As a teenager I dreamed of encountering a nymphomaniac. I had read about them and everything I read was encouraging. Insatiable desire for sex? Desire for petting, pushing, twisting, and tweaking? Don’t mind if I do…As it happened, I never did.
Having gotten well past the teenage years – no more pimples or emotional storms – I have come to a safe haven of sensibility. It is dry and warm and slightly boring. I do have faint hopes that I will be old enough to have a second childhood, and am laying up toy cars as fast as I can in anticipation. What I cannot be sure about is whether I get to have a second adolescence – and whether I really want one. The nymphomaniac doesn’t sound all that appealing these days, unless she can cook and clean and go to sleep by 11:00 PM.
What I really want is a spendomaniac. Specifically a spendomaniac who has a large independent income and is determined to expend it upon my comforts. I would not be fussy about her appearance – anything roughly serviceable is fine. Nor about her tastes in food, drink, clothing, or entertainments – as long as she was delighted to traipse through the shops I want to go through and has a belt-fed credit card on a hydraulic pintle and is prepared to engage the sales assistants in a firefight.
I should not be excessive in demands – after all I did mention the sensible haven of age. But I would like to be able to go for the good goodies without feeling nervous about the bank balance. And if these purchases gave her pleasure, well, who am I to deny that comfort.
Should I advertise? On the internet? With attractive photos of myself in artful poses? How far down the line in advertisement will I need to go to get a result? GQ? Esquire? Women’s Weekly? Gumtree?
At least this time round I will be able to choose my own clothing. The last adolescence was outfitted at Hudsons Bay and Sears sales and never got to the point where I was fit to be seen in a strong light. Fortunately there are few images of the period so I think I got away with it.