019 her skin untouched by time

I was putting out the rubbish when a loud giggle caused me to look up, as fate would have it, at that precise moment, the fleeting sun came out from behind miserable clouds and bounced off of her stainless braces like Cupids arrow, shooting straight through my eye and plunging into my heart. She was struggling haphazardly down the path with four blue and white Tesco bags, tangled between legs as supple as green branches. I vaulted over the wall before she had gone another inch. Oh¦ the sheer frissons of excitement as I slipped my hand around her forearm, the guilty pleasure of new skin, just underneath her hoodie. Licking my lips in barely concealed desire, I imagined the tiny blue veins that scatter the back of her angelic hand, coursing up her outer arm to her soft elbow. Keeping my eyes straight ahead was a monumental effort, but one glimpse of those grazed knees, or heaven forbid the downy hair of her thighs, and I would have fallen at her feet, there and then - a shock like that might have ended things before they even started - but there was no doubt, I had fallen in love¦ again.

From the age of 15 I knew I was different. Whilst my friends grew out of their crushes on Trish from Grange hill, I still secretly stroked her schoolgirl face, stuck on the inside of my wardrobe. By the time I was 19, I had taken to hanging outside the local Comprehensive, with my revved up Fiesta attracting admired giggles and offers of sticky lollies from Britney Spears look-a-likes. And as I turned 30 I found myself hopelessly attracted to Rosa Martin, my 13'year-old next-door neighbour, with her scuffed knees and chewed fingernails¦ and those eyes, dancing in summer skies, sweeping eyelashes grazing apple-sweet cheeks, framed by un-plucked eyebrows over smooth lemon lids, unsullied.

Painted girls fast forward time, and turn me off.

Take my first love, I was 21, and I sort of hoped it would cleanse me, take away the itch ' what do they say about scratching an itch. She was 15, my boss's daughter at Hendon and Wise Solicitors, on a work experience placement. I, the mere office boy, used to bring her milkshakes, with chips, but I think it was the apple-pie that finally did it, she looked at me differently after that. I loved the way she tucked her red hair laced with gold behind her ears, revealing her pale neck, my fingers itching to trace the firm and unlined skin. Standing close to her, heat would rise in my cheeks as I traced the outline of her breasts defying gravity. I imagined the rounded belly and sprouting pubes, praying fervently that there was no piercing nestling under her Gap jeans.

It happened in the stationery cupboard, the day she turned 16 ' we volunteered to stay late for stock keeping, her mum went shopping. Up close, she took my breath away, I lay her on foam packaging, and removed her clothes, her skin untouched by time ' the milky paleness of her thighs, covered in soft down was a delightful surprise, and the hockey bruise on her left shin, nearly caused a premature ejaculation¦ Then I fell out of love with her. The hair dye I just about coped with, but the heavy make-up and 12 piercings were the final straw, she began to resemble every body and no body ' she ironed out all that made her, her. She did it for me, she said, so I wouldn't leave her, I pointed out the irony, she wept. I left.

Then there was Catherine ' we had two wonderful years, but when she hit seventeen she changed, urchin cut¦ then black eyeliner and stilettos ¦ We parted, friends, she found a boy her own age, he said she was a goddess and he would happily die in her caress. I went to their wedding. After that, a series of near misses; I had some happy times at Ridgmont youth club, but I had to leave¦ staff were getting suspicious¦ girls like to boast. I am not a rapist, I never force a girl to be mine, I never force a girl to do anything she does not want to¦ I guide, I teach, I love¦ is that so wrong?

But Rosa, oh Rosa, we became such good friends, my place an escape from her four meaty brothers and a mother who treated her as an unpaid skivvy and babysitter. She tried to kiss me, on the lips, her mouth open, and it took all my energy to resist. Not that I didn't want to, but I think she was mistaking romantic love for paternal, I needed to bide my time, I needed to wait until she came to me in the night and slipped under my covers, I gave her a key, she asked me if I slept in the nude, I said yes and she giggled. I used to lie in bed every night, hoping she would come, wake me from my slumber with sweet-breathed kisses and clumsy caresses. I wanted to cherish her, keep her safe; I worshipped every single inch of her. I would have taken such good care of her¦ I would have helped her with her homework, I would have stretched her small-town mind, I wanted set her free and reveal to her the power of her body¦ and when she was fully grown, maybe this time I would have stayed¦ maybe this time I would have scratched the itch once for all.

The Psychologist looks up. She smiles tightly and her lipstick bleeds into the lines around her mouth. I know I haven't written what she wants, I haven't shown remorse of guilt, but I don't have any to feel. My girlfriends have always loved me, there have never been frightened of me, it is me that breaks their hearts, as the grow older I fall out of love, even Rosa¦ my Rosa, my reason for being here¦ she writes every week¦ pretending to be my aunt, she says she is waiting for me, she will be 15 next week.

She ran away from home after her mother called the police¦ but I told her to go back, she says she is leaving as soon as she is 16. I tell her that is her choice, I tell her to find a boyfriend her own age, she tells me she has always liked older men, she says she is deviant just like me, she says she has a crush on Samuel L Jackson, I think I might be too young for her soon. I wait for the psychologist to speak, I continue to smile¦ If I ever want to get out of here I am going to have to become the type of person I abhor most of all¦ a liar.