She Didn’t Like Being Licked

A late night car journey through town, the roads all free of traffic, pleasant variation from London’s normal buzz. On impulse, deviating slightly through Holland Park, remembering the streets, reliving teenage days.

Ah, there it is behind the trees, Sonia’s parents’ mansion. Sweet innocent days. Meeting at a party, Sonia being by general repute the most desirable girl there, not however to me. No problem in agreeing with my friends, though, item, long shiny hair, item, long legs, item, clear skin, only trouble was, no chemistry somehow, not for me.

Nothing remarkable, really, happens often both ways, except one thing, Sonia choosing to hit on me. Thinking later, it was exactly my insouciance which she found attractive, sharp contrast to attitudes of other men. An important life lesson, relearned subsequently through not applying it, ardor repels more than it attracts, except if you can keep it down to about one out of ten.

Over the next month, spending more and more time together. A matter of near indifference to me, the most interesting thing being my friends’ response, slightly chary, I now think borne of envy.

After a while, finding ourselves in bed. For the first time, discovering that you can be naked with a woman, and also bored. No initiative of mine sparking off any response in her, she taking no initiative herself save leading me to her bedroom in the first place. Also, that telling thing, I couldn’t make her laugh, or if she did it was forced. Another telling thing, she didn’t like being licked. Another, she preferred to have the light off. The sex therefore feeling constricted, free of orgasms on either side, my simulated twitching being merely a means of discontinuation.

Nevertheless, carrying on in some sort of relationship, desultory for me, more assiduous for her. Meeting her parents, answering enquiries as to my school, my parents, my plans. Being assessed as to suitability for pairing with an heiress. Found to be wanting, and glad to be so, being uninterested in a life dedicated to wealth and tiny social gradations. Her parents, like her, profoundly boring.

Finally, breaking it off. Leaving her with her pain, as you have to do, feeling it too from the memory of having been on the other side. But of course much easier for me this time. Walking off, buying some cold beers and peanuts, heading to Kensington Gardens to consume them in the sunshine.

Ah, driving now through the winter’s early morning, I can almost feel that hot sun on my skin, the icy taste of the beer, the oily salty peanuts. Freedom from social expectations and feeble sex and demands on time. Heaven.