The Greatest Lover of Last Tuesday

Now that you, the reader, have been forewarned that mine is a character not without defects, and now that I have achieved the dubious status of octogenarian, I, Alberto Camelo, have decided to continue unloading my memory in order to let the world know how it was that I overcame my flaws to become the greatest lover of this or any other century.

I did not take this decision lightly knowing full well that there are many who will dispute my claim. Being entirely aware of the storm that my declaration was bound to precipitate, I waited until I was eighty recognizing that, if the heat of the uproar became too great, my advanced age coupled with an active libido would ensure that I was soon cooling my ardour in a hotter place. I also considered the decision carefully because, as the saying goes, there is no fool like an old fool.

When I told my neighbour, Adriana, of my intent she cackled like an ancient whore and said, "You forget, old man, that I have known you for the better part of our two lives and that we once feasted together on Passion Mountain. If my memory is not riding a lame horse the feast turned out to be a snack with damp crackers and stale cheese. Perhaps you are the greatest lover of last Tuesday."

I chose to ignore this unkind remark attributing it to the emotion of jealousy which Adriana had surely experienced in large quantity long ago when I opted to bestow my affection on another who had exhibited a more delicate and less brassy nature.

Throughout these pages, the reader will observe that Adriana is more than happy to speak at length concerning the deficiencies she sees in both my appearance and my temperament. I do not deny any of these imperfections although they caused my pursuit of love to be a complex undertaking, similar to completing a doctorate without a research grant. Generally, I avoided the issue of my looks and personality by not requiring my partners to have the type of beauty that my male colleagues seem to think is necessary to achieve an orgasmic experience. Most of them spend their time chasing women instead of pursuing love which is a little like eating the corn flakes box for breakfast.