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Afterwards

We talked some more – musing over how the film would be done, discussing ideas, and also chatting about other things like Creationism, the Epic of Gilgamesh and world stuff/current events. It was very much like talking online with him on the art site, where this whole Virgin/Whore dichotomy idea had been born through our messages about the double standard and its creation of the dichotomy, as expressed in many ancient religions and texts such as the Bible (and, more recently, in the works of de Sade: Juliet v Justine). Roland thinks that de Sade “places pleasure (philosophically) where Nietzsche places the will, and the rest follows inexorably both through feeling and through logic.”

Roland had said online that he wanted to do photographs of me in a brothel for his project “the Virgin in the Whorehouse” which we’ll probably do along with the virginity film, or after. When I told him about looking into selling my virginity on adultwork.com (a site which my friend had told me that his friend, a sex worker, used) he said a girl who wants to sell her virginity is surely “the perfect VirginWhore”  He also said “you are a piquant combination of a pure body and an impure mind; the fantasies and curiosities of the Virgin conspiring inevitably to bring about her own Fall of her own volition, and for her own pleasure. Whether that pleasure be physical, material, spiritual, artistic or all of these at once. If man-meal you would have yourself be, then these pleasures are the exquisite spices that make it worth paying for – and, indeed, consuming. It is a very human story, an old story”.

I wrote to him: “Oh to be a Victorian, to transform in an instant from angel in the house into fallen woman! The American Tragedy of the beautiful, intelligent young sluts the psychiatrists fled from in horror when they percieved the sexuality of the 1950s/60s woman. Maybe they knew, even then, that the repression was falling; maybe they glimpsed in their unmarried pregnant patients’ eyes the courage and adventurousness of their innocent daughters.”

I include snippets of these conversations because I believe they form a backdrop to our arrangement, and are perhaps the reasons for this deal – without any connection through writing I doubt the deal would have happened, because for Roland sex is all to do with the mind and the mind is the greatest sexual organ. And so it is with me as well, I think.

Anyway, we continued talking and I remember thinking that I probably look hot eating the icecream (not that I was attempting to do so in a hot way; just not shovelling it in as I would do if I was at home). I eat lots of icecream and 5-6 bars of chocolate per day as well as coffee, hot chocolate and crisps; I’ve never dieted in my life. I was feeling sort of mentally dizzy after he said £8000 because although I’ve always wanted to sell my virginity, I never truly imagined I’d succeed!  And I would have, if necessary, sold it for £4000 or even £3000; (but then since Roland would be seeing me after getting my virginity and giving me the rest then, you could say that the virginity itself was being sold for £4k). Before he paid the bill, I went to the toilet to jump up and down and go “YES!YES!YES!” in private and look at my beautiful self in the mirror. I’m not one of those squealing fashion-slave divas who spends an eternity getting ready. In fact, I’ve never had my nails done professionally or been waxed; I only go to the hairdressers if I want highlights and trim my hair myself. And I LOVE LOVE my style which, although it incorporates the trends, is not at all dependent on the latest look (though I usually will have one or two items of clothing that reflect the latest look.) But, despite only taking about 5-10 minutes each morning to get ready, I always look fabulous. I’ve had total strangers from teens to little old ladies and accountants come up to me in the street and compliment my cheapo outfits that I buy in Internacionale, Primark, New Look and at best Topshop, Bank, Dorothy Perkins, Next and Republic. Anyway, I jumped up and down for a while before actually using the toilet and then staring at myself in the mirror and my reflection looked radiant and golden. I thought, ‘I have to tell Lochlan’ (my best friend) but my phone, Fire, wasn’t with me or I would have right then. I may have said “8000! You did it! You did it! Yes! Yes! 8000” but I’m not sure; my memory is very fuzzy at this point because this was the best moment of my life, and the fact that I was experiencing the best moment of my life in a toilet cubicle didn’t bother me at all. After a bit more screaming, I went back outside and Roland and I walked to his car (it’s a BMW convertible and, as he says, it’s a boy car with muscles. I won’t describe it further though). We had the run the last hundred metres to beat the traffic warden, which we managed by one minute.

 

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The Deal

Roland’s mention of his art quest reminded me of what he said online: “I see you also as a lovely muse, someone with whom to create or inspire art – erotic art. I see what happens sexually between us as part of that art. It is surely appropriate that an artist pays his muses. And this payment does not – alone – make them whores.” I had suggested we film it, and I knew this idea appealed to him.

“If I could film it,” he said now, looking at me steadily, “And take photographs – if I could make some art out of it – a work of art, not just a porn film…I would look at the sex as part of that art…”

“Yeah, anyone can make a porno,” I said, “Two 12 year old neds could make a good porn film. It would have a narrative. And,” I added, dispensing with the hushed voice “It would not be just that one second, the goods would be yours for a whole day. If you saw my second-last message…” Roland nodded. “Yeah, just no big permanent marks. Small ones are okay.”

He grinned at me, amused and a little surprised. “You want a reminder, don’t you!” he said.

“I don’t want a reminder, I just wouldn’t mind one,” I smiled. “And now there’s a deal you won’t get anywhere else.”

He nodded.

“So, how good are you at negotiation?” he asked, looking right at me.

I smiled instantly. “We-ell, I tricked the Chief of Police of the entire […] district into admitting he’d lied and that police on his force had been corrupt – that was to do with the local authority thing I told you about. I was 18 then. So that should tell you something about my skills.”

Roland frowned, and I knew he was thinking about the local authority in another town and how they had lied about my family.

“That was pretty impressive, right?” I said, grinning.

“What’s the first rule of negotiation?” he said suddenly.

I thought for a bit, a little smile on my face and looking hot while I was thinking (as I always do if I use this particular ‘thinking’ expression). I said, “I think it would be always to keep the end goal in your mind. Because as long as you don’t forget your goal, you will make a good negotiation.”

“That’s very true.”

“So what do you think is the first rule of negotiation?” I said.

He thought for a bit. “I would say, don’t be the first to name a price. Because then the other person can change it or lower it or debate it.”

That made me smile. “I already broke that one, didn’t I? Like I said I wasn’t after as much as those other girls got.[4k; 8k and 100k]”

“How much are your student debts?” he said.

“I think eight thousand, but it might be like twelve thousand now because they changed it.” [Actually now I know it would have been 10k if they had not changed it, but after changing it it is now 12k. Which doesn’t matter anyway because I doubt Roland would have given me 10k or 12k; or if he had, he might have asked for more stuff in return.And as this venture is not actually prompted by student debts, it doesn’t really matter.]

“I’ll give you eight thousand,” he said, “Provided that we film it; we’ll do some spanking, bondage and some shots to establish the narrative. So it might take three or four times before we actually consummate it And you continue seeing me after the consummation, for photographs and some more spanking and sex.”

I put my dessert spoon in my mouth and sucked off the icecream. It was the best raspberry ice cream I’d ever had.

I said, semi-truthfully, “I don’t know if I’d be here after we consummate it because I might go travelling. I’m not going to say I certainly will be here if I might not.”

“Well, let’s say four thousand for the virginity, and a further four thousand for if you want to continue,” he said.

“Yeah, I think that’d be easier,” I nodded.

We agreed that he’d pay me £1000 each time he saw me; I wanted this method of installments, rather than a lump sum, because it meant that if either of us wanted to back out, it would be easy to do so without negotiating how much was owed or how much of the deal had been fulfilled.

“And,” I said, “I would want something in advance; it doesn’t have to be much.”

“Like a deposit,” Roland smiled.

“Yeah – like I’m a Ferrari.”

 

 

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The Tower: How it started

So, it’s 1:17 am, I’ve finished all my exams, the summer is unrolling itself in front of me. And I’m lying here looking at the screen and wondering how on earth I’m going to get all my thoughts, facts and, well, everything onto WordPress in chronological order. This is a fun experiment, blogging, but I want to get it right. I’m known for being able to write well; I’ve had stuff published. So I don’t want this attempt to be a major screw-up, do I? Anyway, does chronological order matter – the film scriptwriters don’t seem to think so with their love affair with flashbacks. But let’s try for a little chronology here. I suppose it all really started in the Tower.

The Tower is a restaurant on top of the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh (it’s a great museum, by the way, you should go if you’re ever in Edinburgh.) Anyway I’d never been in a restaurant that expensive (from the perspective of students) before; I’m pretty sure I saw food that was £70 and that was a main course, excluding the starter. But I digress.

The Tower restaurant where we made the deal.

I was nearly at the museum but had to turn and come all the way back around, to avoid being spotted (for reasons not connected to this.) Roland had booked a table for us and it was lovely being in this restaurant because I’d never had this before, and it’s nice being treated as you deserve, I suppose. I’m not trying to say I’m a good person, just that I’m a pretty young girl and should be treated like a lady. (Yeah, I’m a spoilt bitch, as you guessed.) I hadn’t had time to flick my hair or reapply lippy/apply lipgloss or eyeliner after my exam (because of an incident unconnected to this) but it didn’t bother me Roland seeing me this way because I’m beautiful, even though my so-called hair has a life of its own. We were sitting talking, and it was kind of flirty; it was fun talking about these things in code in this restaurant. I had chicken – it was delicious.

I was wearing a long floaty opaque top with an embellished collar over a tight gold vest top and grey Aztec-print leggings. Roland is above average in looks, though not what I go for, and I was looking at him and thinking to myself ‘How on earth can you do this, you’re not attracted to him even one percent??’ but then I thought, ‘Kalika, you can do anything for money.’ And besides, he had a PhD, wasn’t fat, was tall, and was definetly someone I could talk to and connect with – we’re actually very similar in some ways. Even though he had a receding hairline and could’ve lost a couple of pounds, he wasn’t unattractive or wrinkly. So it wasn’t like he was totally unworthy of me or anything like that – in fact I like him. So why did I feel disgusted at the thought of it, since I genuinely liked this guy in every way except a sexual way? I decided that I must be even more interesting than I thought I was. If only we could control who we were attracted to! But then that is not true prostitution, is it, if you do for money what you would willingly do for free? That’s unfair to the client. I smiled and relaxed as I realised this.

I told Roland this, and he wasn’t surprised that I wasn’t attracted to him. I think he was amused by me saying that if I was it would not be true prostitution.

And the more we talked, the less disgusted I felt, as I realised how alike we were and the weird thing is, there was not one awkward moment.

Think about it.

We’d met in real life once, two weeks ago, to do a nude photoshoot and afterwards he spanked me (as we’d discussed online, or I wouldn’t have agreed to it. And come to think of it, he wouldn’t have done it, probably.) After that, I’d asked him if he wanted to buy my virginity online. Well, I didn’t ask just like that; I have well-honed social, negotiation and manipulation skills, though I deployed only the barest fraction of these skills to ask him this. He said yes and I said, good (that is what those messages boil down to, if you take out all the crap and posturing). Then he says, basically, that since we’re doing lunch tommorrow before he drives me to his company, Luxor Engineering, to spank and video me, we could talk about this over lunch.

So here we are. I’m very happy because I know my negotiation skills ensure me a good deal, even if I’ll be going up against a businessman. (Though my default state is being very happy, so this may not account for much.)

And it’s great; it feels right; I’m happy being here with Roland. If I were hearing about someone else doing this, I’d expect a lot of pauses and wondering what to say next. But that didn’t happen. We talked about all kinds of stuff; art, relationships, the stupidity of conspiracy theories, spanking, my BDSM political satire story; my other spanking story; America; stuff. When he mentioned he had bunny ears for me to be photographed in in his office after lunch, this oldguy in a red jumper stares and glares at him; it was hilarious.

I leaned forward and whispered that the oldyguy had given him a disgusted look; Roland said “I don’t really care what others think of me,” and sneaked a couple of glances over at him.

“So, what made you want to sell it?” he asked.

“I’ve always wanted to, since a couple years ago,” I said, looking directly at him. “Like, I think abstinence [the Christian ritual practice of not having sex until the night of marriage, similarly to Muslim and Middle Eastern/Asian cultural practice] is very erotic, but selling it is pretty sexy too…It’s just something I want to do.”

He said that he can understand why abstince can be sexy. “And of course, you’ve been doing something similar,” he pointed out. (Which is true; I am indeed sort of abstinent, but not until marriage. I am abstinent until either my virginity is sold or I find a guy who will “rape” me after a night of debasement, spanking, poop/pee desperation, enemas, diapers, babying, etc.) Being abstinent is, indeed, extremely sexual.

I told him about an abstinence indoctrination programme I saw once on a Christian channel and how very erotic it was (I disagree with its emphasis on female purity, its degradation of female sexuality and its perpetuating of the double standard, but abstinence as a concept is HOT!) and how Christian programs especially those which address fornication are wonderful to masturbate to; this made him laugh a lot.

Then we get onto dessert (icecream and sorbet, yum!) and start talking about selling virginity. Roland tells me, as he did online, that as an artist he’s interested in the art: making a film out of it and doing photography. The sex is only a part of the art, and it is the latter that he would pay for.

 

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Selling virginity: an attempt at documenting the experience

I started this blog because I am selling my virginity, and I wanted to document this wonderful adventure I’m having – not out of vanity or celebration, but as an accurate portrayal of our society at this precise moment – the human experience of pleasure, ideas, our social world, which led to this exquisite transaction and which will ultimately shape it – whether we are aware of it or not.

Obviously, all names will be changed. This is my first attempt at blogging so I cannot promise you an earth-shatteringly good blog which will blow your mind/provide a startling social commentary/whatever. All I can deliver is the truth; or rather the truth from my point of view, as I see it.

I hope you enjoy reading what I write – whether it amuses, entertains or surprises you.

 

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