Crazy Horse

Today I write, (really write). Before it I really typed. O Hark and Lo! People. How little sense we convey to our words: write - not writing; type - even not seeing it "in print". Do we really care about what anyone says? (Now I'm brooding on word-combination "making love" and ponder what do we mean and is it really "making" or really "love").

We all have our flaws, even the best of us. I wonder: is it possible to love impeccably perfect creature? - Possibly not. And I see the main objection to it - there is no such impeccable living person at all.

I also sure, you are waiting from me some kind of story, mere babble doesn't pay our times. Ok, people, I'll tell you a story about fairy times. It was extremely long time ago. I even don't remember what I did that time or where I sat. There were Varsity times. Now trying to recollect anything from it I've come to conclusion: it's the Varsity-time, which pass your mind blank as most happy hours do. (Can I ask you of what "happy hours" you just thought? Surely not about trying to imitate Stallone-Stone wet scene? - Ok.)

As I said they were a fairy times. Saying "I was young" and using words "bright" and "aspiring" would cause in you only willies and slight palate of humdrum platitude in the mouth. Taking closer to a point I'll say: Life was grand and there were plenty of chickens to hustle with.

There was a girl, (perfect in all aspects?). You, of course, are tired from my "perfect ladies". She was even better - she had her flaws. It is true, every girl has her own faults, but this girl had easily discernible ones. She had a plenty of moral flaws, do you think? Yes, but she also had and physical.

You know my manner - to say true at any cost. Saying true, she still remains the object for pitying myself of not having her. "Is this guy pulling our legs?" - asking you yourselves. I answer you - this is impossible because I can't remember where I sat and what I did these times but I can perfectly rely on the fact that nearly every fellow in Varsity wanted her, and did it desperately. It can be said even to that part of male Varsity populace who already had her.

Dear ladies, men are pigs, (and I hate them for it), they want to be, (when they are in mood), under every skirt, and they adore whores, (just can't stand against them, when they are pretty). Yes, dear ladies and gentlemen, this girl was a whore. Talking about whores one can imagine something sluttish and drabbish. But I even can't call her a girl. She wasn't that type. "Young lady" - this term suits her best.

Just now I glanced at the beginning and see it needs explanation: I write these lines in my notebook laying in my manor-house, (I refuse to call it a cottage). Five minutes ago I lunched and watched as on TV wise guys talked about pan-sperm and cold-life. I apt to agree with these academics and it excites me so.

But about these young lady and her beauty: She would easily become a '"chorus-girl". She had just fitting to it complexion. I heard about one French Casino called Crazy Horse. They have a certain standards for applying girls there. There is no need to exaggerate, she would be on the top of their list as Prime Crazy Horse of Paris. I see you again chuckling but it is true. My Varsity produced enormous amount of Divas in my time. Worth of mentioning only fact that one of Russians Beauty Queens could seat near me on lectures, (but she chose to go to Paris afterwards).

You know, talking about girls it is so difficult to keep eye only on one of them. So she had a figure, every man deserves, (I mean - to have near him). And she was good, (if no wise), of choosing our Varsity instead of doubtful pleasures of performing career. More than it, many and many guys had a chance to appraise her goodness and wisdom too.

I hope you haven't got the impression that I'm ladies' apologist and more keen-eyed of you remember that I mentioned her name in connection with flaws, both: mental and physical. - What? I didn't mention her name? She had a quaint one. (Have you ever got a fancy about some girl only after her name?). It was Slav name and somewhat definitely from Eastern Europe. It had strong tinge of ancient Russian names. You of course understand she was a prominent person these days and one can expect she became even more prominent now. So I have no moral right to blow her name to wide audience and to allow myself to connect its sparkling highness with word "a whore". (Men like whores, all of them, it's true, but Public Opinion .... What can we do with public opinion? But of course it means good).

But about keen-eyed and their question: I don't think she was a dumb. Nor she could be a mere imbecile. I could call it "lady's reticence" and there is no irony in it. Life itself doesn't contain any grain of irony. Man of motley can jibe at his Queen, but will we laugh at her after his jokes? (Ok, some of could do such blasphemy), but, we say, will Queen loose her inner dignity and beauty to herself?

Do I call her a Queen? Yes, but reticent one. She wasn't shy or prudish, (having more guys than Cleopatra, it will be a trifle difficult to remain shy). We can call her "good Cleopatra", such Cleopatra, who says every morning to a new guy: "Oh, puppy, you was so earnest and eager; I'll probably change my mind and you will be gifted a life". (Talking about ancient times, I am sure every fellow who consented to sleep with this cranky queen had such hope on the roots of his soul from the start, they just refused to believe that she will "do it" after what they would do to her).

Where did her reticence found its expression? - In every thing. She wasn't a wizard scholar. It seemed improper to her as to a lady, to show much wit near blackboard. More than it, no one male-teacher ever expected such deeds from her. I even afraid to say, if such girl showed much knack sometime teacher having misfortune of being of eyewitness of this would be in danger of becoming an impotent. (I heard that men loose their sexual abilities when hear as pretty girl begins to talk clever things - it amazes them to a core and leaves them speechless and dumb).

But being a lady she always gave you air of a "smart person". To see her IQ-inferiority - you should close your eyes, or just avert glance from her crazy-horse forms and to remember her results from last colloquium. (For me, such reminiscence had always a soothing effect). Of course no one had a right to say she wasn't a smart person, (may be only a little reticent). You see I'm very proud of my Varsity and to "be in" you should rather be a something. I don't know why but it seems to me there wasn't a chance that our Varsity kept imbeciles in its wall, (of course teachers' stuff - not included). I saw by my own eyes how many decent members of it strolled out of Parade Porch disappearing forever in darkness of oblivion, and lacking only two or three years of future education just because they showed puny delay in mental process on one of multitude exams. - She was Ok, she was with us all these years.

I talked with many girls in my life and not each of them was first beauty. They allowed themselves to express next idea: "There aren't ugly girls. All girls are pretty if they know how to behave themselves: casual pout of rosy lips, casual innocent smile ....". I guess, they are potty. You will never cheat man with "casual" tricks unless you are really pretty, (men can have many faults but they aren't a fools, (At least I hope I am not a such fool)).

Our lady was reticent not only in "brain-splashing" way; her reticence spread itself as well on her features. She was devoid by nature of some girlish tricks. It's callous to say but this is our life -her mimic was depleted, probably caused by some accident or unlucky facial muscle's inertia. But it was only for good.

You will never fascinated by girl who scamper and romps all around you and makes at you "muzzles" and "mugs". On the contrary, real girl-lady shows little gamma of emotions by her face. At least, she will never smile at you "indulgently". You can call it as you wish but I call it a trait of distinction. So you see, when I talk she was a sample of a "perfect lady", there is no any "fact-stretching" from my side, our Varsity was a big one, hundreds guys were ready to die for her, (in figural way of course).

I said she was with us all these years but it wasn't really so. At first she was in another group. Then she gave us a pleasure of her presence, then (sooner or later it happens to happen), she remitted herself in another group. Mean tongues talked that she flied from one group to another as only hot time to her ass came. I can't agree with them and thinking of her ass ... Hm. Ok, Ok. She never wore "explicit" or "very open" and challenging things. She had no need in them. When I think about her, I always think in personal cue. It seems to me as if she came to give me a special treat, and when I failed, (as I always do), she shimmered away.

I remember that day. I remember how she chose seat near me in huge hollow auditorium. She sat near me all "pair", but she was too demure to show me any signs of affection. (Was not enough that she seated near fellow in demonstrative way?) After it I never saw that she chose any seats. It was fellows who thronged in mobs to conquer a favor to seat near her. It was after that she became change fiances as gloves.

But in that first moment what did I think about, feeling near me a heat of women passion? I was afraid and I was angry. I thought she is beautiful, she is a lady. I summed and re-summed all her deficiencies and faults. It made me crazy. What else did I need to become her lover? You can say I was too over-pleased with opportunity to take it up, and yes, by all probability, you will be right.

Of course I didn't know that she was a whore in that time, or that she is going to become a whore soon after our meeting. Mere word "whore" excites normal man and serves to him as a hell-raiser, (I mean raise a hell in him, but only we know - this is no hell but an ordinary male sexuality). And if a man incapable to be excited by a whore, he is practically lost to any productive social activity.

What I was afraid I would make from her "my lady". I would become to tail her, present flowers to her every day and glance on her by adoring puppy's eyes. (Men as a rule afraid of such exhibitions they are too proud. Even being proud of sleeping with girl not diminishes their fancy about being proud "on their own").

Of course I suffered. I suffered reviving this accident and rotating it in my mind different plausible opportunities. I suffered seeing her boyfriends - one after other, which rotated with kaleidoscopic speed. She forever remained to me as ladylike little ray of not very incandescent but pure light.

You know, (not privately, I mean), those frigid, callous creatures who never look at boys or look only to choose future husband, future sponsor, future toy in house. She was different - she loved men. I guess, she loved them even more than they loved her, so she couldn't confine her love and her voluptuous body only to one of them. No one would forgive her for it.

She had hundreds but she never was promiscuous. (The cinch is our Varsity had plenty of good boys). And they had nothing to be lamented about. She had orgasm, I guess, if not every time but with every lain boy surely. And mind you - she never laughed at them or mocked, (her physical inability prevented her from it).

 There is only one example: It was ordinary dull lecture, such as thousands others were. Decent people amused themselves in such times playing chess and releasing repartees in lecturer's narrow-mindedness' address. Suddenly one ardent winsome and reckless guy with flowers rushes to the desk and asks (if not claims) her. Teacher smitten by this sudden intrusion calls her out. She raises all pleasantness, and blushing, flatters down to that fellow and they both depart in absolute silence and awe from auditory. Of course you should say, it's difficult to detect blush through bronze solarium's tan, (she took fancy of solariums that winter season), but everybody contemplated it and the fact has got wide publicity. So you can see "her ways".

She was the peach. Ordinary pretty squirt should lay her ankles on seat and elbows on desk to give a teacher "right impression" on exams, or to put on "killing" skirt and to place crib under pantyhose just on margin, so when teacher tries to catch her "with proof on the spot" he will never expose her and, considering the spot, her little secret. No, she didn't need of such low tricks. If anybody from staff wanted something from her, he should find his place in general queue and, by all probability, to work by his tongue hard.

But talking about my memory its ill-retentive qualities and tricks on me. I remember that on practical studies I was too preoccupied with subject and with obstinacy of too self-conceited scientific devices, on lectures I was too preoccupied with playing chess and with obstinacy of too self-conceited young scientific asses, wrongly named by ignorant mob as eggheads, who by bad lack happened to be my playmates. But what did I on seminars - absolutely passes my mind. On one of them she gave me second chance, which proves that I'm natural-born fool. She probably taught lesson considering wise guys fall in love with clever girls. And chance by fluke helped her.

It was teachers harping how damned well people live in Sweden. All was OK, if one guy not shouted from his place: "LOL is your Sweden". Of course such thing could make only one guy from whole year, (to say true, it was me). By some inscrutable magic she was again near me!

It happened she lived in Sweden many years. I guess it was her diplomatic breeding, which added her as Frenchmen say "a chick". She knew topic well. So she tried to begin a nice chat with me, she even chose right cue - hotly agreeing. - I don't want to explain how and why I mucked our mutual chance. Every man has moments in his life when he wants to pour ash on his head and to turn his face to a wall. I mucked this chance, what can I say more?

I see reader doesn't believe me: Why did she pay attention to such nonentity as me? Because I was one of the most handsome guys of year in Varsity, and I should say one of the cleverest ones too. (If you are young you will find soon that world swarms with gifted nonentities of such kind). Where are my proofs? Ok people, I had intention to hang on my page my photo in profile, (girls say this is the best part of me, but I prefer "en face"), but I already placed photo of one man, (girl), and to have two photos on one page - unwary. You can rely in this case on testimonies of eyewitness I can represent on your demand, (she "sustained" version about my desperate handsomness and outstanding smartness but failed to answer why it doesn't work on appeal with overwhelming girls' majority). So that girl wasn't a mere lady in manners and appearance, she had besides it a perfect taste and balanced mind, (choosing me and even trying not once but twice).

Once upon a time when her amour activities were at full, I stood with "tough" guys near cash desk waiting for monthly grant. I was "senior" so I was entitled by majority, (it was a story how they made me a senior!), to get dough and tough guys ... they always need money. For my taste I prefer society of "eggheads", but there are times ...

So we stood waiting in queue and they discussed girls. (Whom could they discuss else?) They weren't really tough in bad meaning of this word, I would rather called them "collectors". They collected money but in first turn they collected girls. People call such type as type "with active life position". (I had mutual interests with some of them on ground of studying of chess positions but I fear they were masters in many kinds of another positions too). They were plums of Moscow, but they in one sense were poor amateurs. She was the main feather in their collection, the paragon and they were mere stuffy samples on dusty shelves in her daily updating herbarium.

By the by talk span around her person and the toughest of them exclaimed with confiding heart: "But she is a Bitch!" (As if this fact was divined too him only two hours ago). No one said "Queen Ann is dead" and everyone silently nodded in reverent awe, as if by this nodding they transferred her from vast class of ordinary bitches to exclusive category of Chosen Ones (bitches). And only one of them croaked in the middle of reverent lull: "Yeah by gosh!" (As matter of establishing fact it was me again). Most of them looked at me with slight surprise and then indulgently as at beardless youngster, (I always wore my small cowboy's brittle even in those ancient times). But I'm sure the toughest of them in the darkest corners of his guilty consciousness knew I had a solid ground. End even most of them ... when such girl chooses one and even not once but twice, it can't pass unheeded to the enlightened public.

PS: I angry with myself for having no chance and being too proud of (I even dunno what).

Life is a whore, not a dingy sluttish and drab one, but a ladylike one. You can be out of her rotation or you can be trying to win her favors and even could be allowed to lay with her but not for longer than for "a three score" and may be dozen years extra. She gives you a pleasure of her presence and then sooner or later she passes away. No money, no eagerness, no talent prevent her of eternal lovers' rotating. Sooner or later she undoubtedly leaves you, hurrying to give her love and care to newcomers. She acts like a bitch, but she is a Bitch with first capital letter. There is no use to be angry with her, she can give you all, (at least everything what in her scope and on hands at present time and list of it is no little), but for a time, - never ask her for more.

Returning to our muttons (namely me): Why did I use no one proposed to me chance? All problem is in matches. I say I even surpassed her in every line except - a score. I think too much of "what will people say". If we only had an equal amount of our victories there would be no question from my side. If I had as far chickens on my credit side as she had hunky-dory boys! Of course, counting only our mutual relations we wouldn't care about such trifles. But we live in society and one used to look after not appearing in wrong light in public eyes, (damn them and their owners!)