The Queen of Venice

This story has never been documented in words, recited in verses or shared in speech to any person living or dead whosoever, just because of the sheer sexual nature of the content in it. Readers discretion advised.

Around two years ago, I started writing a novel, just to let my imagination flow, and I used to publish it on my blog, chapter by chapter. Having been a widely unread blogger for over one year, it was my first-and-the-last attempt to tell to the world that it's not that I blog because I'm idle, but because I love writing and can make you engrossed in a story.

After finishing the novel, experiencing over 5000 hits and 250 comments within one month, I was at my life's most enchanting period - the period of utmost creative joy. It was during that time that this girl with the profile-name 'queenofvenice' visited my blog and read my entire work. But unlike others, she had a different take on it - completely different.

'Your work was like-able but I hated you totally. If there was the word slut for a man, you would be that. I wonder how could people give you so much attention.'

I was thoroughly entertained and a little bit confused. I liked being called a 'man-slut'. It was the rarest of compliments that one could have ever received in life. Not that I loved it for the very feel of it but it actually gave me a better opinion of myself, as far as women were concerned. That was so because my experience in this field was painfully limited.

Did she confuse me with any of the characters, or has my presence as a writer been so insipid? I showed it to my friends, one of them got outraged and started typing rubbish, when I stopped and asked him to let me reply.

I began, 'Thank you. It was a pleasure getting attention from you. I didn't know that I could ever be complimented for such a cause. Thanks again.'

Within an hour, she replied, 'I was not giving you attention! I was just letting you know what your status is.'

'I can't understand the reason behind the immense hatred in you. If it's my novel that's the reason, let me remind you that everything there is fictitious.' I immediately replied.

'And I would not like being called a slut in public, so shoot each of your anger-shots at me at the given id - harsh@gmail.com.' I turned flirtatious. Her audacity being the reason for my audacity.

A moment later, queenofvenice@gmail.com sent me an add request. As always, being a god-gifted wimp, I couldn't dare to start the chat. She took the initiative.

queenofvenice: It's 2 o' clock at night. I'm not too fond of talking to guys at night, and more so your kind - tch tch.

me: Neither am I. I never talk to guys, especially at this time.

'Thank God, for giving me a sense of humour.' I thought.

queenofvenice: You asshole! What do you think you're?

I felt insulted. I wanted to block her then and forever. But I was new to attention and I liked it. However, my self-respect asked my timid self to rebel. I could not tolerate the bull-shit.

me: Wait a minute. Who the fuck are you?

I was suspicious that this would be a gag that one of my hostel-friends would be playing with me, at the middle of the night.

queenofvenice: I'm a hardcore feminist. And I'm against every person who considers woman as a sex-object.

The doubt that the Queen of Venice might be residing in my hostel almost faded. My worldly hostel-friends would never have tried to act as feminists in their entire life, not even for a gag's sake, leave alone being a hardcore one. I tried to search her id on social networking websites, and ultimately I could find her on Orkut. Yes, those were the days of Orkut. Her name was Shambhavi and she seemed to be pretty. Another reason to talk. I read the conversation once again.

me: Wait a minute. Where have I talked about women as sex-objects in my novel?

queenofvenice: You've not but your feelings were visible all throughout your piece of shit.

me(sarcastically): Oh really, then what made you lick that piece of shit in its entirety?

queenofvenice: You wrote it well. Engrossing, but full of shit.

me: So, you like shit?

queenofvenice: I hate asses, like you!

Curious!

me: Who're you? I mean where are you from, what do you do?

queenofvenice: I'm Shambhavi, from Stephen's. I kick asses of asses.

me: That's a good way to contribute to the society. BTW, nice name.

I was flirting outrageously for the second time in my life. The first time was when I was seven, when I received a tight slap on my cheek in reciprocation which eventually made me a wimp.

queenofvenice: Indeed. So, how many people have you slept with?

Shocker! Totally unexpected question! I got a little frenzied.

me: Is it a part of your hardcore feminist survey?

queenofvenice: No, it isn't. Answer me.

I thought of playing a gimmick.

me: Ummm...one...two....three...four-five...umm....in total 24.

queenofvenice: Bloody slut! I knew you would be so. When did you lose it?

me(trying to act innocent): What are you talking about?

queenofvenice: Your stupid mind, you sucker.

Pretty brash, I must say. But pretty different. Plus, two pretty eyes were icing on the cake. How could I not take her abuses? A moment of flirtation, a quantum leap of satisfaction.

It took me a while to think of the most imperfect age to lose 'it'.

me: I lost that, when I was...17.

queenofvenice: To whom?

me: To JEE! :P

queenofvenice: Asshole. Would you like to meet me?

Now that was weird. Firstly, she hates me. Secondly, she abuses me. Thirdly, she wants to meet me. I was dead nervous. She seemed to be one of 'those' kinds, if you get 'bonded' to what I mean.

me: Not now. I'm sleepy.

queenofvenice: Tomorrow?

me: But why? I mean why do you want to meet me? You hate me. You are a hardcore feminist and as you've realized, I am a misogynist. And lastly, you think that I'm a slut.

queenofvenice: That's why.

me: You're acting like one.

queenofvenice: I'm not. I'm not acting.

I read the last line twice. My jaws fell down and my eyes were transfixed to the computer screen. I was shivering. I couldn't reply.

queenofvenice: Check out my pictures. [hyperlink]

I clicked on the hyperlink. Her pictures opened. They were equally brash as her talks had been. I was scandalized.

queenofvenice: How do you find them?

I could not type. I was too dumbstruck to read what she was saying.

queenofvenice: Do you like them?

Still, I couldn't type a word.

me(unconsciously): They were good.

When I saw what I wrote, I lost my mind. This was so not me. I couldn't believe I could get swayed away by all that non-sense.

me(back to senses): Who am I kidding? They were complete shit.

queenofvenice: Now don't use my method of seduction.

me: Fuck off!

queenofvenice: Wait a minute. Who the fuck are you to say that to me?

I had no answer. I thought for a moment. Who am I? I got the answer.

me: I'm a hardcore feminist. And I'm against every person who considers woman as a sex-object.

And thus, I used the block feature of google talk for the first and the last time.

P.S. Thanks for reading. Comments would be welcome.