Emmanuelle Page #2

-Yes. I was.

What an enormous bed!

How many can you fit in there?

These are twin beds

pushed together.

Don't listen to the girls bragging.

They don't do one tenth

of what they claim.

How is that?

-Well, the girls at the pool.

Come on, let's not stay here.

Your house is very cosy

and you have a great view.

It was very nice of you

to come see me.

Was there something special

you wanted?

Not at all. I just chose you.

-Chose me?

Excuse me.

Oh! French newspapers.

-Jean got them at the embassy.

I like your husband's looks.

You must give me a picture of him.

I like touching myself.

Great, isn't it?

Do you like doing it?

-No.

Don't you like it?

-Yes, but not now, not like this.

Don't tell me you're ashamed?

-Not at all. But I am surprised.

You are so young.

-I've done it since I was 12.

No one taught me.

My hands found out by themselves.

I think it's quite normal.

Don't you?

How did you start with men?

Jean deflowered me

the day after I met him.

We met at my parent's friends.

He arranged for privacy and asked

all sorts of questions. Like you.

The next day,

he invited me for a drive.

He stopped in the forest

of Fontainebleau.

He took me right there in the car.

It may not be comfortable,

but it's quite normal.

Eleven per cent of all girls

get deflowered in a car.

What does it change

to be married?

Nothing. Well, at first I found

it strange to make love at night.

Then Jean left...

He wasn't afraid

to leave you in Paris?

No, he always tells me I am free.

I may do what I want.

That scares me.

So what you said yesterday is true.

You never cheated on your husband?

No, I said

I never cheated on him in Paris.

I said

I never cheated on him in Paris.

What have you done today, darling?

-Nothing.

Just like all my girlfriends

in Bangkok. What can you do here?

There are lots of things to do.

Tennis, golf, squash...

One can sail on the canals

or visit the pagodas.

One can make love.

-Even when you're not around?

You are not my possession, not my

beauty. You are beauty itself.

I love you.

If it's really love,

how far can it go?

It would be a poor love

if it lent itself to measuring.

Am I the woman you want?

-Even more than that.

And I want to become yet more

than that. How can I explain?

I feel that in love there must

be something more important.

Brighter than just technique.

I am certain that the answer lies

in physical love.

Maybe it's in your mind,

your mentality.

A different way of conceiving love?

-Not only love, everything.

I want to drink you.

It must have been Marie-Ange

who troubled me.

Why Marie-Ange?

-She's quite forward.

Will that little girl reveal

the mysteries of love to you?

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