Female • 20 years old • Europe
He was a dreadful poser. The first time I saw him at the local alt.gothic club, he and his best friend were wearing dinner jackets, which was extravagant even for the extravagant standards of the venue. He made a beeline to me at the end of the evening and said, "May I take you home?" Totally unprepared, little virgin me mumbled, "Oh, no need, thanks." He left, and I spent the next several months thinking, "stupidstupidSTUPIDstupid little girl."
Months later it was summer, and he appeared again, this time wearing all white (upping the "poser" ante in a gothic club). I acted fast. We started talking about preposterous things: artistic photography, books, exoterism, the Golden Dawn, Aleister Crowley, Chinese alchemy.
Illustration by Thomas Pitilli
But my brain didn't scream, "Douchebag!" It screamed, "I will give my virginity to you because of your long fingers and your high cheekbones and your gray eyes and your beautiful voice." At the end of the evening, he said he'd love to take some "artistic pics" of me, and we could meet the following day at his place. Didn't even kiss me goodnight.
At the appointed hour in the afternoon I rang his bell. He came to open the door wearing an Indonesian man's sarong and a huge Egyptian necklace, eyes heavy with eyeliner. I think he took the fact that I didn't laugh in his face as a sure sign I was going for it (and I so was, after looking at his tiny waist and lean, martial-arts physique). The pics of me never happened. First, he challenged me to a chess game, which I obviously lost. Then, as I was nursing a cold and my voice had dropped many tones, he declared my new lower, nearly masculine voice very sexy, and made me read pages from fave books (including Sade). By that time we were on his Japanese futon. Although he wasn't trying anything overtly sexual, during the hours spent reading we'd gotten closer on the bed, so much that he was holding me in his arms.
Then, while I was reading, he suddenly whispered in my ear, "So, how would you define our relationship?"
"Well, we will definitely be friends," I stammered.
"Friendship has a grayish hue," he declared. At that point I was a bit tired of his posing, and said, "Okay, I think the situation speaks for itself," and pointed to the fact we were in bed and snuggling. Then he kissed me. Finally. A slightly bitter taste I still remember.
A few hours of marvellously slow and decadent sex later, around dawn, he skillfully took my virginity, and I basically spent the next four months in that bed. When he dumped me, I spent two years with his equally pretentious best friend. And after fifteen years, I still am a sucker for dreadful posers.