As I began to read, a strange feeling came over me. The words seemed to mean more to me than they should have. I realized that what I held in my hands would explain more to me than I'd dreamed possible. This newsletter, your newsletter about El Fisico, revealed the identity of the man who'd taken my virginity just last summer. I didn't think I'd ever see him again. I didn't think I'd ever know who he really was. You see, I knew . . . my instinct told me . . . that he was no library clerk. I knew that he'd had to learn those secrets he knew about a woman's body from somewhere. No text can teach the tactile sensations that make a virgin experience an orgasm. He treated my body as if it were his own, always certain in his touch, always deliberate in his stroke . . . never searching, never hesitant . . . his hands creating lewd and orgiastic metaphors on my public parts.
When he'd first approached me, I could feel his stare as it entered my soul, low, penetrating my insides as if he'd known me forever. His eyes were a stygian black, without distinction between pupil and iris. He held his manly face up proudly, self-assuredly, with his square-jawed good looks framed in a shock of black hair. His broad shoulders thrown back proudly, riding atop an erect, athletic, and virile gait as he walked without hesitancy toward me. My loins silently screamed for his ravaging, they...
But I'm afraid I've allowed myself to get off on a tangent. Suffice it to say that, in my naivete--my virgin's innocence--I at one point had almost convinced myself that he was an angel, sent to give me a sense of celebration of my newfound sexual desires. (I'd just begun exploring my body, experiencing the pleasure of, how shall I put it? Manipulation . . . ) Anyway, I could not be convinced he was merely some guy that worked at the library. I was, am, so shy and introverted! I'd never experienced the sensations he gave me. The simple act of swiping the light-pen across the bar code of my chosen tome took on a whole new, sensuous subtext. I didn't trust him at first, but he seemed to know things about me that I'd never told anyone before, not even my diary.
When we first met, I'd mistaken him for Raoul, a nice man that used to work at Lucky's. I remember when this vision of manhood first approached me, as I stood in the medieval poetry section late on a Friday afternoon. He'd asked me if I'd ever heard of Fanny Hill. I had to admit I had not. But, boldly (where did my courage come from? ) I asked, wasn't he Raoul, from Lucky's? He smiled in a knowing, peaceful way, as if he'd just discovered a treasure or something. Bowing most elegantly (I was embarrassed a little, but so giddy--I didn't know what had come over me!), he said no, he'd never worked at Lucky's, but yes, his name was Raoul. We struck up a conversation anyway, all about books he'd read and authors he'd met. It was funny that he looked so young, but talked like a world traveler. No, more like a time traveler. I couldn't explain it. The next thing I knew, he was asking me out. Well, not really asking, more like . . . telling me to meet him at a restaurant later that night. I didn't think I would go, but I told him I would try just because he seemed so adamant. I could have stood there in the library all day, sandwiched between the written and his spoken poetry. But once he'd extracted my promise to try to meet him, he abruptly said "farewell, my bud" and left. Little did I realize at the time my extreme misinterpretation of what he'd called me. After reading about the powers of knowing held by El Fisico, I realize now that he obviously knew all about my sprouting sexuality, and had every intent to incorporate my unique situation into his plan for improving the human species. I am, you see, the indulged, intelligent, only- child of a powerful family. A child born of my body would have all the benefits of wealth, power, and intellect. And my family being strict Catholics, abortion would never be an option. But all of this insight came much, much later. At the time, standing alone in the library, awash with new sensations and feelings, my face flushed a rosy red, I felt comfort in knowing he considered me a friend. So I stood there innocently in the library, in my school uniform of white knee-high socks, plaid skirt, embroidered black cardigan, and white shirt, thinking it funny that, after speaking to me so romantically, he considered me his buddy. That prompted me to give into my second thoughts--I decided to cancel. Emerging from the shelves, I found he was gone. Almost as if he'd vanished. I was nervous and feeling a little lightheaded, so I slipped the book I'd been holding back between its dark leather companions and left. When I got home, I had a funny feeling. I can't quite explain it, but I felt as though I had a purpose. I went right to my closet and pulled out a sexy dress I'd purchased on a whim just the weekend before. (Looking back now, I'm trying to see the face of the salesperson in the boutique who'd suggested it. How like El Fisico, or Raoul, did he look!) I went right to it, as if I didn't own anything else. Fortunately, my parents were out of town that week. Being the bookish, responsible honor student I am, they've always trusted me highly.
When I arrived at the restaurant, it was empty. Well, I mean, there were no customers there except for me, and "Raoul," who sat near the window which overlooked the pounding surf of the Pacific. Though the sea-air of the evening was cold, inside, the restaurant was warm and inviting. El Fisico Nuclear rose as I entered. A bottle of wine sat on the table, it was a dark, almost brownish red, breathing and absorbing the temperature of the room. When I laid eyes on him, as the maitre d' lead me to his side, a calmness washed over me. My anxiety melted away and I felt suddenly tingly all over. Raoul bowed slowly, smiling warmly. He took my hand and pressed it to his lips as if he were kissing my mouth for the first time. As I watched him kissing me, I imagined those same moist lips pressing against my own, with a passion I'd never imagined. I was feeling really warm, then, and could almost feel myself glowing there in the candle light. We sat down. My dinner was a blur. I couldn't tell you what I even had. The waiters didn't seem to mind that nobody else was there. In fact, looking back, the waiter never even showed up unless we needed something. It was the perfect evening. I felt I was maturing with every moment that went by, as if all the powers of nature and its millions of years of practice were culminating right there, within my breast. An animalistic instinct swelled within me, and I found I allowed myself to be impressed by this person, . . . this clerk, . . . this man, . . . this enigma. And, for the first time, I felt desirable. My dress, which I hadn't worn yet because I thought it was too revealing, was actually very flattering. I wanted to ask Raoul how he'd come to be in the library, but something else made me ask him to define the word "exotic." (Later, I wondered where in the world I'd come up with that question! It just popped out of my mouth. Knowing more now about his powers, I know exactly where it came from.) He smiled comfortably, and described it as a young woman who had recently discovered the pleasure of her own touch, who lay on the verge of discovering the tenfold pleasure in a man's caress--for a true lover never just "touches" a woman's body. That should be left to physicians and seamstresses. Man was created to caress a woman's body. To allow her to experience the inherent eroticism of contrast: if her fingers were long and smooth, his should be powerful and slightly rough; if her skin is hairless and sensitive, his would be covered in a man's light mane, and be strong and solid; while she would bring her orgasm on secretly and tentatively, he would draw it out of her like, and he turned toward the waves, like the determined swelling and eruption of the wave sets during a high tide. I sat there mesmerized, breathless, listening to his descriptions with a mind full of images I'd never known before, but felt anxious to explore.
When we finally went to my house, I couldn't be more ready for him to have me. He approached my body like some long ago prince, so cocksure of himself and used to having his needs satisfied that I dared not resist any of the things he suggested. I allowed him to slowly disrobe me. I even allowed him to blindfold me before we made love. The descriptions he'd given about the way a man should touch a woman were exactly the way I was touched. Or, caressed. My orgasms put to shame any tempest the sea has ever whipped up. And those two days of making love, eating, and catnapping will never be duplicated, which is fine by me. I will playfully continue to think of El Fisico as my sexual angel, sent from the heavens to show me the limits of my desires. Oh yes, and to plant my beautiful, healthy twins deep within me.
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