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And we move on to the next chapter.
“The coolest guy is already taken”
You know how it happens, the hero of your novel appears on the horizon, a tall, broad-shouldered brunette with a set of the most worthy qualities, and you’ve already fluffed your feathers, put on lipstick, and then suddenly another one appears next to him.
And not some bush muskrat, but the real Angelina Jolie.
It was a setup. The blue-eyed handsome guy found a match to match. Slender with glossy hair and skin without a single hair, the pastor's daughter instantly took in the man whom I had already planned for my husband. I was twelve and head over heels in unrequited love.
Who has this happened to?
Maybe you were that same Jolie and my situation is not familiar to you, but so far I have only met those who have encountered unrequited love at least once in their lives.
This is true. Ironically, that same pastor’s daughter, after breaking up with the hero of my novel, fell in love with a local rapper completely unrequitedly. My evil side rejoiced. The kind one understood and sincerely sympathized.
The beautiful brunette never became mine, even during the breaks between other women. I lost interest in him only ten years later, having already met many people. By the way, in my book “Sugar…” I wrote the main character from him, and embodied on paper what I couldn’t do in reality. These are miracles, only for this is it worth being a writer. You create new worlds instead of burying your fantasies deep inside your soul. My husband is not jealous, don't worry. There is love in everyone's life, a lot of love, there is no need to be jealous of the past.
And now in more detail what happened to me and how I dealt with it.
Now my stepdaughter is in love with a guy who also has an uneasy relationship with her. Their situation is similar to mine, with the exception that Katerina herself is the “pastor’s daughter”. Let me be clear, my husband is a very influential person, just like me. And we have proven ourselves well, so the employee of the organization where Katerina went to work respects and values us, and this greatly influences his attitude towards the girl.
Yes, the girl is not yet a swan, she is not at all prettier than me in those years when I suffered from unrequited love, but she has an advantage. The same "Jean Claude Van Damme". Do you know what I mean?
PR. If your qualities are lacking, then you take advantage of the protection of another person. If you are the protеgе of someone whom your lover values, then your status increases greatly, attention to your person grows, it doesn’t even matter that you are nothing special.
Not only was I nothing of myself, but I was also from a poor family of elderly parents, I was conceived at thirty-six by people already worn out by life, who, moreover, did not love each other. Why they needed this, only God knows, but now they are finally divorced and happy with this fact.
Olya, a tall, blue-eyed brunette with Barbie hair, always combed and thick (as if her mother did nothing but scratch her all her free time), was charming at fourteen years old, not only in appearance, but also in her relationship with an equally handsome and stately Pastor of Holy Gospel Lutheran Parish. Her father was a true leader not only for widows and orphans, he led everyone, smart and capable, men and women, teenagers and old. The hero of my novel spent all his time outside of school with this man. It is not surprising that Olya caught his eye more often than I did, and in the light of the great pastor she looked different than she might have if she were from my family.
Now I understand that she also had complexes, small breasts, high weight (due to her height), and a quiet voice. For some, this is a plus, but apparently that boy rapper did not appreciate Olya, which developed self-doubt in her.
I tried my best. The complexes consumed me so completely that it was impossible to even make a list, there were so many of them. I cried every night, and during the days I turned into a warrior, put on makeup again, dressed up and put on a smile to appear at least a little more attractive than a log.
It's true, don't laugh. Okay, I laugh too. It’s funny now to look at your past from the position of a mature, self-sufficient woman, knowing what could have been done then and changed everything, but then everything seemed so unsolvable, serious and tormenting.
If now a time machine transported me back to when I was twelve years old, I would go in for sports, get braces, it was still free. I would take vitamins, run in the morning, grow my hair, which I also comb. I would force my parents to sell their damp, cold apartment and move to a comfortable one. I would move to another school and take up dancing.
I would take first place in competitions and my PR would become more serious than the PR of a pastor, and even more so his daughter.
Remember, it is much more important to attract attention to yourself with your own merits, and not with someone else’s.
There was one incident that I will never forget as an eternal shame and stigma of stupidity on my self-confidence.
David, that was the name of my hero, went to the same only decent disco in the city that I did. Even then, he was already meeting Olya secretly from the parishioners, but he still could not refuse a fun time with friends at the club. I knew this and believed that either now or later it would be too late. I asked him to walk me home, saying that we are from the same church, as a friend you are obliged.
He reluctantly left his friends and we wandered two blocks through the winter night. He walked and I flew.
I was just fluttering around, I was incredibly happy, which now seems simply ridiculous. Imagine, I believed and hoped that now he would understand everything.
He will see that I am beautiful, smart, cheerful, kind, cool, after all, at the age of fourteen I already went to an adult nightclub, smoked, drank, danced, guys liked me, they invited me to slow dance, and in general I became quite famous as… who?
I can’t even find the words right now. My reputation was twofold. Among my mutual acquaintances with my neighbor, thanks to her gossip, I was considered a strange but brave ugly girl. Among those who saw me for the first time, I was a cute, slightly frivolous wit.
Do you see how much anti-PR can ruin your life? Even then, I needed to deal with my critical villain, but I lacked gunpowder and intelligence.
True, if, as I wrote earlier, from the age of twelve I had taken myself more seriously, cast aside my laziness and begun to invest all my resources in my potential, then by the age of fourteen I would have been a completely different Margarita. By the way, this way I could get rid of my envious, evil neighbor.
So that night, in the light of lanterns and shining snow, I did an irreparable act, which I later had to fight through for years in order to even begin to even look at David directly and communicate.
Oh horror, when I reached my house, I took a step closer. And even then I could understand that it was not worth going further. He didn't respond with a reaction.
Due to his height, I was forced to make a not very easy maneuver. I had to not only pull him towards me by the jacket, but also stand on tiptoe.
All this had to be done in a second, so that the boy, many times stronger than me, would not run away.
I decided to kiss him.
Well, how did you decide? Eighty percent. Twenty percent of my modesty, unfortunately, worsened the reaction, and I froze mid-step.
What it looked like.
Step forward, tiptoes, head and neck stretched forward and upward, lips stretched into a pipe.
“Dudok” – yes, yes. The same one, only without fillers; back then they didn’t know about them in the Russian outback.
And I froze with my eyes closed.
This moment did not last long. David gently pushed me away from him by the shoulders and said, “It would be wrong, I can’t.” And after politely saying goodbye, he left.
“OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Do you want to know what I would do now?
The same. But she would see it through to the end. Before he came to his senses, he had to finish what he started, kiss him and be done with it.
Most likely, he also refused me due to his relationship with Olya, but I would have regained control. I wouldn't be a cowardly and insecure girl. Self-doubting.
It is important for a person to start, change and finish things. Three stages of action – start, change, stop. This makes him feel mentally healthier.
Perhaps even then I could stop loving David.
Well, for example, we all know that women are very important to details. A man is already less beautiful than a woman. Even the most handsome man will be an order of magnitude worse than the most beautiful woman. How? His genitals will spoil the appearance, unlike women's.
Well, it’s true that this Georgian image attracts few people. Dwarf nose, practically. The curly bangs turning into a long drooping nose are like something out of a horror movie.
I'm joking, of course, for many this organ is an object of great adoration. But personally, I know few women who feel admiration at the sight of a naked phallus. The majority groan and look away.
Okay, a couple more things that I noticed in men that irrevocably distracted me from any physical contact. And this is untidiness. Bad breath, bugs, eyeballs, plaque, the smell of sweat, bad body odor in general, comedones, pimples – all this caused and still causes me a gag reflex and disgust.
Remember the movie “What Else Men Talk About?” One of the heroines, imagining betrayal of her husband, says: “Legs. Just imagine. Ugh".
That's what we're talking about, until you love a person completely, with all your soul, until you get used to his farts and farts, all these little things will be in the foreground, they will distract even from romantic feelings in general.
If then, having kissed David, I had smelled an unpleasant odor from my mouth, or from him in general, if I had seen roes, comedones, lumps in the corners of my eyes in such a bright light that night, then I think I would have stopped loving the pleasant image forever and started doing something… then to others.
David, if you are reading these lines now, then perhaps everything was fine with you in those days, and you were perfect, and I would have fallen in love even more. But let it remain a secret. And I prefer to think that all boys are the same. And if there were no women, you would walk around in only underpants, or naked at all, you would not wash for weeks, or even months, you would fart, blow your nose and smoke as much as you wanted.
Men, you are wonderful creatures, and we love you for your spontaneity. If it weren’t for you, we would simply be bored in our ideal world of women.
"Defloration"
Between us girls, this is not a very pleasant event that we want to forget about once and for all. This is a separate topic, for many more unpleasant than masturbation.
You know, lately I have been feeling my loneliness especially acutely because I have realized a wild thirst for female communication. I don’t have friends, and a little later I’ll tell you why, but now I get great pleasure talking with you, mentally imagining that each of you readers is my friend.
Husband, this is wonderful, but he will never become your girlfriend in the full sense of the word, no matter how hard you try. And to find such a man and such girlfriends who will not conflict, and because of whom you will not lose this or that, is difficult, very difficult.
I could not. For now. So, alas, this fate befell you. The fate of dumb friends who can only listen and understand.
A nightmare, of course not. I don't want to give you such a role. I sincerely appreciate and respect you. I will be glad to receive feedback and letters. Since my husband approved the publishing of this book, he is ready to come to terms with the girlfriends in my life. Thank him very much for this.
My dear husband, I want to thank you for this patience and courage to allow me to publish my deepest and most intimate experiences, as well as those subtle and awkward details concerning you, including yourself. Let this book help many women, and maybe married couples, let this sacrifice in some way – our souls wide open with you – will not be in vain.
Girls, don't let me down.
Thank you.
So, defloration.
Almost everyone's deflowering, with rare exceptions about which I know nothing, is carried out in fear.
Even if a girl is getting ready, like my American friend, who got married as a virgin, it’s still scary. According to her, it was so scary, for both of them, although the husband was already an experienced thirty-year-old uncle, that they had to get into a hot bath and relax with a glass of wine in order to even touch each other.
By the way, they were not fans of alcohol.
I also dreamed of saving myself for my betrothed, or at least until my eighteenth birthday.
But one day, my best friend, who promised to protect herself just like me, admitted that she couldn’t keep it.
God. How can you not hold back? I was so angry with her. I was even offended for several days. I didn’t want to fall behind, so I decided to repeat the trick.
I can’t say that hormones interfered with our lives, and that I really really wanted to lose my virginity, but I wanted boyish attention more than ever.
I didn't want sex. This is true. I don’t know about others, but I wanted love. I dreamed of a prince charming, a rich, handsome young man, a man who would pay no attention to my teenage stupidities. I wanted him to hug me, take me to warm countries, take care of me like a small miracle that appeared in life like a ray of light.
Ah, naive soul. Grown-up guys from the south walked around my provincial town, tanned, loving, ready to call you their princess, their only one, pretending to be caring and gentle. They stood out strongly against the background of Russian guys, cold and rude, and almost everyone wanted to sleep with them at least once.
But everyone knew that no love could be achieved from these machos, only window dressing and disappointment.
As a smarter person than my peers, I tried not to get confused with people of Caucasian nationality, although my friend believed every word they said.
She just gave herself to one of them at sixteen.
And so, I, too, have two years left before I come of age, I don’t know how long before marriage, I decide to sleep with the first guy I come across who is more or less attractive to me, to spite my friend.
This was revenge. The game that cost me my health.
Girls, don't repeat my mistakes. Women, take care of yourself if you are still healthy.
Never have sex without a condom or a certificate from your partner, and still only with a condom the first hundred times. Then somehow you can still trust him and consider him your boyfriend. Well, this is a lyrical digression.
I then developed a slight bouquet of sexually transmitted diseases. Of course, I was treated and everything went away, but I was ashamed of myself.
He was twenty-five, handsome, brown-eyed, athletic, supposedly in love, although his flattery and insincerity were hard to miss.
We went to his house for rented accommodation, it looked like it wasn’t his at all, it was cold and without hot water.
He changed the bed in front of me, for which I thank you.
He was gentle and courteous, for which I am also grateful to him. Quickly and without much pain. It’s rather unpleasant and wet between your legs, but your soul is disgusting and so sad.
I didn’t love him, I knew that he had a dozen more like him, but I decided to prove something to someone.
I trudged home alone in the morning, it was already light. The homeless husky tagged along and followed me for half a block, as if she sympathized and understood everything.
At home, I quickly came to my senses, and even in the evening I proudly told my friend the details of what happened. We laughed and shared our impressions, as if we had gone to war and won. Inside we knew that we had won only a frivolous battle; the real fight lay ahead of us. But they tried not to show it and had fun like children. The struggle of life in which we were no longer worthy, self-respecting ladies. We took the path of depravity, which turned us into mediocre girls, with ordinary goals, without ambitions and principles, without big plans. Just frivolous talkers from the provinces.
Fortunately, I felt this very keenly at the time and did not want to agree with such a future.
For three whole years I locked myself in a Christian youth community and never dated anyone else. Only girlfriends, friends and an imaginary god.
I'm not saying there is no God. I just know that mine was not real. Whether it exists or not, what kind it is and whether a person needs it, I still don’t know; it doesn’t stop me from enjoying life.
The stories of my friends about defloration all confirm the fact that there is no orgasm in this dirty business. Just kidding, it's not dirty, but it stains the sheets.
If a woman goes through this and also enjoys it, then she should be given a medal. What do you think?
"Lesbian tendencies."
It’s a nightmare, it’s not a topic, it makes me blush even more. Thank God you don't see this. The spectacle is terrible. I get spots all over, especially my neck. Sometimes listeners of my webinar or seminar are scared that I have angioedema or anaphylactic shock, but I reassure them “you’ll rejoice early.”
In general, it started in kindergarten. I noticed that if we take my sexuality in general, then eighty percent I liked boys, about twenty percent girls.
So, of course, I am a heterosexual person.
But I admit that in past lives I was a man at least once.
Are you laughing? Didn't this happen to you? Have you ever seen yourself as a man in sexual intercourse?
