I first met him eleven years ago, not long after I started primary school, when my innocence was unending and the world was ahead of me. To this day we’ve remained acquaintances, meeting regularly but always with a companion, well more precisely a relative. The appointment would always fall on a Wednesday, as it was my mother’s half day at her employers and coincidently my school’s enrichment day. I, not being interested in sports, would happily jump at any available reason to avoid wearing a sports bra.

Everyone had their own image of him, and that day I had never seen him act in that manner before. He was smiling benignly in the dimly lit room and swaying slightly to the cosy warbling of Frank Sinatra’s Strangers in the Night, played on a broken loop. It might be argued this was the real man, a lover: a romantic and a highly desirable man, captured only by me and my episodic memories. Most people didn’t associate romanticism with him, which I measured as we both colluded to create this conducive atmosphere.

He was usually very diligent and I often said to him when he was side tracked:

“You should be working”

And he’d say

“You’re right!”

And subsequently log onto his computer and begin typing.

When my mother reminds me of our first encounter, they remember that a “whole” feeling went through my body; they noticed the feelings of connectedness and deep friendship. My lack of interest in his career was what he liked, but these early experiences could construed as by any cynic, as childhood amnesia with an incapability of forming these well organised and emotional memories. What hurt the most though was when I was told by a school friend:

“You are truly deluded”.

After fifteen minutes of waiting outside his room, fifteen minutes of drinking a distasteful cup of water and fifteen minutes of people coming and going, I noticed the door to his room slightly ajar. I knew for certain that only two people were allowed in the room concurrently and took a chance of being the secondary beneficient. As I approached the door with the burnished handles and plaque, I felt a slight soporific shift carry my vessel. Nevertheless, I entered hastily and found him alone resting his thirty-nine year old hands on the wooden frames of a copiously lighted window. Before he spoke, I ran to his chair, removing enough clothing to make myself comfortable but not enough to make him unnerving.

I never thought of the risks of us being here alone. His profession would allow it but may be an appointment something so late would cause a great amount of malady. When he spoke, he told me this would be the last time we would meet in this fashion. We would continue engagements but not in this style. My mother had told me the late night visitations were harming his marriage. Selfishly, we knew that, this time, it was appropriate for us both.

I imagine the literal niceties don’t need to be illustrated, but without being too vulgar a rubber dam had to be found. He again told me it was a necessity, in case of transmitted diseases. I had to believe him, I trusted him and I believed him to be a man of experience and reputation which excited and poised me. After some mishap and a moment of disbelief, he began to drill into me and as he exercised at my pulpy areas from above, I screamed overtly. His continuing reassurance became exceedingly grating and at this point I yearned for it to be over. It was rather mechanical of me, but I knew subconsciously that to him we were now parallel. Whether we enjoyed it or not we continued and at times there were moments of liberation, primarily due to him adjusting his implements and then progressing to his measurements after working on my aforesaid delicates. He publicised his dissatisfactions occasionally in animalistic grunts and then after much self debate he halted, leaving me exposed in front of the window.

 He returned with a proverbial solution for these errands and smeared lubricant into his hand, his trappings and my sensitive regions. After much cleaning, much deep filling and much temporary filling, he announced his completion which again brought an expression of much disdain to his face.

Insensitively he left me uncovered and told me to wait. My friends had obviously had better experiences and right then I felt extremely pissed off and somewhat jealous. Five minutes later he returned with a stale vial of liquid containing a rotten tooth, finally he enquired “I think you‘re too old for a lollipop, don’t you?”