a regular ambush!"

But there was no answer and in the rear-view mirror he saw that the two women
were kissing passionately... He could understand the North African driver's
silent embarrassment

*

**

Until now, Martine had been reluctant to give Léon the pleasure of grappling
with him. He was definitely not her type and although she found him
increasingly sympathetic and was thrilled to have found a kindred soul of
sorts – she had no desire to touch his body at all.

This evening however, Petra's presence would make it possible. Martine was
going to be able to grant Léon the pleasure of a match and then vent upon the
German woman's splendid physique the sexual tension induced by the match. This
was an arrangement which suited her perfectly and she imagined that Léon would
not be too disappointed: he seemed resigned never to possess the judokate of
his dreams, to content himself with the vicarious satisfactions she could
provide for him - had indeed already done so that very evening. And now she
promised herself she'd give him more than he bargained for... fond memories
that would last!

The bedroom was bigger than the sitting room, but the bed was very large. They
settled on the sitting room, where Léon and Martine pushed back armchairs,
table and sofa to form a kind of ring.

Then Martine rummaged through Léon's wardrobe and returned with a short
terry-cloth bathrobe.

"Strip to your knickers and put this on, I need something to grip," and she
gave him a promising smile.

While Léon started to undress, she took off her gloves and began unlacing her
booties.

Léon cleared his throat: "Listen... can't you stay as you are? You're so
lovely like that... And since I'm keeping my knickers on..."

Martine blushed faintly, while from the armchair where she sat, booted legs
crossed like a man's, glass of Scotch in hand and cigarillo dangling from her
lips, Petra chimed in:

"He's right, you're lovely like that... You'll take your clothes off later..."

"OK, but I don't want to ruin this top..." She removed the silk coat and
appeared in a tough black athletic bra, the kind she always wore under her gi.
Then, without a word, she picked up her gloves and pulled them on again.

"How's this?" she asked Léon, with a faintly ironic smile

*

**

Léon faced Martine in the center of the "ring".

Although he knew he could not possibly win against the lovely black belt, Léon
was determined to make the best showing he could. The presence of the
redoutable lesbian somehow stimulated his need to show that he was not a wimp

True, he had had precious few occasions to fight since the distant years of
lycée gym class, but he he'd studied so many manuals and seen so many martial
art movies and public demonstrations, that he felt he had some vague notions.

The thing to do, he said to himself, was to take the initiative. And suiting
the action to the thought, he lunged and threw his arms around Martine's
lovely thighs, those thighs he had been dying to touch for days and days. He
hugged and pulled and to his satisfaction succeeded in bearing his opponent to
the carpet and falling on top of her, with his cheek pressed against the warm
flesh of her muscular tummy.

His satisfaction did not last, however... How did she manage to get away so
easily? She rolled, snapped her legs apart and he was no longer holding her...
And suddenly, she was holding him... With an unexpected move, denoting years
of practice, she forced him over over on his back and was instantly seated on
his stomach, entwining her legs with his, slipping her feet under his thighs.
Having lost his purchase on the floor, he discovered that he could offer only
feeble resistance to what came next: reaching under the armpits, she managed,
with an irresistible movement of the torso to force his arms over his head,
pinning them on either side of his head in a painfully paralyzing position:
his face was buried between her breasts, he was conscious of the pressure of
her hard pubis on his stomach, felt the dainty leather clad feet jammed
beneath his buttocks.

He couldn't move a muscle, he was helpless: it was a heavenly feeling.

"Give up?" the judokate asked sweetly?

"Yes," said Léon, who could feel his sex straining painfully against his
knickers.

Petra clapped her hands.

Martine let go and Léon stood up, panting. Then he suddenly hurled himself on
the woman, this time catching her unawares. But did he really imagine that
this perfidy could overcome her skill or was he merely provoking the judokate
in hopes of raising the ante, as it were?

"Ah, ah, that's not fair, you know... I'm going to teach you a lesson..."

She had given way to his momentum and dropped on her back but her knees were
drawn to her belly and now she easily thrust him away before he could come to
grips with her, and seizing one arm, rolled him over on his side, twisted the
arm behind his neck and applied a powerful hold that he could not begin to
comprehend. He felt a sharp pain and knowing he had already lost the match,
waited for her to pin him once again.

But this time, instead of rendering him helpless on the floor, Martine twisted
his wrist behind him and bent back his little finger. He was completely in her
control, any resistance was vain. She obliged him to stand up... Then he felt
her hold relax and he flailed behind him with his free hand in hopes of
seizing his opponent: but before he even understood the implications of her
move, she was standing in front of him, holding on to the collar of his robe
with both gloved hands. She pivoted and butted him in the groin with her tight
little rump as she bent forward and flipped him over her hips.

This was the first time in his life that Léon had been thrown over the rump of
a lovely young woman. The contact with the floor shook him up a somewhat, even
though the judokate had eased his fall by keeping her grip on his robe, but
the delicious sensation which thrilled through his body as he flew seemed to
abolish all pain.

She was on him in a flash, her pelvis crushing his swollen sex, her legs again
wrapped around his thighs like creeping vines, her feet again lifting him off
the carpet; he felt the curve of her breasts and the faint odor of her hair.
He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed with all his might but she
ignored his arms and grasped the collar of his bathrobe front and back,
turning it into an implacable vice: her slender arm slipped easily under his
chin despite his effort to keep it low (he had read somewhere that this was a
riposte against a strangle-hold) and felt as if it would crush his larynx. He
was completely powerless now, was beginning to suffocate, the blood was
beating in his brain, he was deliciously losing conscious now, but felt no
real pain, all sensation seemed suddenly far away, very far away, except for a
delightful mix of sweat and perfume filling his nostrils... Finally he felt
himself falling... There was a moment of panic and at the same time a sense of
tremendous well-being...

"You fool, why didn't you give up?" You know you're supposed to slap the mat,
don't you?"

She let him go and stood up.

"I almost knocked you out."

A smile was Léon's only answer. Quickly recovering from the deadly
strangle-hold, he climbed to his feet up with all the vigor he could muster

"Another fall?" he asks.

At that moment Petra set aside her glass and cigarette, left her chair and
stepped into the center of the "ring", pulling on her gloves.

"Yes, but with me! That's all kid's stuff... Forgive me Martine, but your judo
isn't worth two pfennigs! You saw what happened to you in the street just
now!"

"Petra," Martine began, "I think perhaps..."

But Petra had taken up her martial stance, and lifting her knees high, arms
bent, fingers pointing forward, she bore down on the helpless Léon.

"Petra!"" Martine called out.

Léon backed away, awkwardly protecting his chest and crotch with his hands. He
was really frightened; he hadn't been expecting anything like this. The woman
uttered her disconcerting shout and stabbed her fingers at his eyes, at the
same time pinning his forward foot to the floor with the tip of her boot.
Instinctively, Léon raised his arm to protect his face from the feint and the
woman immediately jabbed him under the sternum with the fingertips of her
other hand, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to double up and lose
his balance, on account of the pinned foot; but grabbing hold of his hair,
Petra kept him from falling long enough to cuff him sharply on the pubis with
heel of her open hand.

Poor Léon dropped to his knees in a fetal position, gasping for air,
completely paralyzed by the awful pain that wracking his pelvis... Petra
placed the sole of her boot on his chest and pushed him onto his back. Now the
creature stood over him, lips twisted in an evil grin. He lay looking up at
the terrifying beauty, aware he should be excited but feeling only pain and
fear.

"You see Martine, my Hung Gar is quicker and more effective than your sweet
little judo holds!"

She knelt beside her victim and rested her gloved hammer-fist on his forehead,
just above his nose, then raised the body-weapon over her head as if to deal
her victim the coup de grace. For a moment, Léon thought his last hour had
come. Martine slipped quickly behind the amazon, forced her arm up and with a
firm neck-lock brought her to her feet.

"What are you doing, Petra? Stop that! I won't have it!"

And she led her towards the adjoining bedroom. Petra laughed and offered no
resistance: "It was just a joke; I wasn't going to kill him!"

Léon rolled over on his side, knees drawn up to his chest, hands on his
crotch: he still could scarcely breathe. He heard the sounds of a brief
struggle coming from the next room, soon followed by sounds of a very
different nature... Now Martine was speaking in a low voice, gently,
apologetically...

The door opened again and she came to where Léon lay on the floor.

"You OK? She says you'll feel better in a couple of hours and there won't be
any sequels. She's sorry, but she just couldn't wait any longer..."

He smiled bitterly. He was beginning to get his breath back: "She... could
have... come and apologize... herself..."

Martine shrugged: "I don't she's that kind of person."

She helped Léon onto the couch. He was still having a hard time breathing and
the pain in his pubis irradiated his whole abdomen. He felt like vomiting.
That "preying mantis" had really wrecked him.

"Well, that's what I call living out your fantasy!" Martine lifted a corner of
his bathrobe and glanced at the limp penis inside his knickers. "Looks like
she's cured you for good, doesn't it?"

"But... I don't want... to be cured... I already... told you that," Léon
articulated with difficulty.

"I know, I know, and I'm like you, aren't I?" She rubbed his nose playfully.
Then she gazed at him attentively. "I'm of two minds about this... What she
did to you was rotten, that's not my idea of fun and games, you know that...
She's a little screwy, I think... But on the other hand, I really want her..."

"I can... understand that!" said Léon, "Oh boy, can I understand! If she
wanted me... well, in spite of... what she did to me... I wouldn't hesitate a
second... If I was in any condition to... well, you know... So go on!"

She gazed into his eyes, then planted a tender kiss on his forehead: "I'll be
back in a while to see how you are..."

She returned to the bedroom and shut the door behind her.

"It" lasted several hours.

From what Léon could hear through the door, "it" was very passionate.

As the German woman had predicted, the pain which he had first feared was the
sign of some serious internal injury – he might well have been dying, for all
he knew! – was starting to abate. And the events of the evening running
through his mind in a more favorable light now and were causing his knickers
to swell again ...

...The light of dawn had begun to filter through the Venetian blinds when he
heard the hall-door in the next room open and close softly. Léon worried lest
the two women had left together and that he might never see Martine again.

The sound of the shower reassured him.

A few minutes later, Martine reappeared. Still lying on the couch (he had even
managed to sleep an hour or so) Léon saw, in the semi-darkness, that she had
slipped into one of his kimonos but apparently couldn't find the belt. Was it
accidentally that she gave him a glimpse of her nudity before she wrapped the
silk around her.

"Do you like me this way, too?" she asked in a neutral voice, as if testing
his "normalcy". But then she returned to the events of the night: "She's an
amazing lover, she really knows how to give pleasure... But she has a screw
loose, there's no doubt about it, and she scares the hell out of me. Her
biggest kicks come from beating up guys, but I mean really! She told me the
real reason she did that to you was to get her juices flowing! What do you
think of that? Good thing for you I'm not into karate! She's a dangerous
woman! She claims she killed a sailor on the Hamburg waterfront just for the
thrill of it! He tried to rape her and she gave him that hammer-fist between
the eyes she pretnded she was going to give you! And she got away with it:
"Unsolved homicide"... I wouldn't be surprised if she was telling the truth.
She's been into Kung Fu since she was fifteen, and you saw what she can do.
She's extraordinary, but she's someone to keep away from..."

She looked off into space for moment, as if remembering...

Then turned her attention back to Léon: "When it was all over, that must have
excited you plenty... Did you jerk off?"

She touched his knickers, discovered his erection, bent down to sniff the
cloth and the flesh around his groin.

"Well, looks like you restrained yourself! You must be in a terrible state...
You deserve a reward... Get out your cock."

He obeyed her...

She leaned over him, crossed her wrists, seized his collar and rotated her
fists, squeezing very gently at first. The kimono was gaping, her lovely, firm
breasts hung before his eyes.

"Go on, stroke yourself..."

And again Léon obeyed.

As his excitement mounted, Martine gradually compressed his carotide arteries.

A hoarse moan escaped his lips and he smiled at his partner: "All the way this
time, please..."

Martine smiled back: "OK, if that will give you pleasure..."

And as the spasm rose in his loins, Léon Schrub came to know, for the first
time in his life what he had always considered the summit of sexual pleasure:
a painless knock-out at the moment of orgasm, scientifically inflicted by a
beautiful judo expert.

However, just as he was about to faint, the intellectual he remained to the
last could not help remembering the philosopher Georges Bataille and his
famous remarks about that popular French expression which designates the
orgasm as "la petite mort."

*

**

A few days later, Léon accompanied Martine to the railway station in
Saint-Raphaël. Vacation-time was over for her, the hospital was waiting. For
him, it was time to return to the novel he was writing... which was going to
undergo a number of significant changes following the events of recent days,
he assured his new friend. Their leave-taking was very warm, they embraced
several times.

Léon still wasn't her type and both knew that they would never make have
"proper sex."

"But I love you just the same, Léon, you are my kindred soul. Promise to write
me?"

And Léon promised to write her and they swore they would meet up soon again
for more innocent fun and games.

Because they both loved games...

He squealed as she treated him to a discreet thumb lock by way of a fond
good-bye... and stepped onto the train.

When she had settled in her seat and as the train was pulling out, she cast
one last glance through the window at her new friend: in ten days, she said to
herself, he looks ten years younger...

_________________________

Notes: This is number 2 of the "Martine" series, it is meant to follow "Max
and Martine" and precede "Martine in the Movies". A translation of "Martine in
Hamburg", the last of the series, will follow in due course.

"Fantastique Brigitte ou le viragophile" is actually a pioneering novel by the
late French film critic, Louis Chauvet, published under the pseudonym of Paul
Adouy in 1978. It is one of the very few serious novels on our subject.