Memoirs of a Lit. Girl part I

As always the best place to begin as Dylan Thomas said is at the beginning. So with no more ado, let me transport you back not to ‘Spring, moonless night in the small town,’ but instead my house in the frozen spring of 2007:

That fateful afternoon the wind was howling like a banshee around my window frames and pushing freezing sleet in sideways gusts across the lawn. I recall watching as a frozen blackbird forlornly manoeuvred to stop its feathers being ruffled as it tried to drag an equally frozen worm out of the permafrost.

Inside in the warm my three friends and I lay scattered untidily on the settees either side of the French windows. J lay with her head on my lap and opposite R and C had wrapped themselves in an old tartan blanket (I hadn’t the heart to tell them it belonged to my dogs.) Each of us was lost in thought, steeped in the anti-climax that always follows our annual trip to Paris. On the floor: lingerie, jars of pâté and the odd bottle of champagne spewed out of bags emblazoned with designer labels and the names of famous fashion houses. On the adjacent coffee table a minefield of coffee cups, i-pods, mobile phones and handbags.




I guess it’s one of those odd rules of life that when old friends meet, they tend to revert back to the last point they were all together. In our case university. As a consequence we’d just spent three days being indescribably silly and drinking too much. If I thought the silliness had come to an end I was in for a shock.

Unexpectedly C broke the silence; her face framed by that whimsical look that always presages mischief. She was looking directly at me.

‘Saffers go and get a computer I’ve something to show you that will make you totally wet yourself. Assuming she was referring to research into incontinence or some item of bladder weakening hilarity I trudged off to fetch a PC - no small task as I don’t own a lap-top. Five minutes later I dumped a PC on the coffee table, assembled it and we gathered around. C took control, while the rest of us looked on. A few key strokes later we were looking at a website called Literotica.

‘Ooooooo! Sexy stories,’ J exclaimed. We all leaned forward in anticipation.

‘Later!’ C giggled rifling through a few more windows. We watched as she typed in a nickname and entered a password.

‘Little Flower!’ I scoffed. …… you may be many things….The arrival of a weird looking spreadsheet on screen caused me to shut up.

‘Da Dahhhhhh!’ C exclaimed nudging me. It was the first time I had ever seen a chat room, let alone a sex chat room. We watched as she circumnavigated her way to what was known as the bi-room.

‘You dirty mare!’ J sniggered clearly more familiar with on-line smut. R made more coffee and heads pressed together in anticipation we watched the room banter unfold. I passed around what remained of the chocolates. Then C got her first PM.

‘I just love your profile,’ the PMer opined. ‘What are you wearing,’ she enquired. I’m just wearing panties and a ‘T.’

‘She must be American,’ J whispered.

‘Tell her you’re wearing an army greatcoat, gasmask and waders,’ I suggested.

‘Shut up Saffy! This is serious business,’ C replied far too tartly for my liking.

We watched with bated breath as Carol flirted back. Seconds later we were consumed by howls of laughter. The other chatter confided she was a 95 lb cheerleader with DD boobs. J forever the scientist quickly calculated that her boobs must represent 35% of her body mass. Five later minutes to hoots of derision C gracefully retired and returned to the log-in page.

‘Ok! Let’s get you lot signed up she said.

‘No way! R and I exclaimed in unison.

‘I’m going in,’ J responded elbowing us aside.

‘You’ll a need nickname, password and profile,’ C replied.

‘J can be Lino Lil or Jeanne d'Arc ….how about Millicent Muff?’ R suggested.

‘I’ll be L’Oréal, J responded shaking her hair like in the adverts. What’s a profile?’ We listened as C explained. ‘That can wait,’ J replied and after signing up parked herself in The Lounge. Almost instantly the PMs began to flood in. ‘Are you worth it?‘ enquired one PMer citing the L’Oréal TV marketing strapline. We all laughed. C grabbed a piece of paper and began sketching the bones of a profile. The L’Oréal cosmetic metaphor seemed perfect. After another dozen or so PMs ranging from the hilarious to the grossly indecent J retired and we fired up my word processor and began working on her profile. Ten minutes later we had what was to become a classic. The next ten minutes were spent working out how to insert our text into the profile. It seemed Literotica imposed a two line limit. Eventually we worked out you could insert longer profiles once in chat.

L’Oréal Because I’m worth it.

Slim, sensual girl that comes in a multitude of hues, including nude blush. Given her bright colours you may need shades. Curvy and way past curious; you’ll have to take care she doesn’t cut you down to sighs.

Lipstick, but with a latent tomboy streak. Likes lace, literature, mountain-biking, tennis and even talks to house-trained men. If the above is too subtle. Here is an executive summary: I’m lesbian by choice, not because I hate men. I am not your ‘quick fix’. Intelligent conversation is always a prerequisite to anything else: I trust this helps avoid confusion.

By now R too was showing some enthusiasm and minutes later*Isis* was born. As R had just come back from Egypt her chosen metaphor became the river Nile:

*Isis* Surely you don’t think I’m in denial?

If you desire to transcend your wildest dreams, then perhaps your destiny lies here.

However, to find me in flood you must be bright and articulate, with the strength to let go of your clumsy mortal inhibitions. Naturally, your compliance will be rewarded beyond all expectation, but first you may have to prove your worth.

If all of this is a mystery, then take it as a sign from the Gods that you are out of your depth.

C thought the profile way to subtle for the average chatter, but agreed it might draw in a better class of chatter. They turned to me. ‘No way!’ I replied.

‘You’re getting signed up whether you like it or not,’ J advised. I shrugged and decided to attack the remaining coffee-creams.

In the background Ruby! Ruby! Ruby! by the Kaiser Chiefs was playing. ‘Saffers can be Ruby Ruby!’ R laughed. C began to type…..besides we know she likes a good grind.

Grind? Grind! I winced inwardly.

‘Nil illegitimi carborundum,’ R laughed

Ruby! Ruby!

A gem of a girl who is always a conundrum, or did I mean corundum?

I like girls who speak good English, who believe romance is still alive, and understand the concept of sophistication and mutual respect.

Golden-haired girl with blue eyes, stylishly finished in sunburst with the silent, silken kiss of sable. Artistically inclined, with a weakness for lapis lazuli, Seduzione lingerie, long-legged women and guitars. Sometimes answers to the name of Elizabeth Bennett.

Shortly after I retired to the kitchen to make Sphag Bol. At the time I had absolutely no intention of become an on-line chatter, but fate is a perverse mistress and that chill February day I had no idea what the future held in store for me. (to be continued)