I never told this story to anyone. And it is unlikely to tell, though - I do not promise. I am writing it now in order to let go, to let go completely - not to think, not to remember, not to rethink. Neither “for whom”, nor “for what” or “why”. Simply. Yes ... This is one of the few times when I do something just like that. But no, it’s not easy either - to ease your soul. Why am I telling this paper story? I am ashamed to tell it to anyone. I am always ashamed of those cases in which I was “raped” - not physically, morally. Although in this case, and physically too. I used to keep diaries - but now I am in a hostel, and the last thing I would like for someone to open, read my diary, is my soul. Therefore, I am writing this text on a computer, knowing that no one will find it and will not see it. This is a story about my first time with a man, precisely the first time and precisely with a man. Or about how other people influence our life, how they mold of us, either without knowing it, or intentionally and purposefully, what we will end up with. Why did I specify “with a man” above? I answer. The first times with women, more precisely with girls (and more precisely with girls), by that time I already had, and you can’t call it deprivation of virginity or defloration - I torn off "virginity" in 14-15 years. That was at 18. A month or two later, after my “adult” birthday. I am not sentimental and not too romantic - I don’t remember the exact date, although I do remember exactly that I remembered the first two months after that. But let's start in order.

My girl's bedroom is a large bed with a red bedcover chosen by mom, a couple of wardrobes with all kinds of waste paper and clothes, and the center of the composition is a computer. I am a 10th grade student at that time, sitting next to the “center of composition”. The geography textbook is on its knees so that you can instantly pretend that I am doing, in case mom decides to look in. The system moderator beeps an old modem that works through the phone, and next to it is a STK-head card. The time of the connected Internet is very limited, so my mother's gaze into the room and all sorts of questions, such as “when will we eat? do you still have much to learn? ”and so on. Wildly annoying. I have opened a mail agent - my first and still favorite client for quick messages. A bunch of pages with all sorts of porn, erotic stories and pictures. And, of course, one pitiful page with a report on geography already found - for the sake of which money was allocated for the Internet.

I correspond with several males, eerily illiterate. Although, what can we expect from a man who is getting acquainted with a girl, says “Preved”. And here comes a message from a certain "Hamlet". He greeted and politely asked if he was distracting from important matters. I wrote without mistakes, I definitely remember the style of putting dots everywhere, which I adopted later and with difficulty eradicated. But the way to put brackets, taken from the same person, I can not eradicate. The conversation started easily. “Hamlet” was called Ivan, and he was 19 years old. He kept the line of a romantic, mysterious and intelligent man. He sent me some of his poems - I didn’t have enough to google them, but I would have immediately found out that I communicate with no one else but Nietzsche himself. But in return, I, after reading the verses, sincerely admired them, noting that such a poem can only be written by a person who has lived for about 50 years - no less. He was flattered by my high appreciation of "his" creativity and arrogantly remarked that I was not the first to say that mental development had far exceeded his age, and indeed, it was always easy for him to find a common language with people of the older generation.In return, he praised my mental abilities, saying that I was pretty clever and well-read for my 16 - in a word, “the cuckoo praises the rooster for praising the cuckoo”.

The next month I was completely absorbed in communication with this person. I fell asleep with the thought of him, with the thought of him woke up. I did not eat in the dining room to save money for the Internet, and when they were accumulated, I could not wait for the end of classes to retire to the computer in my small room again. We talked about many things - about literature, about music, about art. In the process of communication, it turned out that he plays two musical instruments, draws that he has his own rock band, and so on - well, there were a lot of noodles on my ears (already besides Nietzsche). It all ended abruptly and without much explanation - he was gone. I did not have a photo of him, there was no contact, there was only a feeling that he was a man who understands me better than anyone in the world. I carefully copied the correspondence to a Word file, several times even threw it onto a disk when I reinstalled the system on my computer, and then again copied it into the personal folder. I reread everything a thousand times, I knew all the poems by heart and even some of my favorite dialogues. This is probably the age - just the reaction went.

I think that the reason why I was so quickly attached to a complete stranger was the complete absence of friends. It was a difficult period in my life. In our school, after the ninth grade, children were divided into “smart” and “stupid,” and according to this criterion, two classes were formed. And the class in which I studied, due to the absolute apathy of the class teacher for 4 years, was in the category of "stupid". As a result, from our class to the class of "smart" had to throw 3 people, among whom was I, and from the class of smart - the top five stupid in our class. Such is the small castling. I really did not want to. A bit of history: before that I lived in K. and managed to change class there 2 times, after moving - I learned a week in one class, and the rest of the year in another, and only from the fifth grade I acquired more or less “permanent staff” of classmates. It just seems easy. I do not like to be among the medium, and every time I started with the conquest of authority, and as soon as I got it, the team changed. And here again they wanted to tear me away from the usual swamp, in which I rightfully considered myself a queen.

Again they wanted to force me to “gnaw” their place in the sun. I myself, of course, was annoyed, the thought that I was just trying to change the situation and go into battle again. Mom naturally feet and hands was for the "smart class". Girlfriend Anka called every day and persuaded to be translated. Well, in the end, the rational took over - after all, everything was in favor of translation, except for my inner feelings. The first of September was excellent - my friend and I felt a bit alienated, but on the whole nothing. On the very first day, Anka was driven away by one guy from a seat beside me, thereby showing attention to my person. So the first two weeks we sat down with him, and after the word he didn’t go into his pocket - it was interesting to chat in class, plus I felt genuine interest in me - everyone thought that he had fallen in love. It got to the point that I looked at all the changes without a break at me, sat down on a bench at every school-wide gathering and strove to lay my head on my shoulder - I was moved back in embarrassment. He was called Pavel - almost the best KVN-schik of the school and at the same time the main one ... The second was forgiven in connection with the first. I knew his father well - he came to our house "on the heels", was a friend of my criminal neighbor. Often had to besiege the drunken harassment of this sweet couple. I didn’t say that I acquired straight female forms early - the angular was up to 16 years old, like all girls. But thanks to the “feet of the ears”, the impression on men was made from the age of 12, so I managed to get enough of it until today - how terrible it is.Well, and when Pashkin's father left, having walked, Igor (the neighbor-criminal) told a lot of interesting things about him. And including about his family. It turns out he was a creepy tyrant. And not only Igor, many people knew about this case - that comrade severely beat his wife, often drove along the street, so she asked for help from her neighbors and first comers. So, take a further narrative, taking into account the pattern of the relationship between ...