Do I want to fuck her?

That was quite a day. I almost forgot I had to attend a lesson at university. Then I almost forgot someone had to do a presentation during that lesson. And I also almost forgot it was the blonde Milena who was doing the presentation.

It's ten past two when I arrive in the classroom, and she has already started. She wears a grey dress, black skin-tights and yellow heels. I sit on the nearest chair and I realize she also wears a necklace, a watch and a bracelet. She's tall, she's blonde, she's from Poland and she speaks to us about Christian Dior's communication policy.
She uses Powerpoint to back her speaking. Grey slides follow one another and I can't take my eyes off her. The way she says "python bag" and "crocodile skin" is cold and sexy. She got her hair streaked and it definitely suits her. I really want to fuck her at this precise moment.

But then she doesn't look at me when she hands me the company's catalogue. A real step backwards. Even the price booklet smells like Christian Dior's Midnight Poison, and I feel I'm about to commit a crime. The crisis passes on and her voice tames me once again.
"You've probably heard of John Galliano and Kriss von Asche, she says. They both worked for Christian Dior." I don't want to hear that shit, it makes me ashamed to be myself. Plus she really sounds posh when she says that and I'm scared of posh girls.

"We import stuff from Milan, Berlin and also from Dubai", she adds. "Would you go there with me?", I ask her silently. Probably if I was John fucking Galliano. Fame and money, that's all you care for, isn't it, bitch? I keep all that for myself and she moves on to another topic. "The company offers cocktails and gives private parties, she says. All the staff is welcome to join. It's important to make the employees feel like they're part of a team." So she's really posh, then. I can visualize her strinding along the 2nd floor of some parisian private hotel, holding a glass of champagne and ignoring the guys who stare at her. I don't want to fuck her anymore.

The presentation comes to and end. She gives us a last piece of information. "Did you know Christian Dior invented the scissors for left-handers?" Mr Teacher knew. We didn't. We were too obsessed by her to really listen to anything she said. When it's all finished, Mr Teacher claps his hands and invites us to do the same.
Then he asks us if we have something to ask. I raise my hand and say: "Sorry, Milena, I'm afraid my question is totally irrelevant. But can I still ask it?"
She looks embarrased. Everybody stares at me. But she gives me her permission, and so I ask: "Do I want to fuck you?"

Sex and exploration

I will come here with the first serious new theory of the 21th century: you can't know a girl unless you fucked her.

You can fuck a girl and still not know her, but it is nevertheless a prerequisite. All that will or has been said against it is irrelevant, and can from now on be classified along with the other eunuch fantasies such as platonic love and lustless friendship. All this nonsense has been invented by girls who, out of remorse, wanted to help guys they didn't fancy to get over their disappointment. It's been taken over by overshy or overugly chaps who never could get their hand on a girl and still wanted to have their say on the matter.

But the time has come to face the truth. Your ex-girlfriends and your current one are the only females you really know. Your mother will always be mystery to you and only your father can give you clues to understand why she drinks whisky after work or cries in front of a dead dog. The case of your sister is no different, and you just have to focuse on feeding the sexual repression process to keep yourself out of trouble.

Just consider the true meaning of the syntagm "Women I've known" (like when your father tells you: "out of all the women I've known, your mother is the worse in bed"). The verb "to know" here is only commutable with the verb "to fuck". But it's even more subtle than that. "To know" in this context includes the whole process of exploration, which necessarily contains (but is not limited to) the "fuck" part.

Philosophy, as often, offers a back-up to linguistics. The concept of intimacy rests on the non-separability of the human being who is at all times body and soul. Michel Foucault reminds us in his masterpiece "Surveiller et punir" that torture in the Middle-age, and long after that, aimed at purging the soul by inflicting pain to the body.
The body is a tunnel that leads to the soul and there are no spiritual experiences which aren't based on softing (or hardening) the bony part of yourself to make way for the immaterial. Whether it is silence or starvation, reclusion or mass-gathering, all religions set down-to-the-ground rules to make the magic happen.

The exploration of woman is no different from the quest for God: it's beautiful and vain, and it implies a bidimensional approach.