ImageShe pulls down her knickers and asks: “Am I your first Lolita?”

And when I don’t answer:

“So you like my fledgling breasts do you, my lecherous pedophile?”

While I suck your tiny nipples, I think:

A) You read too much classics

B) Who on earth uses the word lecherous?

C) No, I keep cupping them to keep my hands warm, what do you think?

You push my head down, and say, “lower, my sweet pedophile”

Some words come with anti-erection missiles, somehow.

“What do you mean, pedophile?”, I ask.

“Well, you ARE a pedophile, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“I’m 17 and you are what? 24? Ergo: you qualify as a pedophile.”

“My other three girlfriends are adults. I’m a 25 percent pedophile at best.”

I’m licking your virgin pussy in the hope of shutting you up, but I can’t seem to hit the right spot.

“I hope you are kidding, promiscuous pedophile.”

I am in fact kidding. I only have two other girlfriends. And they are mature in age, but not in spirit.

You are my first groupie. If writers are entitled to have groupies, that is. We started emailing after you read something on some site where exhibitionist writer types post things to beg for attention. Sometimes it gets you exactly that. Most of the time it gets you as much as what your writing is worth. Nothing.

Are you naked in my bed because of what you read there? Or in spite of what you read there?”

“Your self-control amazes me.”

“How do you mean that?”

“This is the third time we are naked, and you haven’t tried to penetrate me.”

“Well, you are a virgin.”

“And you intend to keep me that way? Like a toy you don’t unwrap from its package? Is there some kind of perverse pleasure behind it?”

“No, I just don’t think I should be the one to do it.”

“Why not? Am I not attractive enough?”

Well duh, but you’ll never hear me saying so. You’re attractive. Just not that attractive that I want to rob you off your virginity the first chance I get.

“I’m not sure if what we have will last, so I don’t want to be the first and then leave you.”

“Oh, so you are planning to leave me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it.”

She sighs.

“What?”, I ask.

“Nothing. I was just imagining what it would be like, if you thought I was so attractive you just had to take me. Even if you knew you’d break my heart after.”

“Sometimes I think you read too many 19th century classics.”

“When I read what you write I start to wonder if you ever read anything at all.”

I jump up like a bunny out of its hole.

“Really?”

“Haha, ooh, got a soft spot there.”

I can’t seem to hit any spot, so at this point I stop licking her, it’s no way to lead a conversation anyway and I go to lie next to her and just stroke breast, arms and belly. She keeps talking. Aren’t groupies supposed to throw themselves at your feet, unconditionally and uncritically?

“You know, if you would just penetrate me and be done with it, you might actually have something to write about.”

I guess not.

“Look, if you are so bloody intent on losing your virginity, we CAN do it right now, you know.”

“Yes, it is a bloody intention, I must admit.”

Now it’s me who’s sighing.

“No, it isn’t, I’ve never seen it to cause any sort of bleeding.”

“Said the expert.”

“Why do you make me feel like I am your study object?”

“Well, I am a psychology student for a reason.”

“You should be studying literature. Avant-garde stuff. Suits you better.”

“That’s like taking a course on how to end up unemployed.”

“‘I wish I had your insight in the dynamics of university education at your age.”

And I conventiently forget to mention that a degree in psychology is about as bad a as degree in literature.

“Now you sound old. But seriously now, why can’t you just say you are not really that attracted to me?”

“I am attracted to you.”

“Then penetrate me.”

“Fine. I will.”

I put her on top of me. Which is still quite safe. I’m still wearing my pants.

“Why are you such a slave to what you think I might want or not want?”

“Look, I don’t mind psychological analysis. It’s very fascinating, but it’s not exactly setting a sexy mood, is it?”

“Ok, I’ll shut up. How long do I have to shut up?”

“What?”

‘Well, how long does it take? On average.”

I look her straight in her eyes and say: “Stay on top. You do it yourself”,I say.

“Ow, and you can wash your hands in innocence, right? Pedophile Pilate.”

“This way I can be sure you really want it.”

“I demand the universal right to be passive during my first time.”

I nod to my right and you slide next to me again.

What’ s the big deal anyway?, I ask myself.

I lose the pants and I slip in. After three attempts. Not that it hurts, but she starts giggling every time we’re close. I get in. You say you don’t feel much. Neither do I, to be quite honest. Sex is in the head, not so much in the mechanics. We stop.

“I’ll get to like it”, you say. “And then you’ll like it too”, she says.

When you got what you came for, apparently, you ask:

“So are you going to write about this?”

“Maybe you should write about it.”

“I don’t want to be a writer. I want to be happy.”

“You are not very fond of writers, for someone who reads as much as you do.”

“So if I like cars, I should naturally like the people that build cars? One can like books without liking their authors. How new are you to being in the writer business?”

“What if I told you I already have two girlfriends?”

“I would say: tell me something I don’t know already.”

“How do you know?”

“I didn’t until now.”

Silence.

“What are they like?”, she asks. “No, wait, don’t tell me. They are in your latest story, right?”

I nod.
“I should do some research. Something about the harem longing.”

“I think there’s no research needed. Every man wants to have a harem.”

“No, I’m talking about women longing to be with men who are already taken.”

“Oh that.”

“You are making me miss class. Give me one good, tender kiss.”

You got dressed and slipped out. When I got down I saw what you’d written on my laptop with black eyeliner.

“the only writer I’ll ever like is the one who knows he will die if he finishes a manuscript , knows that the manuscript will never be read by anyone, but finishes it anyway”

It’s still the most eloquent way someone told me he/she didn’t like me or didn’t approve of what I was doing or trying to do.

You left your sweater behind. It smelled like you looked. Good, attractive, but not attractive enough to make me fall head over heels in love.

Why does a girl lose her virginity to some guy she gets in touch with over the internet? Why does she insists on losing it?

A female friend with whom I have a desperate, yet obstinate pact never to have sex with, says:

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this? Guys are always dying to lose their virginity as if it’s the plague. Why should it be different for girls? She was curious. She wanted to have it over with. She picked a guy outside of her social circle. Which is safe. She picked an older guy. And by the stuff you throw on internet, she judged you would know what to do. And she probably found some reassurance there, telling her your not a total psycho. A guy she wouldn’t get attached to. She correctly assumes she’s too young to be committed. That’s all. Why do you always have to read so much into these things?”

“You think she was very dissapointed?”

“Because you didn’t give her five screaming orgasms that set of the car alarms in a three mile radius? I think a well-read girl like her, studying psychology, probably had a very good idea about what she could expect. It’s you who’s dissapointed. You habitually overrate sex. Like it’s going to transcend you into a superior being. Never gonna happen.”

“You think I took advantage of her?”

“Yes, but not by having sex with her, if you can call that sex, but ok. You took advantage of her by putting your damn ego first. If you didn’t think she was attractive, then don’t undress her. If you did think she was attractive, then give her what she obviously wanted, without overcomplicating. But don’t go halfway, in the hope of getting something out of it. Some half ass story or something.”

We sit silently for awhile.

“Maybe she was a messenger”.

My friend is very deep into esoteria.

“Some angel, teaching you a lesson. You look for wisdom in women, don’t you? Well, this one wrote the lesson all over your laptop. You get sex and the best writing advice you ever got and still you are complaining. If you focussed a little less on analyzing every stupid thing that happens to you and focussed a bit more on building plot in your stories, you’d be a lot better off.”

“Remind me why you and I never have sex.”

“I like discussing your soapy encounters, I don’t want to play a part in them. Besides, you’re too much of a pleaser. I don’t like that. It makes me tense. And don’t put this conversation on paper, you hear? You’d only do it to attract more of these strange psychology students.”

“I won’t.”