Diary of a Reluctant Virgin: Week 2
Innocent flower ELLIE SLEE continues her desperate attempts to get laid.
I’m currently reading a novel in which a Lady from the Regency period is abducted off the street by a Russian prince. He drugs her, locks her in a chest, takes her to Russia and leaves her for seven months with his Aunt who whips her for refusing to scrub the floor, until she falls unconscious for three days. She escapes and has his baby. Two years later, the prince appears, professing his love for her. She is delighted. He is even more delighted to find out about the kid. They get married.
It’s dispiriting that these kinds of novels have become my main source of romantic action whilst in Cambridge, and apart from the woefully out of date gender politics, what is striking is the number of ridiculously domineering male protagonists. This is most misleading, as any girl who has tried to pull in a club can confirm. Cambridge men are ridiculously timid about making the first move.
And yet, as I so recently discovered, if they sense that you have no interest in getting with anyone they suddenly perk up and swarm like bees around your sweet honey cave.
My first random pull came a few weeks into term. Before then I had been scathing about other women who snogged people they didn’t know. ‘How disgusting,’ I sneered, ‘they need to find themselves some self-esteem.’
But after eighteen years of singledom, my self-esteem was rock bottom. I was bopping away in Life, when I suddenly became aware that someone had joined me in my grinding. After a few minutes he took out his gum, stuck it on the wall behind us (smooth) and leant in to kiss me.
I backed away. He followed until I was up against the wall. This was not nearly as thrilling and flattering as my romance novels had led me to believe. At my protestations he said ‘Look, it’s up to you, but I just think you’re really fit.’ He thought I was really fit?! I grabbed him and whole-heartedly kissed him.
It wasn’t the best snog I’ve ever had. His spit dribbled down my chin and dripped on my top. But it boosted my self-esteem, and we were in the corner of the club so no one would see.
I wiped the slobber off my mouth and turned to find all of my friends standing there waiting for me so that they could leave. They all had expressions of sympathy and revulsion. One friend remarked, ‘It looked like an octopus was trying to eat your face whole.’
But thankfully I didn’t brood on this humiliation, I had bigger issues on my mind. I was frustrated by the lack of appreciation of what must be my greatest assets; my tits.
I lamented to my friends that no one had seen, or even touched, my bare chest. ‘I just don’t understand it, what do I have to do to get some appreciation? Look, they truly are my best features.’ Everyone in the room cried “Noooo!” as I pulled down my dress and bra. One man valiantly threw jumpers at me, yelling, ‘Don’t do it, Ellie, you’ll regret this tomorrow!’ I can’t recall how long I sat there, topless, but it was long enough that everyone had glimpsed sufficient boobage to avoid my gaze the next morning.
However, my “breast virginity” still weighed heavily on my mind. It was only a few nights later that I was out clubbing again and I recounted the titillating tale. My friend declared, ‘Huh, you should have told me. I’ll take your breast virginity,’ and promptly grabbed my boob and gave it a healthy squeeze. There was a long pause whilst I stared at him, aghast. ‘What’s wrong with the other one?! You can’t just squeeze one!’ He apologised profusely, and placed his hands firmly over both breasts.
It was at exactly this moment that his girlfriend returned from the loo. We looked at her. She looked at us. Then all three of us looked at the hands cupping my breasts.
Without saying anything, she just walked up, took our hands, and arranged them so that the three of us were all squeezing boobs. We just stood like that for about a minute.
‘It’s funny how your breast is so soft, yet his is so hard,’ I commented to her. She nodded understandingly.
The night rapidly went downhill as they started pulling on the dancefloor. The only thing worse than a bad pull is watching other people pull. I spend many a night-on-the-town just stood alone, dancing, watching, longing.
I may have lost my breast virginity, but I was no closer to my true goal of being totally and completely deflowered…