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Like all teenagers I was desperate to unload my virginity. But the logistics of this operation required a knowledge of which I was patently devoid, a subject untaught at school. Girls seemed an alien species with whom I was unable to communicate. I was denied their interest by an invisible force field of shyness and inexperience, uninitiated and inarticulate in the lingua franca of 'chat up'.
Femme Assise - Andre Lhote (1885-1962)
Fortunately one of the mature aliens understood my dilemma. She was fortyish but in her Sunday best would pass for mid twenties. Only the confidence of maturity, the sag of her breasts, and lines around her eyes betrayed the length of her journey. She remained a bloom in full flower but one in need of regular watering, a chore her gardener had begun to neglect. She became my Mrs Robinson, generously relieving me of my self-conscious chastity for which I remained eternally grateful.
When she first exposed my erection, she cheerfully said, 'Bloody hell! That thing should have a notice on it, not for internal use,' before gleefully climbing astride and devouring it whole as easy as a fireman descending his greasy pole. It was a memorable baptism and subsequent more rewarding mentoring sessions followed.
I had graduated to manhood and now confidently spoke the aliens' lingo. My assured demeanour registered me as a person of interest; that is, to those who were interested in putting my flesh into their flesh; those also interested in my mind would enter my realm in later years.