Sparing Layla's Virginity
I CAN control myself. I DO have agency. I AM a good person.
For the first several months Layla was just an online fan. She’s a writer, too, with a sizable following online because she was a talented fiction writer and also a really hot girl who posted pictures of herself constantly. Luckily for me she really enjoyed Worst Boyfriend Ever.
Back in California she messaged me saying she’d give me the “sloppiest head of my life” when I got to Florida. Okay great.
By the time I reached Texas she deleted her account.
I emailed her, got her number, called her, asked her why. She said she’s sick of performing. Yeah same. Learned a lot of interesting things. She’s 19. She’s a virgin. She’s a shut in. She’s afraid of everything. She doesn’t know what to write about any more. I’ll give you something to write about.
One month later I’m in Florida. She lives in Augustville. She’s got cold feet now that I’m close. She says I’m afraid “if we meet then I’ll fuck you, and I’ll legit fall in love with you.”
Sadly I am addicted to making girls fall in love with me. But I never force it. So I drove down to Miami instead. Give her more time to think.
Miami happened. Did a lot of coke. Wrote a fun story about it.
Driving North. One more stop: Orlando.
In Orlando I met up with another Substack blogger of comparable fame named Bart.
Bart said he’d love to buy me a drink and ask me about the blog. I like making friends who write and I thought it might be Fun so I agreed to meet up.
Bart’s motives for meeting were not as childish as mine. I did not realize this until days later, but in retrospect his motives for meeting were to:
1. Farm me for content so that he could write a paywalled post about “Meeting The Worst Boyfriend Ever” and seduce readers into giving him $5 and hoping they forget about their monthly recurring charge,
2. Take a picture of my license plate so that he could threaten me against taking Layla’s virginity up in Augustville.
I was conflicted. I was in Augustville. I told Layla I’m at this cafe, and she can come meet me if she likes. She was being bombarded with texts from Bart all day, begging her not to meet me,
Bart messaged me too, saying: “If you take Layla’s virginity we will go to war.” Jesus dude, what is this a Victorian romance novel?
He’s got a lot of resources and he hasn’t felt the touch of a woman in a very long time and he’s not an idiot so I am genuinely a little afraid he could cause serious problems for me if I go through with this.
I tell Layla this is your last chance. I don’t even want to fuck you now I just want to meet you to spite Bart—to prove to him that I can control myself, I’m not a monster I don’t fuck every girl I meet, I can have friends.
She says OK and she meets me tomorrow.
It’s tomorrow, a Sunday morning, I’m in a busy Albanian cafe colored and decorated like the set of Friends, it was called “Coffee House Cafe…” I take a little too much adderall and write manically ‘till Noon when Layla shows up in front of me.
She’s stunning. I’m nervous. I tell her that I’m nervous. Her face is strikingly different in person than it was online. We get so caught up in these 2D images of each other we forget that in person everything is different.
Layla had it all… she moved gracefully and spoke quietly and smelled perfectly and her eyes were for lack of a better word hypnotic.
She is 19 years old. I relocate us from a little round table to a big soft couch.
She’s wearing a thin baby blue short sleeve dress shirt with the top button undone and it’s tucked in to a terribly short jean skirt. How did she know I love skirts. She’s wearing dirty white converse but her hair and her face and everything about her is just so perfectly clean.
I tell her it will take me about 20 minutes to become comfortable with you.
I’m scrambling—I pull out the Manuscript of Worst Boyfriend Ever so we have something to focus on besides my trembling hands. She does the same, she hands me a fresh copy of Albert Camus’ The Stranger and I deliver a less than earnest Thank You in return.. I tried to read that book a few years ago when I was more of a Poser but I will try again for her.
Layla was more afraid of me than I was of her, for about 4 minutes until she realized I was Good and I realized she realized this and so we became physically acclimated to one another and began to act like long-time lovers right there in public on this couch in the cafe.
Albanian families eyed us with curiosity and maybe a bit of jealousy. We were on display because she was so fucking hot, her long white thighs exposed and tempting me and cuddling up to me like we were alone in an apartment– at one point I smelled her hair at the top of her head and some blood rushed south into my loins. I covered the area with my sweater.
She said I’m very good looking and I tried to argue against it, I hate when people tell me that, in my head all my romantic success is a result of my shining personality. Layla was so much more of a person than I was at 19– she had her problems sure but at least she knew what they were… it took me so many years…
I’m not going to fuck you. We’re not going to have sex. I’m not going to take your virginity. I’m saying these things and she’s agreeing but oh my god my retarded addict brain chewed half a Cialis earlier and it is getting so much harder to think logically…
Bart was right. He actually called me a few days before– he said “if you meet up with her you are definitely going to have sex with her and write about it and ruin her life. And I will ruin yours. I will ruin your reputation and come after you in real life and trust me you do not want me as an enemy.” He spoke at 1.5x speed as always.
Okay first off, dude, you cannot “ruin my reputation.” It’s clear you have not been reading the blog… Ruining my Reputation is all I do. 1
Layla and I were getting a little too touchy-feely in the cafe so I suggested we go see a movie. We were both caked in sweat (it’s Florida) but it felt so good to be with a beautiful creature who loved you that neither of us really cared.
I thought we could go see a movie and at least be in a dark air-conditioned place with some semblance of privacy. Do some more heavy petting in a more comfortable venue.
Instead we just did it in the hot Astro Van, as always. I bought a little fan recently but it’s not enough. We couldn’t help ourselves but start making out in the van… neither of our brains wanted to have sex, because of the consequences, but both of our bodies were screaming out angrily for release. It was a type of edging I’m sure they had a word for back in the day when losing your virginity actually meant something, I was hard and she was probably wet but I wouldn’t dare reach down there to know, we’re in a heavily trafficked parking lot and I’m not going to fuck her, I’m not going to fuck her, nothing is going to happen I’m not going to take her virginity i’m not going to fuck her,
Eventually it’s just too hot so I conjure the strength to google search Movie Theaters Near Me and drive her over there so we can stop being in the van… so we drive and she strokes my hair and my back and I’m getting hard again in the front seat and this is the best I have felt physically-emotionally in a very long time, still my brain is racked with fear, I am taking Bart’s threats very seriously and so is she…
We get to the IMAX theater parking lot and it’s big wide open and completely empty. It’s a Sunday in Augustville.
She asks me if I “believe in God.” I say “0% no.” I don’t believe in God. I believe I am God.
So with that in mind I decide not to take her into the movie theater but to just park under the shade of an oak tree and climb into the back of the van.
I turn the car on to blow AC at our bodies and our sweat evaporates instantly. I put the window blinds up and swear that nothing’s going to happen and she only half-believes me. She wants me so bad… I just want this aching pain in my balls to go away.
We do a lot of kissing and she gets some scary texts from Bart bemoaning her lack of reply and I check my phone to make sure he hasn’t sent someone to kill me and Great he hasn’t so we just keep going…
I’ve been really hard for a really long time and my brain is clouded and her hair is all messed up and oops now my shirt is off but I wouldn’t dare expose her… she said all she’s ever done is “over the clothes” and I’m trying hard not to tread any new ground here/leave her with a new kind of scar, but still she has chosen to straddle me and kiss me on the lips, and before I know it my hand is magnetically drawn to her breast which is more than enough for me and I’ve flipped her onto her back I am on top of her now staring down at her and the most reptile corner of my brain compels me to hold her down in missionary and start dry humping her…
Her clothes are still on, my shorts are still on but we are moaning in chorus, I am fucking with enthusiasm now and she is undoubtedly feeling the pressure of my hard dick rubbing up against her hard jean-skirt, my hand stays attached to her breast and my lips suck hers and I start to let out those girly boyish moans I always make when I’m finally about to cum—she has no idea—she’s moaning too and I don’t think it’s conscious, my eyes open and close I bury my face in hers and suddenly I am cumming into my soft gym shorts grinding on top of her staring down at her and we are not having sex.
I came and she has no idea. Her virginity is preserved. I get that incredible blast of endorphins and she doesn’t exactly know why–she’s unfamiliar with the epic drama that unfolds in the male brain over the course of a few minutes each time he cums: first he needs you more than life itself and then he finally has you and its the best moment of his life and then he’s satisfied he rolls over and now he doesn’t need you at all. He can barely remember your name, now he’s hungry and it’s time to go to work, now he’s stroking your legs and thighs not for himself but for you, and he can feel that he’s doing this so he feels bad but also he knows it would feel so much worse to just get up and leave.
It made me laugh that she didn’t know. I’m doing a good thing giving these girls free sexual education. See now I’m not focused on Layla any more I’m focused on These Girls, because I came, and what’s next. What’s next is I showed her the sticky mess in my pants and she said “that makes me happy” and I believed her.
She begs me to leave a hickey and I start to do it but then I stop… this never happened. I mean it. We make out some more and she rips the window curtain open… what are you doing… this never happened. I know she wants others to know, she wants someone to see her with me, this is very bad for me because Bart said he would come after me in a dangerous way if I fuck this girl and well to be honest I kind of did, and she seems to be really intent on telling someone, anyone…
Three days ago I told Bart: I will not fuck her. I will not take her virginity. And I held my promise. I did not fuck her. She is still a virgin.
We kissed much more and then I dropped her off so she could attend a concert with her Mom. I gave her a multicolored blouse I picked up in Gainesville.
I felt a bit awful ushering her back into her sedan and driving away.
She understands why I have to do it though. If I stuck around I would actually take her virginity, I would have unprotected penetrative sex with her and she would get pregnant and she would keep it. And then Bart would find me and kill me and rape my bastard child. And that would be the end of Worst Boyfriend Ever.
But she loves the work, which is why she met up with me in the first place, and as we all know, the show must go on, so she promises to keep it a secret, and so do I… but the show must go on. The show must go on.
he said he would “ruin my reputation…” That’s impossible… do you want a quick run-down of the past few months of my life?
I was writing a blog about cheating on my long-term girlfriend, as I was doing it, and she found out about it but I gaslit her into thinking it was Fiction, and I kept writing it… until I reached a breaking point and got in a van and Drove Away.. and then I started fucking the readers of the blog in my van and writing about them… and I lied to some of them and said I wouldn’t, and I took this one girls’ virginity and used it as marketing, and her brother saw the blog but I published it anyway…
and one of the stories about a completely different girl is called My First Rape and you can read about that one yourself–that girl actually had a boyfriend at the time and they lived together and he found the blog after I drove away and he sent it to everyone I know and he got me banned from my past life and still to this day 5 months later he won’t stop posting an uglified augmented version of my face everywhere with my phone number and everything…
Bart how can you ruin my reputation? The person I used to be no longer exists… I have no address Bartholomew… I have absolutely nothing left to lose but my life. All my former friends hate me, this fat cuck Elijah probably sent my blog to my former place of work, he lives to attack me through the screen… if you want to keep this Floridian virgin bride miserable and repressed for yourself for years from 2 hours away then be my guest but I have no reputation left to lose… the people who read this are not my friends, they do not support me, they’re just enjoying the dumpster fire on wheels whenever I conjure up the guts to share a new story, the only way you can really hurt me Bart is if you send some guys to smash in my van or just fucking kill me.
Remember, you can always stop being a degenerate coomer at any time. All you have to do is stop being a coomer.
Don't worry about Bart, he won't trouble you much once I roll up to his crib and press him on why he blocked me a year ago for nothing more than a civil response to one of his posts. I keep that thang on me, so to speak.