Always Loleeta
(mid 1980s)

Preface:
Vladimir Nabokov was a Russian born writer who later lived in Germany and France before moving to the United States. Although English was his third language (after Russian and French), he somehow authored, in English, one of the greatest American novels ever written. Every time I read it, I am astounded by the number of words and phrases in the book that were perfectly used and understood, but to my knowledge, did not previously exist in the English language.

Published in 1955, the subject matter of this book is still controversial today. The title is not allowed to be written on this site, as it has become synonymous with its taboo subject. I understand, and do not argue this point. But I ask the reader, and the administrators, to understand that this book and its artistry, not its subject matter, play a significant role in the story that follows. Please forgive that the book’s title has been changed for this reason.
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I had auditioned for a summer production at a theater in Savanah, where I hoped to work more toward my goal of becoming an actress. This, and plenty of time at the beach, is how I planned to spend my first summer back home from college. But thanks to my mediocre skills, bad decisions with money, and how easy the banks make it for young adults to get credit cards, I had bills to pay. So, I instead ended up working at an ice cream shop near my parent’s house, where I lived, on Hilton Head Island. This is the type of job available to a 19-year-old with no real work history.

It was a nice privately owned place. The owner made the ice cream himself right there in the store and hired young pretty girls to work the counter. So, dressing cute and peddling sugar is how my summer began.

It was a fun place to work. A lot of people my age would hang out there most evenings, so it felt less like work and more like I was hanging out with friends. After an adventurous freshman year at college, to now being surrounded by plenty of boys my age at my new job, my life had certainly taken a turn from just a year ago when I was the preacher’s virgin daughter. But I was growing tired of the boys my age. I had become quite aware of what motivated them. They lacked any maturity and had no interest in anything I had to say, or in getting to know who I really was as a person. I still had made no significant connection with anyone. All my relationships were entirely sexual.

This was my mindset when John walked into the ice cream shop on my first Saturday night. I wasn’t sure he would remember me, but I thought about him regularly. He was a teacher at my high school, although he had just started there my senior year. I did not have any classes with him, but every girl was aware of John. He was the most attractive man I had ever seen in person. (Today I would compare him to Jon Hamm.) He taught English literature, and everyone knew he had a novel published.

When John saw me, his eyes lit up. To my surprise, he called me by name, and asked what I had been doing lately. I told him I was attending the University of Florida and home for the summer. As I served ice cream to his wife and two kids, I asked about him. He told me he would be teaching a summer course in Bluffton. I congratulated him on having his book published, and told him I wanted to read it, but had yet to find a copy. We chatted for only a few minutes before he went off to enjoy the evening with his family. That night, I decided I would be taking a literature class in Bluffton.

Monday morning, I went to sign up. I was told that the class was full, and I could not get any credits for it at my college anyway. I had been looking forward to a great summer back home but just a couple of weeks in, I felt it had already fallen apart. Not a thing I wanted to do was working out.

I arrived for my shift at the ice cream shop thinking about the crappy summer ahead. As I entered the shop, I saw John. He had stopped by to give me a copy of his book. I told him I was interested in taking his class, but they wouldn’t let me sign up. He suggested I could audit the class. I wouldn’t get credit, but I could attend. John stayed and talked with me for quite a while as I started work. At this point, with him having brought me a copy of his book and encouraging a workaround for me to take his class, I realized John was either a very dedicated teacher, or just not a very dedicated husband. Selfishly, I hoped for the latter.

On the first day of class, I wore a corset-style top and short skirt that made a nice presentation of what I believed were my best attributes. I thought likely, hopefully, that John would respond to a fresh and lively nubile girl in need of his guidance. Perhaps this would be a welcome change to what it must be like with his wife.

I had intended an early arrival to allow time for flirting and to gauge what motivates John. But, as is usual with me, I was late. The class had already started. I peeked in the window of the door and watched him lecturing until I built up the courage to enter. When I opened the door, he looked over at me and smiled. I whispered, “Sorry” and crept along the wall to the nearest available seat. He continued with the class, but I absorbed little of the topic. I was fixated on his rugged handsomeness and his command of the subject and the room. I was already swooning, dreaming of him having such mastery over me.

After class, I waited until everyone else had gone, and approached him to apologize for being late. We talked for a while. I told him how much I was enjoying his book. I purposely stood very close as he leaned on his desk. I so much loved how he smelled. It hit me as a physical sensation. I took every opportunity to touch his arm or leg as I asked questions about his novel. I knew I was being obvious. Although I could not tell what he was thinking, he kept the conversation going, which turned to some of our favorite books. I was excited that we both were fans of Nabokov. I would have pretended to like whatever he said, but I loved that we truly appreciated some of the same writers. I could have talked all night, but he eventually said he had to go. On my drive home I was enchanted and already plotting my next move.

He told me that he thought Nabokov’s ‘Loleeta’ was one of the best books ever written, so I was now inspired to not play nubile… but nymphet. For the next class, I planned to wear my favorite sundress. It was low cut, short, and hugged me in all the right places. I spent that week before the second class reading most of John’s novel and extracting quotes from ‘Loleeta’. I endeavored to drive John mad with desire for me.

I had prepared several notes with the intention of leaving one on his car after class. They were all quotes from ‘Loleeta’. A couple were just cute phrases that would be only a little flirty. And one was a bit more daring. I had hoped to flirt with him again after class, and based on how this went, I would decide which note to leave.

This time I was early to class. John was not yet there, so I left a folded note on his desk and took my seat. Soon other students arrived, and eventually John. As soon as he entered the room, I regretted the note I chose to leave. But it was too late. My infatuation had been building all week, and I had spontaneously left him the most daring note. Whether or not he recognized it as a quote from ‘Loleeta’, it would confess my intentions.

He did not notice the note until he had begun to address the class. He opened it in mid-sentence and lost what he had been saying. The room went quiet as he silently read the note to himself. I was feeling dizzy and thought I might pass out. I couldn’t believe what I was doing.

The note read: “My little cup brims with tiddles.”

John’s face stayed with the paper, but his eyes looked up at me. I hate to think what expression I carried at the time. But I felt a great sense of relief when he smiled. It was a genuine smile in recognition of a good thing. I still felt dizzy, but now for a different reason. John did well to gather his thoughts and return to the subject at hand. Although, I caught none of it, still lost in my own mischief.

After class I thought about leaving with the others, still afraid I had gone too far. But I couldn’t. I just stayed in my seat waiting to hear what he would say. When we were alone, he sat behind his desk and opened the note again. Then he held it up and said, “Cute.” I asked if he knew it was from ‘Loleeta’, and he nodded. I am not certain if he really knew, but it didn’t matter. We both knew what I meant by it.

Then he asked if he could give me a ride home. I told him that would be great, even though this was ludicrous. Bluffton was on the mainland, about 20 minutes by car from my house on the island. He knew I drove there. But we both ignored that for the excuse to go for a drive together.

Never asking where I live, John started driving. Neither of us said very much at first. Then he commented how nice I looked in my dress. I told him I had been reading more of his book, and that I thought about him a lot this week. He admitted he had been thinking about me as well. I mentioned how surprised I was that he remembered my name when he came into the ice cream shop a couple of weeks ago. I had never taken any of his classes, and we had never even spoken before. He told me that he very well knew exactly who I was. Reminding that his first year at the school was when I paraded naked in front of the basketball team.

I don’t know if he just wanted to tease me or if this is what he really thought. I knew that he had not been there, but everyone was aware of the event, or at least some version of it. I thought to correct him, that I was not parading, I had been thrown out of my hotel room. But I liked that he had been thinking of me in this way. I started to tell him more of the story, being sure to highlight what he may think are the sexiest parts. Sometimes he would react and briefly touch my leg. As I talked, I discreetly slid my dress up hoping to encourage him. I wanted him to put his hand between my legs.

By the time I told him the whole story he had parked in a mostly empty gravel lot near the beach. I asked if that incident at the hotel amused him, and he confessed it had captured his imagination. No longer driving, he was now focused on me.

“It captured your imagination?”, I asked.

“Yes.”

“Meaning you imagined me naked.”, I accused.

He took a deep breath but said nothing. I awkwardly adjusted myself in the tight space of his car and pulled my dress up over my head and set it between us. Now naked, I asked him if I was everything he imagined.

This started an affair that lasted most of the summer. It was everything I had hoped it could be. My time with John was my first real relationship with a man. What we shared was so far removed from my experiences with the boys from Florida. The fact that we could only sneak away for short interludes only added to the excitement of our dalliances.

For me, it was not just physical. We made a special connection. I think in part because he was married and breaking the rules just to be with me. This helped me feel safe to tell him anything. And I told him everything. Something I had never done before, with anyone.

This was when I learned how truly wonderful it can be to completely share everything about yourself with no fear. I told him about my antics on the golf course, with the garbage men, the boys at school, my wild behavior at the sorority house and so many college parties, how I felt as McDonna, and even how I got an egg stuck inside me. We would spend hours making love and I would tell him my deepest secrets. I reveled in the freedom and joy that comes with completely exposing oneself.

I was now used to pleasing guys. But I had found that it pretty much came down to where they wanted to stick what. I enjoyed this too, but with John I reached new levels. It was not just about John. He made it about me. He seemed to really enjoy listening to my stories while giving me pleasure. I would often just lay back while he appreciated me with his hands and mouth. My stories would be interrupted regularly as he would bring me to orgasm. It was from this that I discovered how much I love for someone to use their fingers to pleasure me. But I had never felt more connected with anyone than when he was inside me. With the weight of him on top of me I would wrap my arms and legs around him hugging his hips tight to me when I knew he was ready. I didn’t want him to pull out. The best of all was feeling him pulsate and explode inside me. After he was finished, I would insist on him staying in while the endorphins still ran through me, and I could feel my contractions. I would ask if he could feel me too. These were the greatest physical experiences I had ever known.

I don’t know if John’s wife ever knew about me, but one day he told me his wife would be taking the kids to her mother’s house in Colorado for a couple of weeks. I told my boss and my parents that I was going to visit one of my sorority sisters in Florida, and I spent those 2 weeks at John’s house. It was a small place, but nice and on a private lot. It felt like we were alone on our own little island. Most mornings I would make him breakfast in bed. He exposed me to an amazing world of literature, often reading to me while I lounged around nude in his backyard hammock. We would make love and I was his muse as he would spend much of the day working on his new novel. We also kept a notebook through our weeks together. We would write out our feelings, ideas, poetry, drawings, and love letters to each other.

John knew how to affect me. One night I wrote in the notebook expressing my conflicts. I was the preacher’s daughter, the promiscuous sorority girl, the elementary education major, and now the mistress. The next day I found, under what I had written, he added another excerpt from ‘Loleeta’. “She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms, she was always Loleeta.”

I dreamed of a life with John, but I knew it was unlikely to ever be more than a summer fling. His wife and kids were due to return, and I knew he would eventually need to focus on his family again. But we never discussed this. It was just an unspoken darkness looming over this magical time.

One day John surprised me with a gift - ben wa balls. I did not know what this was, but soon learned. They were balls that I could put inside me for pleasure. These were somewhat hollow, only filled with small weights that would roll around creating vibrations while I moved and walked. I knew this gift was his way of teasing me about the egg thing. He even added a note pointing out that they came with a string attached for easy removal. I did think this was funny, but also got a great deal of enjoyment out of them. Even in recent years, I have made use of ben wa balls to stimulate me through an otherwise boring day.

One afternoon while I was napping with John in his hammock, he was caressing and admiring my body when he told me that I had so much of life in front of me. And that I would have a much easier time getting over him than he would have getting over me. I knew this was the talk I had been dreading. The time had come.

Before I left, John asked if I would allow him to photograph me nude. I had never knowingly agreed to this before, but the idea excited me. I imagined that he would keep the pictures for himself, hidden from his wife, and one day use them to reminisce many years from now. It seemed so romantic. I wanted to give this to him. And I liked the idea that there would be pictures of me out there in this way, that I would never know who else might one day see and enjoy something of me.

He used a couple of rolls of film while I posed for him in the hammock. The sadness of accepting that our relationship had to end was overwhelming. But I didn’t want to leave such a beautiful thing with negativity. So, I did my best to smile and be charming to leave him with images he could treasure.

I was surprised what posing for these pictures did for me. I felt exceedingly sensual. This was the beginning of my fondness for such pictures. I have taken, or allowed others to take, thousands over the years. And this became something that has always brought me joy.

As much as I had hoped to see the photographs John took, I never did. But he gave me the notebook we created together, and encouraged me to continue writing. The notebook meant a great deal, but what he really gave to me I cannot put into words.

I would read the notebook often in the weeks I spent trying to get over John. One day, as he knew I would, I read the last thing he wrote in the book. Of course, it was a quote from ‘Loleeta’.

“Human life is but a series of footnotes to a vast obscure unfinished masterpiece.”
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I have included a photograph of me from that year.