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Does love have to be forever?: “Love” priveleged; love myths

Love is a concept shrouded in myths. We don’t see love as on a continuum, at one end of a spectrum that starts with friendship or NSA sex. We don’t usually see love as flawed, fallible or even temporary in the same way that we see friendship and other sexual relationships. Somehow, love is supposed to be perfect and endure forever and ever. Love is supposed to mean the same thing to everyone and to be experienced in the same way by everyone. And the word “love” in English is used synonymously with the word “commitment”.

Love is a priveleged concept; it is always seen as sacred, pure, in no need of explanation or defence. While other feelings and relationships may be publically scrutinised, debated or denounced, love is not subject to any challenge. Even in the equal marriage debate, love is used as the justification for equal marriage, precisely because it is so difficult or unthinkable to argue against love.  The anti-equal marriage brigade resort to arguing that homosexual love is not-love; they do not challenge the pro-equal marriage supporters by arguing that love should not be priveleged or that love and marriage are irrelevant to each other. It is implicitly assumed by both sides that love should be rewarded by or lead to marriage and that love should be priveleged.

The Catholic Church and other random right-wing moralists, whether politicians, NGOs or think-tanks, criticise every other sexual emotion on the spectrum except for love. Love is immune. In fact, love is often favoured and other sexual emotions are compared to it unfavourably. Love is the ideal.

Women a little older than me may remember dreaming of – or being socialised into dreaming of – experiencing true love like Princess Diana. For those around my age, it was Cinderella, Princess Jasmine, Belle and Ariel. For those who are younger, Bella Swan is their role model. Previous generations had Shakespeare’s Juliet and Hans Christian Andersen’s fairytales, unDisneyfied. Obviously, this is part of the reason why we put love on a pedestal. But the really interesting thing is that all of us expect to experience love in the same way as our fictional or celebrity heroines. We don’t entertain the idea that love might feel different to different people, or feel different with different partners or at different ages.

Love is inextricably linked to marriage and the family the two-parent heterosexual monogamous fertile family. Female children and teenage girls take it for granted that they’ll fall madly in love with their very own Prince Charming and get married. The reality for a lot of people, though, is marrying someone you like a lot and who you get on with; the scorching fires of I-can’t-live-without-you passion and wild romance seldom lead to stable relationships, as the magic fizzles out after a while. Yet, we continue to delude ourselves that we’ll ‘find our soulmate’ and ‘know it’s true love’ and ‘live happily ever after’. This is because we see love as a shining, separate entity, instead of an emotion resting on the far side of the casual sex-friendship-like-like a lot-love spectrum.

This is quite harmful, because the separation of love from all other close, bonding, sexual, romantic, passionate and friendship feelings leads to seeing love as copletely cut off from all other feelings. We tell ourselves that it’s either love or it’s not love. So, if we like a girl or guy, we might think we are “in love”. After all, we can’t stop thinking about them and love being around them, so it’s got to be love. Thinking you care more deeply about someone than you do is probably inevitable, but separating love from all other emotions only exacerbates the problem. Another effect is that we think in terms of lust and love, as if they were polar opposites. We think that if it’s casual, short-term or has no clear direction, it’s just lust, when in reality there could be friendship feelings or other feelings there, too. Everything is lust if it’s not love. And love is ranked as superior to lust; women are meant to love, not lust, and to prefer to get love instead of getting lust.

It would be better if our language allowed a more nuanced discussion of the spectrum instead of using love-words (love, romance, commitment, faithful) and lust-words (casual, passion, hot, sexy) as if they were mutually exlusive. For cohabitees, polyamorous people, swingers and those in open marriages, our language and discourse are unhelpful and redundant.

And we think love cannot be flawed; if a man beats or sexually assaults his wife or a woman hits her child, these individuals didn’t love their victims. But there is no reason why someone can’t be in love and still abuse or assault their loved ones; it’s not normal, natural or acceptable, and could be referred to as ‘pathological love’ but it could happen*.

Love is seen as an end in itself, a goal to be achieved, a meaningful pursuit even for a successful career woman. None of the other feelings on the love-lust spectrum are seen in this way. Lust is not seen as a meaningful goal for women to pursue, or an end in itself for anyone. In fact, women who enjoy recieving lust or openly have too much of the emotion themselves are often slut-shamed.

Love, in the West, is usually equated with commitment. But should it be? In our modern society we sometimes forget that love wasn’t always thought of as permanent or as requiring faithfulness; even Shakespeare’s Romeo fell in and out of love with Rosemarie quickly, and in love with Juliet almost instantaneously, similarly to the way King David fell in love with Bathsheba as he saw her nude. The Hindu god Krishna is continually unfaithful to his consort Radha whom he loves dearly. And I have heard – I think most people have – of one-night stands or even holiday sex turning into cohabiting and then marriage. While I can’t take seriously the claim of “I felt love for everyone I slept with”, it may be possible to be truly in love with someone for a short time. After all, that’s why marriages fail – people fall out of love. So why couldn’t people be truly in love, but not have any plans to commit? Does being in love mean you have to want to be with that person until you’re 80? Or is it possible to be in love but know you can’t be with them forever, and, when you do leave them, you wuld always remember and think about them?

In regards to the glamorising and glorifying of this emotion called love: Love is nothing special. It’s just the end-point on the spectrum when the feelings of friendship and sexual attraction intensify.

 

 

 

 

*I’m not saying all or even most people who assault/abuse their family members love them. I’m just saying it could happen. And I’m certainly not saying that their love somehow “lessens” their crimes – it doesn’t. Arguably it makes their crimes worse.

 

 
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Posted by on October 5, 2012 in Feminism

 

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Why this blog/Kalika’s Q and A:your sordid questions answered!

Why this blog?

1. ‘Cause Belle de Jour did it.

2. I wanted to write a diary, then I thought, ‘why not a blog? Then it wouldn’t be so pointless, and other people will see it. And nobody’s done a selling virginity blog before, because most virginity buyers don’t want to drag it out like Roland.’

3. I like writing complete shit and ranting against the homophobes/Ann Widdecombe/Nadine Dorries/Rick Santorum/Rick Perry/the pro-lifers/the conservatives/the Conservatives/the government (which is mostly Conservative)/the conservatives who pretend to be feminists/the Conservative feminists…Is anyone even still reading this? Anyway, I like ranting against all of these loons, so why not rant on the internet, call it “blogging”, call myself “a blogger”, act smug about it and put it on my CV? And I can smear my complete shit all over the internet and act like it’s some kind of socially-worthy activity! (Some have called me an activist, even though all I’m doing is writing down what I say every day. Saying stuff to your friends is just slagging off people, but when you stick it on a blog, it’s activism!)

FAQ

(No-one’s asked me any questions…well, maybe one or two, but I forget what they were. Anyway, here are some questions I think would be FAQs if this morally reprehensible blog had more followers:)

Q. What prompted you to sell your virginity?

A. I’ve always dreamed of prostituting myself and been very jealous of sex workers. I especially fantasised about selling virginity. I love money, and love the idea of being paid for sex. It’s kinky.

Q. Why did you choose Roland instead of auctioning it as you would’ve got more money that way?

A. He was the safest and easiest option, and I liked his personality. I preferred it to be someone I liked and knew slightly. Sacrificing thousands for these paltry preferences was ridiculously stupid, of course – I wouldn’t pay thousands for those things, so why throw away thousands for those things? – however I don’t regret my decision, and I’ve never claimed to be intelligent.

Q.Do you enjoy being sexual with Roland?

A.Yes. I think I naturally am very into kinky sex. I didn’t know that before. I think the moral of this unseemly contract is: love sex. (Durex paid me £562,621,869.74 to say that last bit. The massive but somehow invisible prostitution corporations paid me twice that amount to say the first bit. I actually hate doing anything with Roland, because he forces me at gunpoint to do it, and has cut me with very cool-looking designer knives. On one occassion, he stuck a hot poker up my bum as an experiment, but forgot to record the result so had to repeat the experiment five times, then press a hot frying pan to my bottom as a control study. He then spanked me with it for not staying still and compromising the experiment. He also tortured me with electrodes and taser-like instruments, and has set my butt on fire repeatedly.  I don’t enjoy these things because Roland works for the despotic government of Fantasia and I think government torture is morally wrong. Roland agrees that it is indeed morally wrong, but he counters that it is also sexy, an observation which I find difficult to rebutt.)

Q.Why don’t you have two separate blogs, one for your perverted, badly-written diary, and another for your half-baked thoughts on feminism, BDSM laws, 50 Shades, and other sociopolitical things you obviously know nothing about? Or even a third blog for your kinky fiction that either goes on and on for thirty pages or is total rubbish?

A. I wanted to make the point that sex isn’t a separate sphere of our lives. It’s part of our social life, our family life, etc. We have sex with people we meet socially or through work; we use our social skills to pick up men or maintain relationships. We have sex with people in our family such as our spouses and partners. Our children are (usually) born by sex, or even if they’re not, the method used to create them was a secondary choice because the usual method wasn’t a viable option for us. We have a tendency in the west to segregate sex off from the other parts of our lives, and have distinct attitudes or unease towards it. (The forced therapy on two 6 year olds who had oral sex in an  American classroom proves that while dressing up or playing house is acceptable for children, ‘playing doctor’ or exploring each others’ bodies is not. Worryingly, this exploration used to be shrugged off as ‘playing doctor’ in the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s but now in our supposed ‘freer’ times, it is pathologized and medicalized. Facebook recently banned a user for posting a photo of her 5 year old pretending to breastfeed her two year old, because the photo was ‘sexual’. There are more examples, obviously, those are the first two I thought of.)

I also wanted to make the point that you can talk seriously about feminist issues and issues surrounding BDSM, sexuality and sex work alongside a sex diary – that the academic/political discourse around sex can’t be completely separated from the lived experience itself. When we research, analyse, discuss and legislate on sex – from gay marriage to abortion to the legality of BDSM – we are affecting real individuals’ lives and freedoms. When we don’t legislate on/discourage sexism, homophobia, slut-shaming/stigmatisation of lone mothers/the double standard enough (or, indeed, at all) this affects real people. I don’t think sex – or anything else – can be completely divided into two spheres as the academic-political discourse and the separate private experience. The lines are blurred.

I also wanted to show people that sex workers are well-rounded people who can be feminists – not victims – and do other things like write fiction etc. So I didn’t see a need to have one blog for my diary and feminism and a separate blog just for the few stories I have, especially since those stories are connected to the diary in that Roland and I frequently talk about them and Roland has mimicked the Queen Tut spanking scene/Kemet 1 twice and occassionally calls me by that name.

Q. Don’t you understand that you’re being exploited by that disgusting male who is little better than a rapist?

A. Yes, I feel very exploited. I went to a photo shoot with the intention of giving Roland a trial-run so that if he passed I could initiate a deal to sell my virginity. I’m a kinky student being paid £8,000 to have kinky sex with a millionaire I actually like personality-wise, who looks young for his age, pays for my food when I see him, and is overly concerned about my emotional health/consent issues. I have money saved up anyway from working part-time the last couple of years, I could get a career job as I just graduated; I’m doing casual work now anyway and have student overdrafts so I’m not dependent on him. I can stop this whenever I want. Of course I’m being exploited, please rescue me.This is horrible – I’m oversexed and have too much money.No woman should be treated in this way.

Q.Is there anything about selling virginity that you feel negatively about?

A. Two things – his age, and the hair thing.

Q. Do you ever detach yourself while doing it?

A. Once, for about three minutes, though I didn’t realise other sex workers do that sometimes, I thought it was only me. I did it as a precaution, but it got so hot that I began to like it so I un-detached myself.

Q. Why aren’t the Feminism and BDSM sections of your blog more objective?

A. In this stage that our society is now in, I don’t think we can afford to be objective any more. People’s freedoms and quality of life are at stake. You only have to look across the pond to see that, once a free country is on the way to becoming a theocracy, the slide is difficult to stop and lots of innocent bystanders will suffer a lot (If you haven’t heard of the ‘war on women’, Google it, or Google ‘last abortion clinic Mississippi’, or ‘teen abortion parental consent North Carolina’ – which wasn’t even part of the recent controversies, but an older law.) Who knows how many women especially young or poor women, are, right now, being forced by government (or in N. Carolina, abusive parents) to bear babies as a result of that? How many people got AIDS or pregnant because of abstinence education (which has mostly declined now but still exists)? These are the ‘invisible children’ that we- well, Americans – can actually do something about. The solution is simple – scrap all those newly-enforced laws. It doesn’t take millions of dollars or decades of scientific research to do that. The Americans know this, of course – they aren’t as dumb as they portray themselves in their films- but the loonies won’t let regular Americans put things right and save the children and themselves from unnecessary harm.

We don’t want this stuff to happen here and American abstinence programmes and anti-abortion government control have already been attempted (by Dorries. Most recently in January, which was her 4th attempt).

Q. Why do your posts go off on tangents?

A. They just do.

Q. To you, personally, what is the best thing about free speech?

A. Well we all know why it’s massively important, so my answer is: Being able to write the Santorum gets spanked scene in my story ‘The UK Government Torture Act’ and not get spanked by the police for writing it. Wait, is that actually a good thing?

Q.When did you begin to have BDSM fantasies?

A. 9 years and 2 months. This is also when I began to draw and write kinky stories and comics.

Q. At what age did you realise these fantasies were sexual and accept your desires?

A. 18

Q. Has Roland ever done anything to you that made you feel bad?

A. Woke me up at 5.45 am. In his defence, this was totally necessary.

Got a question? Ask me in a comment! 😀

 

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“I didn’t know prostitution could be this hard”

This is the bit that is hard to write, but I want this to be an honest record of my adventure, so I will reveal my weaknesses also. And I don’t want to spin a story about how this is all glamorous and raunchy fun; it isn’t, you gotta earn that money. It isn’t as fun as you think it’s going to be. I think it must be hard for ‘real’ sex workers who don’t always get to chose their clients (though some, like my friend Lochlan’s friends, do.) I’m not trying to create arbitrary distinctions by saying I’m not a ‘real’ sex worker. The reason I’m saying I’m not is because sex workers’ coalitions and unions such as COYOTE, PLAN or their International Trade Union (which is open to sales assistants in sex shops, lap dancers, porn scriptwriters and others who aren’t usually classified as sex workers) would probably not accept someone doing it as a one-off to a single individual as a sex worker. And nor would most people generally. However, I do feel like a whore with him, because I want to feel like a whore and so I do. And because I’m fully aware that he’s not my boyfriend. And that I am not attracted to him at all. That I wouldn’t do it if he wasn’t paying me. And not for less than 3k, perhaps 2k if he lost a couple pounds before we did it. So yes, I do feel like a prostitute. I feel like I want to give him his money’s worth 😀

To me, the intruiging, educated, one-of-a-kind Ro is, sadly, in possession of a body that is repulsive, though he is tall and has most of his own hair. I just think he’s fat even though he’s only a little chubby or just normal weight even…and he is uglier than I go for (just a little above average in looks) and very old (40-ish? I can’t tell).

I wish he had dark floppy or spiky hair and was slim, with a face that isn’t slightly fat. Though I have to say, in his defence, that he doesn’t have wrinkles. Actually, why do men (including my Ro) have grey hair? IT’S CALLED HAIR DYE!! USE IT!! He says he was blonde before he went past his sell-by date, and there is a lot of blonde on his head. It’s very short. I like something to tug and tug hard and make him squeal. Ro dresses okay but he doesn’t have a good dress sense. I think he’d look good in a leather or denim jacket over a shirt and dark chinos or slacks, but I’m not being paid to give style advice, I’m being paid to fuck. I’d be much better at giving style advice. I frequently have to give it anyway because my friends treat me as a style guru.

I like him. I want to spend time with him, a whole day. But it’s his personality I feel drawn to, the way he sees this little world of ours, the bright flashes of what passes for thought behind his eyes. No, he is smart, and more educated than me. He is so interesting and unique. If only I could stand to touch him.

I miss him right now, and I want to hug him. I look forward to seeing him! Even if he’s repulsive I’m genuinely happy around him.

I just realised, he must be really tall. Because I’m 5 6″ and I don’t come up to his shoulders. He might be taller even than Lochlan, who’s 6 2″, because I come up to Lochlan’s shoulders or even above his shoulders.

Anyway, that was a big digression.

So we’re in the office. Roland made me sit on his lap. Then he says “I want you to masturbate me.” I’m thinking about how that sounds more posh than ‘wank’ or the American term ‘handjob’ but mostly I was thinking how I didn’t want to do it. He said that if I can’t do this, how am I going to be able to lose my virginity? Did I really want to go through with this? I thought how sex would actually be easier, so there’d be no problem with that, and it would be easier if we did it right now than wanking him right now. I told him so, and he said that if we had sex right now then it wouldn’t be art and hence not worth as much. I didn’t understand why I didn’t want to do it, as the only thing I’d told him I wouldn’t do was blowjobs or large brands/scars or anything that damages my hair.

Roland wasn’t annoyed at me being a faulty product like I’d have thought; even when I said I would do it, he just kept talking to me gently and stroking my arm or back, saying if the girl didn’t want to then it wasn’t much fun for the guy either, and that I had to be sure I really wanted to do this. He said selling yourself is a very interesting goal but you are always free to change your mind, and that isn’t a failure, it’s a good thing because it’s responsible and means you know what’s best for you. He also said you shouldn’t push yourself too hard and do something you later regret. “You don’t have to prove anything to me or to yourself,” he said, “Nobody can make you do anything you don’t want to, no matter how many deals are made along the way.”

I said “I can, I can do it now” and he said it’s not about being able to, it’s about being willing and happy to. I said I was, and he said I wasn’t, I was just doing it for the money. We were talking with me on his lap and after a bit I said I’ll do it right now. He initially thought I meant sex, and said it wouldn’t be worth it, but I said, “What you said, just now…I’ll do it.”

He made me stand up and then patted my butt and suddenly I was turned on, and I wanted to, like my bum was a big squashy ‘on’ button. I said now I could because he’d smacked me, and that it would work if the lights weren’t so bright. He dimmed or switched off the lights and made the room less cold (I feel the cold more than most people).

I was thinking why am I doing this, and on remembering the 1k deposit I did feel a drive to do it, but it was also difficult to motivate myself to do it for 1k. I thought, ‘this is crazy, you can do this for 1k, of course you can, it doesn’t mean anything.’ But I couldn’t, not properly so I knew I’d have to detatch myself to do it well. It was so weird how this simple thing had been made into a big deal in my head, I felt frightened and like I was consenting to sexual assault, which doesn’t make sense logically or legally, but that’s how it felt to me. I didn’t know prostitution could be this hard.

Then I did it, detatching myself just as he pulled it out. He wasn’t as big as Matt, the only other guy I ever wanked off, which is odd because Matt wasn’t as tall or broad-shouldered as Roland. But it’s possible Matt was already semi-hard, so maybe that’s untrue. Anyway it’s not as if it matters, because the bigger they are, the less they grow when they get stiff so the end result is the same. And anything more than 5 inches is a waste because only the first third of the vagina has feeling. I enjoyed wanking off Matt.

In my detatched state, I thought of how it happened with Matt:

Matt is peeing in a bush in the early hours of his 19th birthday. It is around 2am. We are walking home after clubbing with friends to celebrate his birthday. We live in the same street. I am also 19. I’m looking at him surreptitiously even though I know this is wrong cos of privacy. We are both drunk. I think he is delicious.

“I’m not looking,” I lie as he catches me. I cannot control my movements when drunk so I didn’t turn away fast enough.

“You can look if you want”.

I look, then I stand right next to him and look. Then I step back a bit and look.

Matt shakes it and I touch it, it looks stupid.

We walk on a few steps. He still has it out as I’m admiring it.

“Can I touch it?”

He nods and I touch it for much longer, feeling it and sliding my hand up and down. It swells.

“Do you like it?”

I giggle. “It feels…rubbery.”

I wank him for a little while,  he tells me how to do it better and he says I’m really good, then I stop because I know we’re both drunk. I wonder if I will regret this in the morning. I can barely walk, anyway – I’ve been holding Matt’s arm before he went for a pee just so I didn’t fall over. And I’m wearing flats.

“Do you want to do more to it?”

“No…I’m sorry…it’s like, we’re both drunk…I don’t know if this is a good idea. Sorry.”

He doesn’t mind, just does it himself. We walk along talking while he’s wanking, it’s hilarious. I ask him does he think I’m a slut for snogging these two strangers and spanking that guy in the club. He laughs, “You’re a slut – I’m the one that’s walking along wanking!” We laugh, and although I’m embarassed at my changing my mind, Matt thinks its smart since we are both pretty steamin. We snog and my hands are all over his butt and we fall onto the grass. I am moaning as our tongues intertwine. Then we get up. We walk along with him wanking though it’s smaller now, and we hug for a long time then walk up beside his house.

“If you want to do anything more, say now. It’s okay. I’ve shagged someone up against the side of my house before.” I would if I wasn’t so drunk I’m having trouble balancing in flats. I snog him again and we part ways.

Of course, the next morning I regret not fucking him.

After that, I pretend Roland is Jay, Leanne’s friend and my acquaintance, who I’ve wanted for over a year, then Amir, the smartest guy in one of my classes who’s very cute and from Lebanon so he has a lovely accent. Then Kane, the guy who dumped me for not wanting the white picket fence. (He hadn’t dumped me yet). I use the baby oil. Roland says I’m really good and he can’t believe I’m that inexperienced. “I have a talent for this,” I tell him. Matt was surprised at my skills too.

I’m wondering why am I doing this and I know I don’t want to. Usually if I don’t want to do something then I don’t do it. But then I remember the £1,000 deposit and suddenly I want to, I want that £1,000 and I un-detach myself. I tell him a story about a girl called Chastity who was abstinent and got raped by Roland (I’ll post it here) and another story I forgot what it is (maybe I was detached while telling it). I was loking into his eyes the whole time, letting the inflections and nuances of my voice and expression fuel the eroticness of the stories. It went on for 15-20 minutes and I started to like it. Then he made me lie on the sofa so he could spurt on me. I lay facedown and he was above me; I felt contented and slightly excited.

 

 

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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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