At nine years old I would walk to Isis, my middle school, with Thomas. For a few months we were joined on our walk by a new boy at school, Stevie. He was American and seemed slightly older than us, though I think he was put in our year. Stevie was brash and obsessed with pussy. It was all he talked about. He didn't even seem to be interested in women per se, just pussy in an abstract sense. In retrospect, the fact that he could probably not even masturbate lent his passion for pussy a purity rarely afforded to more mature perverts. At first it was cool and subversive but it quickly grew tiresome. Stevie was a one-trick pony.
-"What sports do you play in America, Stevie?"
-"no sports, only pussy."
-"Are you going to visit your family any time soon?"
-"only if they've got some pussy for me."
-"What do you want to be when you're older?"
-"a pussyologist."
On this last point I grew annoyed.
-"Seriously, Stevie. What are you interested in?"
-"well... I've always been interested in archaeology."
I don't know where Stevie went, but I hope he found his happiness.