A woman’s name, to be sure. A recent acquaintance from the elevator in my apartment building. Big eyes, quick smile, apparently open to suggestions. Eighth floor. One floor above me. And yet, the only connection I can form in my mind requires a detour of a couple of millennia. The name of a Roman empress, as it were. The name itself could clutter entire volumes in no time. The inverse of the problem faced by Adso of Melk, according to Twentieth Century Fox: the mystery of a woman’s name, minus the carnal knowledge.

Addendum I (November 29, 1986)

Claudia immediately captured my imagination. I was sure our feelings were mutual. I could not wait for the second haphazard meeting in the elevator. With my schedule, I might have to wait for months. The day after I met her, I wrote a brief note and put it in her mailbox:

How about a dinner? This evening or some other evening? Otherwise, my apologies for the intrusion.

Expecting an immediate response, I was disappointed by her long silence. But the waiting ultimately paid off. A bit less then a week later, I found her note under my apartment door as I dropped by on my way to the airport:

Thank you for the invitation. I had been away for holiday. May be [sic] we could meet next week for a time. I’ll keep in touch.

I could hardly wait to return from my trip. I have waited for her call every day since. I was jubilant at first. A couple of weeks passed in silence, though. I became despondent. Finally, I grew tired of my passive rôle. Waiting be damned, I decided. I must do something or other. Earlier today I left the second note in her mailbox:

Thanks for your note. I have no idea whether you have tried to get in touch with me since you put the note under my door. I was away a good part of this time. Even when I was here, I spent most of the time in my office (my asteroid, as I affectionately call it).

As far as I can reckon, it has been either three or four weeks since I left my first note in your mailbox. Please do not feel pressed to get in touch. Things change. I acted on an impulse immediately upon meeting you, but I am not sure any more whether I should have put you on the spot with my invitation. I can imagine that you may feel uncomfortable about the whole thing at this time. That thought makes me somewhat uneasy, too.

So, my apologies again. Until the next time we happen to bump into each other by chance, warm regards.

Admittedly, I felt that this intervention was exceedingly clever. Who could resist such a considerate and warm fellow as me? Who could resist this veiled rejection? Like an old and experienced spider, I was prepared to wait again on the edge of the magnificent cobweb. Perhaps tomorrow? Perhaps the next day? But there is still a thought that gnaws at me all the while: am I not too subtle for an ordinary female heart? Her almost audible sigh of relief now weighs upon me like a rock.

Addendum II (December 1, 1986)

The prophet be praised! Claudia knocked at my door this evening. Whether my ruse worked or not has become immaterial during the two hours we spent together. Even more, I am ever so slightly ashamed of the cunning device I felt so proud about two short days ago. I can only hope that my second note had no effect whatsoever. But I wonder whether I will feel this way the next time around, when a new occasion for old tricks arises again. And that thought scares me. Will I ever be able to get rid of all the baggage I drag along like a curse since the first time I fell in love? Will I ever again be able to fall in love without a remainder?

Addendum III (December 4, 1986)

We agreed to go out for a dinner tonight. Despite the hectic end-of-semester activity at MIT, the last few days my personal time had crept forward at a pace I could not become accustomed to. Waiting to see her again became increasingly painful. Her eyes kept coming back with a surprising persistence. I could not shake her out of my mind for a single moment. The dinner was not to be, though. Early this morning I found her note pinned to my door: “I’m sorry, but I need to cancel our dinner this evening.”

All too terse for comfort. A cold shower, to put it mildly. On my way to MIT, I decided to call her. I called her early in the morning to make sure that I would either catch her before she left home, or wake her up and hear the real story before she managed to embellish it. She told me that she felt uncomfortable being “wined and dined” by me. We set another date for the coming weekend. The dinner was postponed indefinitely.

Heaven knows that I was prepared to love this woman. When she sat with me, enveloped in a shroud of perfume previously unknown to me, her eyes quickly eroded the clumsy, embrittled, and colorless shell I had grown accustomed to wearing. This was good, palpably good. And yet, her eyes that followed me for days notwithstanding, her squirming and swaying make me bitter now. I am sinking, my claws are becoming sharper, the venom that sloshes in my guts is becoming more pungent. Even the memory of her eyes is now cold and pale. But heaven knows that I was prepared to love this woman, again.

Addendum IV (December 6, 1986)

Claudia came to see me this afternoon. I am hesitant to record everything that transpired, but at the same time I feel that I should not beat around the bush. The story is worth telling. Ergo, I first learned that she was fascinated by my writings and by their author. Cute words like “brilliant” and expressions like “a touch of genius” came to pass. Next I learned that she was also fascinated by a woman studying architecture at MIT, of all places, that is, that Claudia is a lesbian. In short, I am competing for the first place on her fascination list, and there is no telling who will ultimately win her heart or what may happen between us. I told her about my love-affair with Filomena, my first lesbian, and that humored Claudia, hopefully my second (not including Kathy, who was not sure whether she was indeed a lesbian). Finally, I learned that Claudia is fascinated by things sexual as such, and that she would not mind trying something new. Although she had been with men before, it appears that that was rather long time ago—say, three or four years ago. After all, she is not even twenty-five. By the time she left, I managed to present her with a lascivious discourse on tantric love, as well as to display some of my prowess in tenderness and manual coordination. She was very excited, but remained somewhat reserved (she is Irish-Sicilian). We did not get very far. There is hardly any doubt that she will be back for more, though. I will let her decide when is the right time for the next visit. Then I will proceed slowly and methodically. Love thy neighbor is my motto.

Addendum V (December 8, 1986)

When I opened my apartment door on my way to work yesterday morning, a small envelope stuck between the door and the door jamb fell on the floor. I immediately ripped the envelope open. Of course, it contained yet another note from Claudia. This time it was an authoritative appraisal of my moral qualities:

Thoughts of Ranko Bon (December Six): He was also easy in conversation and he made himself agreeable without any offensive affectation. There was in him nothing harsh, nor implacable, nor violent, nor, as one may say, anything carried to the sweating point; but he examined all things severally, as if he had abundance of time, and without confusion in an orderly way, vigorously and consistently. And that might be applied to him which is recorded of Socrates, that he was able both to abstain from, and to enjoy, those things which many are too weak to abstain from, and cannot enjoy without excess. But to be strong enough both to bear the one and to be sober in the other is the mark of a man who has a perfect and invincible soul. Marcus Aurelius.

I glanced through the note while riding the elevator, where this ridiculous affair had started. Poor Marcus Aurelius would have no doubt appreciated Claudia’s deft application of his grandiloquence, I mused with an ugly and self-satisfied smirk. But at length the more familiar tenderness I had felt for her gained the upper hand. Mockery of the beloved one is unworthy of such a lofty soul as mine, I decided as I stepped onto the pavement. Walking down Massachusetts Avenue past Central Square, I noticed that my step had a peculiar bounce that morning.

Addendum VI (December 9, 1986)

My indiscretions trouble me. The directness with which I have been reporting the minutia of my sophomoric courtship with Claudia takes me into a realm I in fact despise—that of diaries, locker-room intimacies, and titillating sexual extravagances appealing only to the adolescents. What troubles me most about all this is that I have lost control over my own writing. The vortex that has been pulling me inward is not of my own making. The odium I feel is an index of the intensity of an alien force that I have been exposed to unwittingly and without any recourse. I am simply overwhelmed by a desire to paint every pimple, every pubic hair, every asymmetrical fold on her soft and damp belly. Where does this treacherous process ultimately lead? How will I extricate myself from this travesty? I have no idea.

Never before have I been in this situation. My courtships and my love-affairs were only alluded to, mentioned in passing, touched upon in some other context, if at all. But this was not the result of a conscious avoidance of indiscretions of any kind. I simply felt no need to go into the gory detail, to report from day to day on the status of a particular affair, or to engage in elaborate disquisitions about the next strategic move in an amorous conquest. At any rate, the rare notes on like themes would not even be considered for inclusion in my Residua. What is different in this case? How can this change be explained? Again, I am at a loss in my attempts to come to grips with this sudden development.

The only good thing about my addenda may be that they capture my shifting moods much more directly than a single piece outlining the history of this courtship ever could. This is a tribute to the fragmentary form of my writing. Although these shifting moods are disconcerting on another plane, at present I am interested in capturing them rather than in delving into their underlying causes. Is this a sufficient reason to exculpate my indiscretions? Are my petty confessions likely to be of any value to me in the future? For the last time, I have not a clue.

Addendum VII (December 11, 1986)

Despite of my firm decision to refrain from further elaboration of this story, I feel compelled to round it off with a clear shift in emphasis. My feelings toward Claudia now demand a few courageous words that I have been unable to utter thus far. I owe this to both of us.

I think I love her. This is very hard for me to say, let alone write. Yesterday evening, when we were together for the third time, I told her gently about my feelings. We held each other firmly, like orphans. Her body quivered in my arms and her breathing occasionally became irregular. We kissed sweetly, tenderly, as though we were one with the universe. We looked into each other’s eyes with longing, devotion, and the first glimmer of dedication. Our passion, strong and unabashed, was entirely secondary. When she left, I noticed in the bathroom mirror that my eyes had changed shape and became softer, so that my face looked quite different—almost unrecognizable.

I know that it is difficult, if not impossible, to express all this in words. My only ambition is to indicate it, though. Unwilling to erase the preceding addenda, I also wish to put them into a new context. For I must admit that I feel ever so faintly ashamed of many things I have brashly written down already. In hindsight, I believe that I should have had the courage to curtail the urge for indiscriminate scribbling.

Addendum VIII (December 18, 1986)

Claudia sometimes says that she will kill me one day. On such occasions I am enchanted by the youthful gravity with which she pronounces her verdict. I doubt that she would have the courage, though. The point, however, is whether I would have the courage to resist her if and when she struck?

Addendum IX (December 31, 1987)

Soon after the affair with Claudia ended, and it ended soon, I found the passage from Marcus Aurelius she had applied to my humble self. It comes from his famous Meditations. The translation I found was not the same Claudia had used (translated by M. Staniforth, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1964).

In its proper context, the passage is quite interesting. For completeness of description, here is the relevant passage in its entirety, minus the irrelevant historical details and incidental remarks (pp. 40-42):

Not a vestige of the casuist’s quibbling, the lackey’s pertness, the pedant’s over-scrupulosity could be charged against him; all men recognized in him a mature and finished personality, that was impervious to flattery and entirely capable of ruling both himself and others. Moreover, he had a high respect for all genuine philosophers; and though refraining from criticism of the rest, he preferred to dispense with their guidance. In society he was affable and gracious without being fulsome. The care he took of his body was reasonable; there was no solicitous anxiety to prolong its existence, or to embellish its appearance, yet he was far from unmindful of it, and indeed looked after himself so successfully that he was seldom in need of medical attention […]. No hint of jealousy showed in his prompt recognition of outstanding abilities, whether in public speaking, law, ethics, or any other department, and he took pains to give each man the chance of earning a reputation in his own field. […] [H]e disliked restlessness and change, and had a rooted preference for the same places and the same pursuits. […] [D]iscourtesy was as foreign to his nature as harshness or bluster; he never grew heated, as the saying is, to sweating point; it was his habit to analyze and weigh every incident, taking his time about it, calmly, methodically, decisively, and consistently. What is recorded of Socrates was no less applicable to him, that he had the ability to allow or deny himself indulgences that most people are as much incapacitated by their weakness from refusing as by their excesses from appreciating. To be thus strong enough to refrain or consent at will argues a consummate and indomitable soul […].

The amusing thing about this passage is that it applies to the emperor Antonius Pius, Marcus Aurelius’ adoptive father and predecessor on the throne, to whom Aurelius refers simply as his father. Of course, this suggests a curious reading of Claudia’s praise, because I cannot but assume that she knew who was its object.

Addendum X (December 22, 1988)

It is disconcerting that the memory of Claudia is still dominated by things sexual and indiscretions of all kinds. For instance, I long to record a curious incident that happened one night when our spirits became entangled so completely after much luxuriant tenderness that she accused me of witchcraft. Her ever-louder screams at last broke our trance, for she was evidently terrorized by an apparition. At length, she would not be persuaded that I had not turned into a fox that licked and nibbled her quivering body to ecstasy and beyond… This evening I had managed to write a factual account of what I recall of the incident, but in the end I decided to destroy it. Alas, the story is simply too lascivious for comfort.

Addendum XI (March 16, 1994)

Claudia was too small for me, so I had to be very careful not to hurt her when entering her. She used to joke that she was born to be a lesbian. She was shallow, but she could easily stretch to swallow most of my fist. She would lean forward on her elbows and knees, and I would caress her with one hand while gently ramming the fist of the other hand into her from behind. Claudia enjoyed sex so much that I did not miss making love to her in the usual way. While we would rest between her orgasms we would talk about things that excited us both in anticipation of the next round of lovemaking—lesbian and homosexual relationships, childhood memories and fantasies, masturbation, dreams. For a while, we were both enchanted by these almost adolescent explorations of each other’s sexuality. But once the novelty wore off, she returned to her old ways. My competitor from MIT, whom I later saw with Claudia on several occasions over a year or maybe two, ultimately won Claudia’s heart. I only wonder what this young woman needed to do in bed to keep her fickle reward for such a long period of time?

Addendum XII (March 18, 1994)

One of my contributions to our mutual titillation was a story about a childhood experience I do not believe I have shared with anyone else. Since the age of two I was very close to a boy of the same age who had lived in the same apartment building in Jovanova Street in Belgrade. Dragan was his name. We were like brothers—in fact, closer than brothers. He was a few days older than me, but for a couple of years he lagged behind me in size and development.

When we were about ten, we played with each other on a few occasions. I do not know how it all began, nor how it ended, but I remember that I took several baths in his presence when my parents were not at home. I now remember that narrow and long bathroom so clearly. Dragan would sit on a stool next to the bathtub and watch me bathe. I can now see that white bathtub and that white kitchen stool. I do not recall what I did while bathing, but it was perhaps enough to be naked in front of him. I remember that there were two doors to the bathroom—as I was sitting in the bathtub, one was directly in front of me, and another directly behind me. We would close both doors to make the bathroom cozy. Dragan would sit to my right and slightly behind me—so as to see me better, I presume. A large cylindrical boiler heated by a coal-fired stove underneath the copper water-tank was in front of me, as well.

I remember one occasion when we stood by the bathroom sink and masturbated together. We must have been tall enough to ejaculate into the sink. I must have been naked, after one of my baths, but he was probably not. Just above the sink there was a small window looking into an enormous courtyard surrounded by five-story tenements. We must have masturbated like this once or twice before, but I remember very distinctly that this particular time we jerked each other off. At the time, his penis was considerably smaller than mine, and very little semen would be produced when he would ejaculate. I remember a big drop of yellowish semen finally detaching from the head of his penis and falling into the sink. His penis was so small that I had to hold it between my thumb and two fingers, for I could not wrap my hand around it properly. By comparison, I was enormous and abundant. He stood to my right and was holding my prick with his right hand. We were both facing the window. I told Claudia that I would imagine that my friend would still cherish the memory of warm pulsations he must have felt in his hand when I eventually started to come. I remember my semen sliding slowly down the side of the white porcelain sink as Dragan was giving me the last few jerks. Those few brusque strokes and the tingly sensation in my foreskin I can feel quite distinctly after some thirty-seven years and after innumerable sexual encounters.

Now, when I told Claudia that in later years I would occasionally use my left hand when masturbating to revive the memory of Dragan’s hand, she swooned with pleasure: she had had exactly the same childhood experience with a girl her age, leading to a special rôle for her own left hand.

Addendum XIII (March 20, 1994)

Even though I am still mortified by the fact that my Residua will now be impossible to share with others, the avalanche of “explicit sex” on these pages has opened up many things that the public character of my writings prevented from surfacing. I have learned so much about myself since Lauren and Dorian have left for the States to visit with her family that it will take a year or two to fully digest it. Several things immediately come to mind.

First, recording my recollections of sexual encounters is almost as thrilling as those sexual encounters themselves. My hands and knees tremble whenever I start writing about an experience I set out to record. My voice quivers when I read out aloud a particularly succulent bit, which I read out several times in a row as loudly as I can. My prick now aches from so many bursting erections. In many ways, this flurry of activity is reminiscent of my affair with Vesna in September 1978, when Elise and Marko visited with her mother in the States.

Second, Elise still dominates my sexual fantasies. As soon as I let it out of the bottle, the bittersweet memory of Elise grows to swallow many other enticing memories. After more than a decade since our last fuck, the memory of her juicy cunt is so vivid I could paint it in detail—the floppy and protruding labia of many ragged edges, the knobby clitoris, the tremendous range of pinks and browns around the entrance into her vagina, the almost African bush of pubic hair, the big ass supporting this wet jewel. More important, the painful lust for that whorish woman is far from a memory—it is still with me. If I were offered a choice today, I would take her for a ride ahead of any other woman I have ever known. She would give me as much excitement and pain as I seem to be longing for at the moment.

Third, and perhaps most surprising, the most exciting among the thrilling sexual memories is the one of Dragan’s hand. In fact, the most exciting bit, the bit that now gives me another painful erection, is his imagined memory of my prick in his own hand. The connection between my first and only homosexual experience—if this is what it was—and my encounter with Claudia, a lesbian and a devotee of things sexual, is most interesting here. Although Dragan today does not attract me the least bit, I long to fondle a fleshy and friendly prick; I long to feel under my tender fingertips the throb of blood in its thick veins; I long to touch it gently here and there until it swells to bursting; I long to feel this prick pulsate and quiver as semen starts the headlong dash along its long shaft; I long to see the silvery leap from this sweet prick; I long to taste of the warm semen as it oozes out in silent waves; I long to take the head of that prick into my mouth so as to capture on my tongue and lips the last tremors of this divine orgasm; I long to come myself from all the sweetness in my mouth. The trouble is that I want only the prick, not the man attached to it! And that is why this is but a dream, which is unlikely ever to come to pass. Back to Dragan, in some sense I now feel bereaved of the experience he has had with me, for his prick was too puny to excite any sexual memory. As it were, I envy him for his own hand’s memory of another man’s ejaculation.

Fourth, and somewhat tangential from the vantage point of the recent additions to my Residua, Lauren is a marginal character in my writings the last few days. There is no doubt that our lovemaking has been the most wonderful and satisfying in my experience—which I know is true for her, as well—but there is little excitement, let alone lust, left in our lives together. I have blamed her for this since a year or so into our relationship, when she has started pushing me away with a myriad of excuses.

However, there is one aspect of Lauren’s sexuality that does excite me: her lesbian leanings. The connection with Claudia is interesting here, as well. Lauren has had several lesbian encounters, the first of which lasted for a long time, and the last of which must have happened only a month after Lauren and I had become lovers. To the best of my knowledge, her love for Janina, one of her closest friends at MIT, was rather Platonic, but their journey to Australia and Asia in March 1989 must have involved more than Lauren has been willing to tell me. I know that Lauren was devastated by Janina’s departure for South Africa the very same day I arrived in Hong Kong to spend the weekend with my lover; this was so painful for me that I considered going back to Boston on the next flight, but Lauren persuaded me to stay and we did have a few glorious days together. I also know that Janina has never responded to any of Lauren’s many attempts to get back in touch with her. Something a bit heavier and viscous than friendship must have transpired to alienate Janina to such an extent. Lauren and Janina must have slept in each other’s arms, naked, and they must have touched each other a few tender places. There must have been much crying and sighing and perhaps an immaculate orgasm or two in the dark of the night. Lauren’s previous lesbian relationships seem to have been similar in this regard—that is, not very physical—but she might have occasionally tasted of her lovers’ juices.

Now, I am quite sure that Lauren will sooner or later go back to lesbian love. She hints in this direction every once in a while, and it is a matter of time when she will stumble upon a girlfriend who will become so close to her that she will want to touch her, hold her, and taste of her. Lauren’s relationship with one of her more recent friends, Jane, appears to have come very close to the first explorations of this kind, and it is entirely possible that the breakup of their friendship has had the same origin as the breakup of Lauren’s friendship with Janina. Just like Janina before her, Jane might have become aware of the nature of Lauren’s love for her, and she might have become apprehensive of the next step Lauren had started to expect of her. Lauren does not have to be aware of all this in full detail, but she must know about it in general terms. She must be aware of her sexual appetites and her ultimate sexual fate.

Parenthetically, recent medical research suggests that homosexuality is at least in part genetic. As Lauren’s mother is a lesbian and as her mother’s brother was a homosexual, Lauren might be under considerable “internal” pressure to go the same way. Even one of Lauren’s brothers has long been thought to be gay, but his recent marriage has somewhat blunted this hypothesis. Be this as it may, Lauren grew up in a lesbian “culture,” which must have left some traces in her makeup.

The frightening thing is that my expectation of Lauren’s “coming out” excites me to the point of wondering whether I should entice her in this direction, so as to partake in the spoils, or should I let her discover what she really wants for herself, and then find a way into her and her lover’s bed. Watching Lauren make love with another woman and fucking them both would be just to my liking, at least in the state of mind in which I find myself at present. A ménage-a-trois of this sort could even lead to a relatively stable and meaningful relationship with another woman. Besides, I do not want us to break up our marriage on account of our diverging sexual preferences. I know how horrendous divorce is for everyone, and especially the children. I want to have another child with Lauren, and I want to stay around as the father of this family. It is only very unlikely that we will be able to go on without passion for too much longer. I know that I am on the verge of fucking the next woman who comes my way, and I assume that Lauren cannot feel very differently.

What next? As long as Lauren and Dorian are away I will keep putting down everything I remember. As this is a sexual experience in itself, and as I will let my prick choose the next story to tell, the hierarchy of my recollections will be interesting to behold. I can envisage that March 1994 will remain among the most exciting months in my sexual history. Again, I am so happy that I have discovered this hidden part of myself that I do not really mind the loss of my writings’ public side.

Addendum XIV (March 21, 1994)

When she has an orgasm, Lauren has very strong vaginal contractions, which are a great pleasure for me, too. She also has a contraction or two when I tell her something exciting while I am making love to her. For example, early on in our relationship she would talk back to me in this way whenever I would whisper sweet nothings in Serbo-Croatian into her ear. At the time she did not understand much of my mother’s tongue, but she soon learned all the “key words” in bed. Another word that makes her vagina contract is “pussy,” so I whisper into her ear about how much I love her sweet pussy when she is close to the climax. The origin of this habit is quite interesting, though. Soon after we met, she told me that this was the word that was considered acceptable to the lesbians she knew, whereas the word “cunt” was considered to be somehow vulgar, and thus presumably reserved for men. It has just crossed my mind that Claudia, too, wanted me to refer to her cunt as her “pussy.” The little bit of lesbian schooling I got from Claudia seems to have stretched a long way!

Addendum XV (March 25, 1994)

This afternoon I went upstairs to Lauren’s study to print out on her printer a letter I had just written on my computer. We both have Apple computers, and they are almost completely compatible. My printer ran out of ink a few days ago, and I had not been able to find the appropriate ink cartridge for it. When her computer came to life, I opened her hard disk for no good reason. Among other folders on the screen I saw one named “Rice and Money,” Lauren’s journal for public consumption, and another named “Anteating,” a collection of rejects from “Rice and Money.” For no good reason, again, I opened the “Anteating” file for 1989.

Soon enough I stumbled on a couple of things that hurt me very much. On August 29 of that year, more than half-a-year since we had become man and woman, Lauren had listed all the people she had “loved”: her mother, Ariella, Yael, Sylvia and Howard, Vicky, Michael, Mary, Nancy, Tom and his family, Janina, and Allan. I was a bit surprised not to find my own name on that list, but I was even more surprised by the proportion of women listed. God only knows what Yael was, but there is hardly any doubt about Ariella, Sylvia, Vicky, Mary, Nancy, and Janina.

Much more difficult to bear, much more painful, was Lauren’s rendering of her love for Janina. Unexpectedly, Lauren’s explicit mention of their physical contact hurt the most, though. On November 8 of the same year Lauren wrote the following:

I remember that day after I took her to the airport in Hong Kong. […] My heart was bleeding for that woman. Not just [missing] seeing or touching her, but missing her essential energy. That pain has never stopped […].

Although I have guessed all this rather correctly, it still hurts to know that I have been correct all along. At the very time Lauren’s heart was bleeding for Janina, I was madly in love with Lauren. More, I was right there with her, in Hong Kong, having arrived just a few hours after Janina’s departure. I went there because I could not be without Lauren any longer. But she had lied to me. She had cheated me at the very beginning of our relationship. In her heart of hearts Lauren is a lesbian—my third or fourth, depending on Kathy’s status.

Angry, aching from Lauren’s betrayal, I called several potential instruments of immediate revenge. Anna’s phone number, which I had received from Lauren, turned out to be incorrect. Bad luck, for she would have been well inclined toward me. Katharine sounded friendly, but certainly not sexually aroused by my voice. She treated me as a distant friend or acquaintance. As soon as my excuse for calling her was exhausted, there was nothing else left for me to do but exchange with her a few cheerful words of goodbye. Very English. No nonsense. Valerie was warm and friendly, but it transpired that she was having a few friends over for dinner. Bad luck once again. On account of marriage, other current prospects cannot be called at will, no matter how good the pretext. So, I will remain unfucked tonight. But the era of my sexual loyalty to Lauren is now definitely over. Sweet cunts and pussies, no more silly compunctions. After all, the wife and I are in competition over your juices!

Addendum XVI (March 26, 1994)

My piece about Claudia and the wide range of its addenda written in a couple of spurts since 1986 is a clear testimony to the degree to which I am indebted to her for my sexual development. I have learned more from this woman or through her than from any other woman I have known. In her own way, Claudia has urged me to explore my sexuality, and for that I am most grateful to her. This is not surprising, though. Exploring the edges of her own sexual world, she made it possible for others to explore their own worlds, as well. For a month or two she was my sexual guide and teacher. Perhaps I can now help others in a similar way. Sexual exploration cannot be an end in itself, but it can offer an environment among environments for learning about our worlds, as Hesse has shown so poetically in his Siddharta.

Addendum XVII (September 17, 1994)

Last night I finally had my revenge, plotted since last March, but I now feel a tinge of guilty conscience. My escapades with Anna and Vesna in March did not really matter, perhaps because our lovemaking did not go all the way, but my night with Linda was certainly different. We fornicated like crazy the whole night and I ended up coming into her mouth. Like a good girl, she swallowed my semen, and we then kissed with her mouth still awash with my sperm. Anyway, I now feel that I need to probe into Lauren’s relationship with Janina before I can feel justified in my action.

This is how it happened. Last night Linda came to a small party at Hereford Road. She arrived with a few friends, and it did not even cross my mind to pursue her. In fact, I felt disappointed that Anna, Gina, and Valerie failed to show up at the party. I thought one of them might stay and spend the night with me. Perhaps they had felt uncomfortable for that very reason? Anyhow, at some point past midnight one of Linda’s friends proposed that we go to a nearby night club, “The Nest,” frequented by Montenegrins and other ex-Yugoslavs. We went there. The place was incredible to behold—the noise, the mugs, the crowd, the smoke. We were all huddled together. At some point Linda told me that she had had a bit too much to drink and that I should watch it because she had started feeling special feelings toward me. She winked at me knowingly. I laughed and took her on. I had a few drinks too many, too, and I did not care about the fact that this was a public place. I was all over her—her tits, her crotch, her ass—and we soon decided to return to Hereford Road.

From the nightclub we went to Linda’s car, parked in a nearby street. As soon as we got in she pulled my pants down and started to suck my prick. I stuck a few fingers up her cunt, too. I urged her to get going so as not to waste our time. We undressed as soon as we came to our house and proceeded to fuck for some five hours. We fucked in every imaginable way until she thought she could not come any more. By that time, I must have been in her for at least two hours. I was magnificent last night, I must add. A good sport, Linda turned her attention toward me and tried to make me come, but I saw that she could be brought back to life, as it were. At any rate, I could not come because of all the excitement.

The next two hours I licked her and jerked her off in every way I could think of, and she kept coming and coming. For example, she would come when I would suck her nipples and rub her body at the same time. She loved it when I would bring my fingers from her cunt to her mouth, or when I would kiss her mouth and her cunt alternately. Her own juices excited her, and she would eagerly lick them up. At some point I realized that she was showing some signs of lesbian lovemaking, and she did admit to having made love to women on a few occasions. She did not want to talk about it, though. This was disappointing, for I felt she could teach me a few things I could later explore with Lauren.

After such a long time without it, this enthusiastic fucking exercise made me immensely happy. I was elated. It was truly wonderful to be with Linda. Although she must be around forty, she surprised me with a very tight cunt. She came easily and she had strong orgasms. Her contractions were a real joy for me, as always. An experienced woman, she knew what to do and when to do it, and I found a tremendous pleasure in giving her pleasure. Genuinely delighted with her, I told her over and over again how much I felt for her. In my arms, she looked happy, beautiful, fresh. I have not had such a hardy fuck for some four years at least.

While we were in the throes of lovemaking I did not think about Lauren and about my revenge in kind. I simply ravished Linda. And she was so sweet to fuck, too. But as soon as Linda left after six in the morning, I started to feel that this was perhaps too much in view of what Lauren had done. I am fully aware of the silliness of my compunctions, but this is how things actually stand. I now feel that I must become sure about Lauren’s relationship with Janina. When she returns at the end of the month, we must go back to our computer-aided “talks” about sex. The first time around, I will ask her about her relationship with Vicky. I want to know exactly how they made love. In other words, I want to know who touched whom, exactly how, for how long, and so on. I want to know whether or not Lauren had touched Vicky’s cunt, whether or not she had licked her, and the like. I want to know about Lauren’s orgasms with Vicky. This “talk” will establish the context for the next and crucial one.

The next time around I want to explore the love affair with Janina. In particular, I want to know whether they were naked in bed, and whether they would embrace when they were naked. If I remember correctly, Lauren admitted to this much when I joined her in Hong Kong immediately after Janina’s departure for South Africa. And I know how much naked skin means to Lauren! Then I want to know whether they were caressing each other, kissing each other, sucking each other’s nipples, as well as whether they were touching each other’s pussies. Also, I want to know whether they had licked each other or not, but I presume not. Most important, I want to know whether or not Lauren came, regardless of whether Janina and she actually made love. Even if they did not engage in any explicit sexual behavior, I want to know whether or not Lauren had an orgasm. If yes, Linda was worth it because Lauren had cheated me at the time when I was absolutely crazy about her and could not imagine having another woman. One orgasm is enough to establish Lauren’s unfaithfulness. If she did not experience an orgasm, I will have to live with my conscience. But I am sure Lauren had at least one and probably two or three orgasms with Janina or in her presence. In this period, at the very beginning of our life together, Lauren would easily reach an orgasm without actual physical contact. I am sure she and Janina were lovers at least in the sense of these immaculate orgasms. Lauren must tell me about this in some detail. I must know exactly what had happened. Of course, if she refuses to talk about it, her guilt will have been established by other means.

By the way, I am confident that something explicitly sexual had happened between the two of them regardless of the fact that I know that Lauren does not need much to actually feel that she is making love with someone. I am sure the relationship between Lauren and Janina was not entirely Platonic simply because I know that Janina had later on refused to have any relationship with Lauren. She would not even reply to Lauren’s mail. She must have felt that something special had happened, and there is no reason to believe that Janina would have the same—rather non-physical—attitude toward sex as Lauren. Simply put, Janina must have been frightened away by the lesbian character of Lauren’s love for her, as well as the lesbian character of something they had actually done together. Once they split up in Hong Kong, Janina decided to cut the relationship once and for all because she was afraid of the whole thing.

Returning to Linda, I am relieved that she is such a mature woman, who is not likely to need any “support” from me after the fact. Valerie or even Gina would have been so much more difficult to handle in this regard. I think only Anna would be able to fuck me hard and remain cool about it—especially in relation to Lauren. At any rate, I do not wish to sleep with Linda any longer; this one fantastic night is enough for me. But I will remember it forever. Now that my revenge is behind me, I do not feel like sleeping with other women. If a woman insists and the circumstances are just right, I may consider it. Otherwise, I feel that it would not make any sense fucking around. I want to bring Lauren closer to me. I want us to love each other and to have a rich sexual life with each other. In fact, after Linda, I feel so much love for Lauren that even an explicit and somewhat gory confession about Janina would perhaps not affect my feelings toward her.

Addendum XVIII (September 19, 1994)

The last few days I have been thinking about sex and nothing but sex. One of the recurring themes is Lauren’s relationship with Janina. Another recurring theme is my desire for at least one homosexual experience before it is too late. To be sure, the two themes are intertwined. To wit, I believe that I would not feel that I had been unfaithful to Lauren were I to have had sex with a man. Such an experience would be associated in my mind with a “higher” taboo than infidelity. Although I would feel abashed and mortified by what I had done, I would also feel virtuous on account of my courage in view of the powerful taboo.

This is perhaps how Lauren feels, too, although she is likely to be less impressed by the taboo itself because of her previous experiences with women and because of her mother’s lesbian life-style. Loving Janina and making love to her may be perceived by Lauren as something completely unrelated to the two of us as a couple, especially because Lauren appears not to desire living as a lesbian or being part of the lesbian culture. Although I am propelled by lust, whereas Lauren was propelled by love for Janina, the two emotions are nevertheless episodic and thus largely irrelevant from the vantage point of our bond and our marriage.

Of course, this line of reasoning may be betraying my mental preparation for yet another sexual escapade. Indeed, since a bit less than a year ago I have been looking at men with a different eye: quite often I catch myself wondering whether or not I would enjoy being naked with a particular man. More and more often I catch myself stripping a man in my mind’s eye. I catch myself going through things I would and would not do with this man. Although I have never felt sexually attracted to men, let alone aroused by them, some men are less unappealing as potential sexual partners than are others. The only part of the male anatomy that I am actually attracted to is the prick, and practically any sizeable prick would do. As I lamented before, the only problem with pricks is that they are attached to the bodies of men.

So far I have met only one man who appears to suit me, or at least not to repel me: my barber in Hong Kong. He seems to be both gentle and strong, both manly and feminine—but not effeminate. He is Chinese and a superb barber, too. He must be in his mid-twenties. The last time he cut my hair I watched him in the mirror out of the corner of my lustful eye. First I conjured the shape of his prick’s head. Then I imagined him naked. And then I went through my list of things to try out with him. My greatest desire was to suck his prick and to have him jerk off into my mouth, but I would also like to lick his asshole and then gently insert my prick into it. I would not like to hurt him, though. His asshole would be pretty tight, at least by comparison with a mature woman’s vagina, and I would probably come in no time. Although I do not fancy his prick up my own asshole, I would not expect it to be so thick as to hurt me very much. He is a slim fellow. With proper lubrication I would let him fuck me, too, but this is more out of fairness and compassion than desire. For with a prick like mine, I cannot but hurt him a little…

Oh, it is such a glorious pleasure to write about all this so plainly, so directly. I am breaking another powerful taboo by writing in this fashion… Claudia, Claudia! So much has spilled out of your, as it were, box. The glory of the few months we spent together is nothing by comparison with all of your subsequent gifts. I am grateful to you, but I also fear tumbling into your sweet and furry box and losing my immortal soul in its bottomless vastness.

Addendum XIX (September 27, 1994)

Today it crossed my mind that one of my possible reasons for wanting to “talk” to Lauren via my computer about her lesbian experiences is that I would also wish to share with her my own homosexual fantasies. I would like her to understand that I believe that neither my fantasies nor their unlikely realization would make me gay; I am simply fascinated with a part of the sexual spectrum I have not experienced so far. By the same token, I do not consider her a lesbian just because of some lesbian experiences in her past, or even because of her possible continuing fantasies about lesbian love. Again, this is a part of the sexual spectrum that is that much more exciting because it tends to be frowned upon.

While I was thinking earlier today about all the questions I wanted to ask her about Vicky and Janina my knees began to tremble. I went into ever-finer detail of lesbian intercourse, asking Lauren in my mind about her lover’s pussies—their smells and tastes, their colors and shapes. I soon realized that “talking” about it with Lauren would be an amazing sexual experience in itself, and I almost came into my pants from all the excitement I could conjure in my mind.

But I would especially love to tell her about my growing fascination with things homosexual. The whole development started with my memory of Dragan’s hand on my prick, that is, my ruminations regarding his memory of my warm prick in his hand, but these recollections quickly led to daydreaming about oozing pricks in the abstract, which ultimately led me to think through an entire sexual experience—from the heady agreement to meet in a few hours to the knock on the hotel door, from the greetings whispered in trembling voices to the first contact with his erect penis through his scratchy pants, from the embarrassment of undressing and fiddling with condoms to the comforting smoothness of his naked skin, from the fragrance of his recently-scrubbed asshole to the jolt of penetration, from the first sighs of orgasm to his quivering ejaculation, from the camaraderie of the crowded shower to the hushed rustle of our last embraces, from the sound of my exhausted lover’s departing steps to the dumb pain and horror behind the door locked in haste. I want Lauren to know that I can feel my body press against his, our pricks locked together awkwardly like antlers; I want her to know that I can see myself sitting in bed, my prick gently inserted into my lover’s asshole, my hands on his naked prick and his tender balls, his legs open wide and locked behind my back, his torso spread on the bed in front of me, his head turned to the side, and his eyes shut tight in the ecstasy of orgasm; I want her to know that I can imagine myself on my knees, my elbows pressed against the bed, his hands firmly pulling my thighs, while my faceless lover bangs me from behind, just like I bang her whenever I want to come. Yes, I want to share all this with her.

The pleasure of telling her about my dreams would perhaps be greater than the pleasure of making them come true. I wish to share with Lauren every single thing I know about myself, and I wish to partake in her secrets, her foibles. I dream of sinking into her and her sinking into me without remainder, without a trace. This would be the ultimate sexual experience, I presume. I tremble when I think of our sweet embraces a few days from now, when she returns from Los Angeles and I from Amsterdam, and when we recommence our journey into each other’s inner worlds.

Addendum XX (September 29, 1994)

My first night in Amsterdam I went to the red-light district to find some gay magazines. I wanted to see pictures of men having sex with other men, and especially pictures of explicit anal penetration. The whole idea of having such a magazine in my own hands excited me very much. At first it was very difficult to enter the loud sex shops with the sundry sexual paraphernalia in the window, but the awkwardness soon left me and I started to take some pleasure in entering these sordid places and coldly examining their wares in full view of other patrons.

At the beginning it was also very difficult for me to linger around gay literature, but in a short while this turned around, as well. I took some pride in my presumed sexual preferences and I freely leafed through the magazines on offer. At some point I thought that it would be horrible if a gay man approached me on account of my explicit interest in gay stuff, but I ultimately accepted this possibility, too, and with some relish. I imagined going for the man’s prick if he offered it in the narrow isle of a sex shop, as well as doing this without any fear or embarrassment. In fact, in the end I very much welcomed the possibility and could even imagine feeling the intruder’s warm flesh in my hand. As it turned out, no-one even looked at me, of course.

There was not much about gay sex to be found in a dozen or so shops I went to, but there was quite a bit of transsexual literature featuring women with quite an assortment of dicks. I also noticed that it was hard to find real lesbian stuff, in which I was interested partly in vague connection with Lauren. It appears these sex shops are for men only, so even the lesbian magazines are, in fact, for men, thus betraying men’s fascinations with lesbian sex. However, I was surprised by the rich supply in the area of animal sex—dogs, goats, donkeys, cows. Most of the pictures I saw in this category were of women being fucked by dogs. Anyway, the gay magazines were full of pictures of men with large cocks, but there were very few pictures showing men fucking one another. When I finally stumbled on an entire issue stuffed with large photographs of two gay encounters, I immediately took the magazine to the cashier’s counter. Again, I took some pleasure in parading as a gay man in front of the cashier. I did not mind all the men standing close to the counter, absorbed in sex magazines of their choice.

Walking to my hotel I was excited in anticipation of finding out my reaction to my newly-acquired treasure, which I had not had a chance to examine page by page. I had a notion that I was conducting an experiment in my own sexual preferences. Incredibly, I was thrilled by my newly-discovered homosexual streak. I wanted to see where my prick would lead me, as it were. In particular, I wanted to see how I would look like if I got fucked by a man. My passive rôle in relation to another man suddenly excited me more than my active rôle, which dominated my fantasies until recently. At any rate, I wanted to have a definite picture of the whole affair.

When I was finally and blissfully alone, I took my clothes off, settled on the bed in front of a large mirror, and opened my magazine. My knees were week. Most of the images were outright unappealing, though. A few pictures of clear penetration did give me a bit of a buzz, but the entire magazine left me cold. The first gay encounter, featuring two men in their early twenties, ultimately offered a nice erection, but the second couple, most likely in their mid-thirties, was positively revolting, primarily because of the bondage undertones of their relationship. As I expected, the pages that gave me the strongest erection where those where there was no doubt about anal penetration, about two sizeable pricks in close proximity, and about strong erections on both men’s part. Namely, many of the photographs were obviously staged for the camera, as well as for me as the ultimate customer, but in some of them it was clear that both partners relished what they were doing regardless of the camera. There was some real fucking in these pages.

Still, my thoughts quickly went back to the red-light district and to all the windows stuffed with whores of all sizes, shapes, and colors. As I was going from one sex shop to another, I saw several truly appealing women in these windows. I gave a friendly smile to some of them, and they reciprocated by beckoning me coyly. I remember especially fondly a row of some six or seven windows in a small square connected to the adjoining streets by narrow alleyways, where I saw two or three women I would not mind fucking. One of them was just fabulous both in terms of her looks and her self-confident behavior. She knew she would not have to wait very long for the next customer. Then and there I decided to make sure to try out one of these women the next time I come around. This time I am hopelessly short of cash, but I should be able to quietly hoard the necessary amount before my next trip to Amsterdam or another city with a good supply of appealing whores. After last night’s shopping experience, I know that it may be a real joy to enter one of these brightly lit places in front of the gawking men and start bargaining with a whore. Whatever they would want I am sure I could afford. The very act of bargaining through an open door would be a pleasure, too.

In the last analysis, my thought-experiment concerning my homosexual appetites had turned out quite differently than I had expected, or perhaps only wished. I eagerly and fearlessly undertook to test my reactions to things homosexual, and I found out that I was so much more attracted to women. The gay magazine I bought last night might end up in a trash bin soon, except that I would love to show it to Lauren. Alas, this is what science is all about—an honest inquiry into the true nature of things. Sorry, Claudia!

As a consolation, I may go back and get a lesbian magazine, instead. Who knows, I may be able to share such a magazine with Lauren in the near future, after a few more of our computer-assisted conversations? Even though I am quite sure that the lesbian encounters depicted in most magazines are not of great interest to lesbians, a cunt is a cunt. Lesbians, too, must find some pleasure in seeing a variety of juicy cunts. Although I would hate to push Lauren in this direction if I am mistaken about her subterranean appetites, I would hate it even more to be left out if and when she made her move toward lesbian sex. I know that I love her—in fact, adore her—and I cannot bear the thought of ever losing her to anyone, let alone to a woman whom I could happily fuck, too. I passionately want us to stay together and explore things sexual as friends, lovers, spouses, parents.

Addendum XXI (January 22, 2000)

Ploughing through this thicket of fears and hopes, I feel disappointed that the memories of Dragan, Elise, Vesna, Lauren, Janina, Linda, and so many others now cloud the memory of Claudia. I can read what I had written about her, but my reading does not inspire live memories. Poor Claudia has been buried under a pile of other cold corpses. Will I ever again be able to smell her, taste her, feel her? Will the memory of her ever again take me back to those miraculous days we spent together? Will she come alive in my mind ever again?

Addendum XXII (September 7, 2000)

She will, she will. I know that Claudia is not dead. While I was reading the last few lines, I remembered one of her hats. It was black. Slightly dusty, musty, fusty. A beret of sorts, but tighter, closer fitting. As always, the image evaporated as soon as I focused on it. At any rate, Claudia is alive and well. One fine day, or most likely night, she will come to me again. My Claudia. I will smell her, taste her, feel her once again. It is only a matter of time. And time is all I really have.