I experienced for a moment with a New Haven girl the power over women that a Yale Man has. We went to East Rock Park. I doubt she would have gone with me if I had not been a Yale Man.
The moment was generated by the sensation I had taking her in my arms. It was the first time I ever felt lust with a woman. I had had the feeling of lust when I was cross dressing in secret and had my first orgasm. But with this woman I felt lust equal to that and was equally stymied by unsuitability of it. My first instinct was to say to her, "I love to feel you!" hoping she would open herself to equal lust herself. She didn't. She was struck by my virginity as if it was laughable, and that's just what she did. She laughed almost uproariously. It wasn't true virginity as I had copulated before, but once it was without attraction to the girl and the other time it was phobic to intercourse, for the sake of nominal virginity. This New Haven girl, of course, knew nothing of my history, but what was laughable about my behavior I cannot fathom. She probably was not aroused at all and my expression of feelings plainly declared that I was, and this inequality she took as some bizarre type of social advantage, and used that advantage to exult over my gullibility that she would be responsive. The words I said stand as a monument to the cruelty of people, for though her expression of advantage seems to me bizarre, to her it bespoke totally a presumption of due ridicule. She was laughing into her crowd, her social circle, while I spoke into the history books, for such is the nature of my published writings. My lust is empowering, and I never make excuses for it. If Yale taught me anything, it is that social circles are best left behind one as he sets out on a quest for eternal significance. Let the circles feel the effects in peculiar or distant ways, as is their need. I have a sense of the beautiful, or I would never have gotten this far, and it serves as a light on my products, hinting at the existence of some or other place where others, not just myself, will welcome them. It is not the complete product, but it counts. I think there is something beautiful in the story of the New Haven girl who laughed. It didn't lessen my lust. It served notice that lust for me is always close at hand, at which there will always be those who laugh. It could be worse, and in fact, in places it is. Other stories append there. Read the autobiography. The name of the New Haven girl of this story is Cindy Koval.