Lolita's Art

Sometimes, you see art in the personals:

Reply to: XXX@XXX.org


I first read Lolita when I was 13. Lo' herself never intrigued me much. Plain, immature, cornered. "A most exasperating brat."

Rather, I was more overwhelmed by the intense, obsessive, unreliable internal narrative of dear Humbert.

"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta..."

Lo-lee-ta... That delicate pet name for a person, a child, a body, an image that was never really real.

At 13 I thought to myself "I want to be her. Lo-lee-ta."

It's true that's I'm Lo in the morning, standing five foot four in one sock. I'm Lola in slacks (which are difficult to find such that they accommodate my ample bottom while fitting my tiny waist). I'm Dolly at school and Dolores on the dotted line.

I suppose I must break from this little monologue of mine and explain how I want to be Lo-lee-ta to *you*. Humbert. My Humbert. Lolita in your arms.

I have absolutely no interest in looking at pictures of your manhood. I have absolutely no interest in a message that contains a description of your manhood.

You have only words to play with!