My Girlfriend is a Nasty

Call Girl Hooker Slut

Louis Kahn Nin

Smashwords Edition

2012

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Copyright © 2012 Louis Kahn Nin

I was a 21-year-old literature student at the university and my wife-to-be was studying anthropology. She was 19. I saw her occasionally around the campus. She was quite attractive and usually wearing sexy clothes, revealing the secrets of her slender body. I admired her but I did not think for even a second that I had a chance, although when I saw her she was usually alone.

There was a Harold Pinter play performed by students in the drama department at the campus theatre. I could not find anyone to go with me, and because I loved Pinter’s work so much I could not miss the show, which had only three nights, so I went alone. The theatre was a small black box almost full. The seat next to me was empty. The show began a little late and after five minutes, someone sat quietly in the empty seat next to me.
“Did I miss much?” a woman’s sultry voice whispered.
It was her.

I smiled and said: “They’ve just begun.”
She leaned against her seat. We watched the show until the end of act one. During the 10-minute intermission, we chatted. I was uneasy—I was talking to my dream girl, after all. I relaxed; she was friendly and modest, which I wasn’t expecting. During the conversation, I realized she wasn’t just a Barbie doll, she also was an intelligent woman and we had many things in common. She liked music and drama; she noted the inter-related nature of literature and anthropology. She said she also wanted to play bass guitar but could not find time. I was also interested in music and I played guitar—that was the common thing that brought us together. After the concert, we said cheers and went to our separate ways. I was feeling happy, charmed but still hopeless.

***

A few days later, I was eating lunch at the commons and I spotted her. She was looking for a place to sit. She saw me too and I invited her to my table.
“Hi,” she said.
I greeted her back and she sat next to me.

“My name is Andrea, by the way.”

I didn’t tell her I already knew.
We chatted about music, the Pinter play, and the bass guitar. I suddenly said to her: “You know, Sting will be in the city next week to perform. Would you like to go with me?”
She hesitated and said: “Sure, why not?”
“I’ll get the tickets and call you,” I said. She wrote her number on a napkin.
She asked: “And your name is…?”
“Angus,” I said.
“See you then, Angus.”

***

The Sting concert was the start of our friendship. During the semester, we went to other concerts, movies, theatres; we sang together and laughed at our bad voices. She liked to sing while I played guitar. We became good friends and shared a lot.
She had a lot of money. While I was living on campus, she was living alone in a city flat. She had her own car. I had to spend my money carefully. She told me she was working at an agency, modeling jobs. Sometimes she would cancel the events we planned or sometimes she left our dates early for a job. I had never seen any photos of her modeling but I never suspected anything nefarious.

I fell in love, like the fool I am for such things. Despite my efforts at intimacy, she always kept her distance. She did not have a boyfriend, nor did she have many girlfriends. She treated me just as a chum. I did not have the guts to confess my feelings…

***

We were at a pub. I was drank five pints of ale for courage.
“There’s something weird with you today,” she said.
I took a sip and said: “Andrea, I have to tell you something…”
She looked into my eyes and rolled her own eyes and said: “Oh, bloody don’t.”
“I have to.”
“Well,” she said and shook her pretty head. “Let me tell you something first. You are a very nice bloke, Angus. The last thing I want is to spoil this friendship.”