A knocking on the door tears Polland out from his wet dream. He tries to turn a deaf ear to it and delve back into an exciting dalliance with Magda perched on his knees and feeding him ripe juicy strawberries from mouth to mouth. He turns over on his belly and tries to return to his dream. Hoping for a roaring development he pushes his crotch against the mattress trembling with expanding excitement. The nerve-racking banging on the door doesn’t stop. The dream is gone and the promise of a grandiose finale with it. He sits up on the bed, now completely woken up. What’s going on? Let it be at least something important for having paid so dearly for it. An accident in the family or has Chantal caught smell of his infidelity?
He adjusts his pajama, puts on a robe and goes to the door.
“I hope there is a good reason to wake me up!” He cries out indignantly opening to the intruder.
“Magda, my darling, is that really you?” He opens his arms to close her in.
“I’m so sorry to have disturbed your sleep, Jean! I longed so strongly after you that I had to come and take you with me.”
She backs away from him teasingly and he can’t but follow her. His arms stretched after her like a sleepwalker’s he goes after his dream. He kicks the door of her room shut behind them and clasps her into his arms.
“Is this a dream? Then don’t let me ever wake up, Magda!”
She crushes his hands against her breasts and her body against his.
“See, Jean! I am real! Wait, you greedy boy! Don’t allow our first night happen in a rush! Gently does it, everything is before us!”
She frees herself from his arms, pours the champagne into a crystal flute and brings it to their lips.
“Let’s drink both from one glass before becoming one body!”
Their heads leaning together, their lips joining upon the glass Magda makes him drink; he empties one glass, then another, she leads him to the bed, makes him lie down and kneels over him, her nimble fingers caressing his body with a much exercised skill. Shaking her negligee off, she removes his robe and, throwing his pajama under the bed tickles his nude body with her kisses.
“Not yet, stop it, you greedy boy! The night is as young as we are! We have a lifetime of love before us! Let me tame these cheeky, grabby hands, you little villain!” She reaches after the belt of his robe and ties his hands to the head post.
He watches her, drowning in lust, drowsy and subdued to her will.
“Make love to me, Magda! I am on fire!” He begs.
The flashes in his eyes are the integral part of the miracle of her body playing exciting games with his, until he loses conscience, until he dissolves into her.
She jumps out of the bed and according to Vincent’s instruction hides the spying material in the carryall he brought it in, hides it in the closet, hoping the photos would be good enough and this was the last love scene she had to play with this misshapen nobody whose floppy punch hung over her like a deflated balloon.