Ernesto brushed his teeth with extra vigour that day, then he scraped his tongue. He combed his hair, cut his nails and then put on his best clothes. This was his big day. He was sure of it. Today, after four years, the beautiful love story of Ernesto and Ruth would finally get its happy ending. There really should be a rousing soundtrack for a kiss that, were they TV characters, the fans would have waited years for. They'd been friends since they had met as college freshmen. Now graduation day was approaching, what could be a more stunning, more appropriate conclusion to the tale?

She'd turned him down once or twice, but everyone knew that persistence was sometimes required to get the girl. Love would find a way in the end. It always did.

Starbucks was crowded, even for a Saturday. Ernest arrived first and grabbed a table, then ordered two drinks and a packet of chocolate coins for Ruth. Five minutes after the appointed time, his face lit up as the door opened, and she bustled in.

Ah, that shoulder-length, blonde hair and those beautiful blue eyes! Those round, blossoming cheeks, pink in the winter cold. She was so elegant in that coat. He rather thought she had dressed up for him.

"Hey, Ernest!"

"Hi!"

"Sorry, I'm late."

"No problem."

"To be honest, I wasn't coming from home. I...stayed at Marco's last night."

Ernest froze. His heart rate rose to beat until it was thumping as hard as he had ever known it to. As he took in her news, a vague feeling of nausea grew in his stomach. If she had been a doctor delivering the dread sentence of death, her words could not have pierced him more. He knew he had to master himself, so he swallowed hard, took a deep breath and said,

"Oh? So how was it?"

"Uffff," she said, "Vigorous. That guy has got stamina, eh? We tumbled about the bed...."

Ernest tuned out briefly. In his mind's eye, Ruth had tumbled about in his bed almost nightly. He had beaten himself sore over her svelte thighs and curvaceous breasts. Ruth continued,

"He pissed me off at the end, though."

"Oh?" said Ernest hopefully.

"Yeah, he..." she leaned in and whispered confidentially, "came in my mouth without asking."

"Ewww, gross!" was what he said.

But what he thought was, 'I would never have done that, sweetheart. I'd have spent every minute on your pleasure and, when the time came, I'd have lovingly planted our baby inside you.'

"I don't mind swallowing occasionally, but you should always check with a girl."

Ernest's eyes were damp suddenly.

"Are you trying to hurt me, Ruth?"

Ruth frowned, looked away, then said firmly,

"Ernest, don't. Alright. Just don't go there again. I like you as a friend, we've been over this. I told you about last night partly because you need to accept that we're not going to happen."

"Ruth, I..."

"Ernest, the topic is closed, permanently."

"Will you at least tell me why?"

Ruth took a deep breath and, apparently deciding she had better be straight with him, said,

"It's your insecurity. You walk around with no self-belief at all. Even now, your shoulders are slumped. Those baggy clothes you wear. You speak so quickly and so quietly. And you seem to think that being with me is the end game. That's not how you get a girl, Ernest. You have to be the prospect then the girl will come to you!"

Ernest looked around the room as if for support, and then he dug deep for a retort or a denial. None came.

"Do you have anything planned for this evening?" Ruth asked, bidding to change the subject. Ernest shrugged.

The truth was he had planned to be spending the night in bed with her, caressing her breasts, planting sweet kisses on her soft white belly and making her scream with pleasure on his cock.

"Seeing Marco?" he asked, practically swallowing his words, so quietly did they emerge.

"Yes. That reminds me. I need to pick up some more condoms."

"Ruth, please don't rub it in. Can't you give me that?"

"The kindest thing for me to do is be honest with you, Ernest. I think this coffee date is over. I guess I'll see you in the lectures. Have a good weekend, ok?"

Ernest said nothing. He just nodded to acknowledge her as she left.

He walked around the city for hours that day, her words about him ringing in his ear. What she had said about his insecurities had, at least, pushed the image of her doing sexual gymnastics with another man out of his head.

Bad posture? Bad clothes? Bad voice? The others were maybe fair, but that was harsh. And then, he looked down at his clothes and, at last, saw himself as others saw him. His shoulders were hunched, his shirt hanging loose upon him. He was a pathetic specimen.

Ernest cried himself to sleep that night. Awakening deep into the night, he thought about what was going on at Marco's place. Was she on her back? Was she on her hands and knees, mounted like a horse and taking it from behind? Did Marco have a big dick? Or was it in her mouth? Or was she just lying naked in his arms, sharing the intimacy Ernest thought was his by right?

In some ways, that would hurt him the most of all.

Jesus, Ernesto, stop torturing yourself, man, he told himself. She told you what was wrong. To win her back, you are going to have to do something about it. Do something! That was it! Don't lie around crying like a child, be a man, get up and fix the problems! Yes! He had to change!

He almost capered around the room, like a sexual Scrooge who had resolved to reform his character. Perhaps she would come to him. Perhaps she wouldn't. But it would be an adventure to try.

The next day, he texted Ruth to thank her for her candour. And then, Ernest went shopping. He bought a new cologne. He refitted his wardrobe, making sure everything he bought was a tight fit. And he spent more than fifty Euros on self-help books for men. There were volumes on general confidence, but also books on seduction and lay guides from the pick-up-artist community. It was the first day of the rest of his life.

*

Stephanie was from France, on holiday with her family in Spain. Ernest had learned this from her brother, Jean-Paul, whom he had struck up a conversation with on the beach.

One of the first pieces of advice he'd attempted to take was, "Strike up conversations with ten strangers a day."

The two guys joked and joshed and played volleyball while Stephanie swam in the sea. Ernest wondered what Jean-Paul would think if he knew that Ernest was running game, and his target was Stephanie.

"Win over the men around her first before you make any attempt at seduction!" the pickup artist had advised,

"The men are potential obstacles to seduction even if they are not in a relationship!" Ernest had learned the term 'cockblocking' for the first time.

After a while, Stephanie emerged from the sea. Her brother only glanced in her direction, but Ernest was practically staring. He watched her wring her sopping wet, dirty blonde curly hair. Her bikini was tight and emerald blue and left little to the imagination. Sunlight glittered on the droplets of water on her skin. She smiled at the boys as she towelled herself nearby.

Let's see, what were the steps? One, focus on the men. When you have their trust, isolate the target. Escalate physical touch. Give her backhanded compliments...what was the word, negs? Then go for a kiss...

*

To his utter astonishment, it worked!

By seven that night, Ernest had spirited Stephanie away from under the nose of her family, and the click of the bedroom door as she locked it was surely the sweetest sound he ever heard. Desperately trying to play it cool, he took his shirt off as Stephanie removed hers.

Stephanie had a delightful figure. Her breasts were full and matronly, her tummy just five kilos less than plump. When she said, "Take off your clothes," it was in charmingly accented Spanish.

Well, here goes. Ernesto had never exposed his penis to a woman before. He wasn't sure what he expected but would settle for her not laughing. He liked to imagine her jaw dropping open at the sheer size of his monstrous cock, but he knew that was unrealistic.

Stephanie looked at it, then said nonchalantly, "It's, how you say, well endow?"

Ernesto blushed and thanked the stars.

Stephanie crawled onto the bed between his legs, and then she was on him.

Oh wow! That was...wet! And warm! But it felt fantastic. Until he'd seen it in the pornos, he had never entirely believed a woman would suck a penis, but he was in no doubt now. Oh, it was tingling deliciously around his exposed glans. Her head was bobbing up and down. Ernesto closed his eyes and tried pretending it was Ruth sucking him off.

Oh, she was letting it deeper and deeper into her mouth. That tugging sensation felt so fucking good. He'd earned this, he told himself. He'd done his time as a loser; it was his turn to...to...to win! Hot liquid shot out of his penis, and his cock gave a mighty shudder. Wet, in the throes of orgasm, it felt like a different organ from the flaccid thing he used for peeing.

"Yes! Yes!" He cried, staring at the ceiling.

"I asked you not to come in my mouth," said Stephanie irritably.

"I'm sorry. That was my first..." he was in danger of forgetting himself, "blowjob for quite a while.

"Sure. Ok," said Stephanie as she reached for her t-shirt and pulled it on.

"You're leaving?" Ernest protested,

"I thought we could, you know, do it properly."

Fifteen minutes later, Ernesto lost his virginity, but he did not last as long or have the same effect on Stephanie that Marco had on Ruth that night. There was no polite card under the door asking them to keep it down for Ernesto.

*

Ernesto decided not to date Stephanie long-term. Now he was getting better at talking to women; he wanted to sow his wild oats. He couldn't resist meeting Jean-Paul for a beer the next day, though. As they chatted about football, Ernesto couldn't help inwardly laughing about what this guy would think if he knew what his sister had done last night.

Come to think of it, the pickup books recommended guys going out in pairs, each being the other's so-called wingman. That was an idea. He asked Jean-Paul if he'd be up for a night on the pull together.

That same night, the two men went out looking for girls. They started in a bar, but there was football on and they struggled to get anyone's attention at all. At the next place, however, there was a twist. There they were, standing at the bar and sizing up targets when, who should enter the bar but Ruth, arm in arm with a girlfriend?

Ernesto initially planned to pretend to notice. But he had to acknowledge Ruth when she left her friend at a table and came to the bar, right next to Jean-Paul. Ernesto merely smiled and nodded politely. But then, to his horror, Ruth struck up a conversation with Jean-Paul, and she laughed at something he said! And then Jean-Paul joined the girls at the table!

For three hours, like a man slowly drowning, Ernesto bounced from girl to girl, group to group, trying to strike up conversations. And all the while, his eyes were drawn to the sight he was neither able to watch nor turn away from. Ruth and Jean-Paul getting closer and closer, Ruth touching his arm, Jean-Paul daring to kiss her and Ruth responding enthusiastically. When he saw them leave together, there was a lump in his throat and he felt like the loneliest man in the world.

Eventually, alone in a late-night cafe, he struck up a conversation with the waitress, whose name was Ana. She was cheerful enough, although she was rather overweight and at least thirty-five years old. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers and two lays in two nights was certainly progress. He turned on his newfound game...

An hour after she got off, Ernest was unhooking Ana's bra from behind her, kissing the back of her neck tenderly. He reached around and gently held her breasts in his hands, then layered her shoulders with kisses.

"You're kissing me like I'm your girlfriend," she whispered, apparently rather touched. Ernest said nothing but reached for her trousers. He was pressing his mounting erection against her undeniably sizeable ass as he unhooked her jeans and slid them down.

More than with her upper torso, the age difference between them was apparent when he saw her thighs. So was the size difference, to be honest. Oh, whatever. She was nice and he needed to add to his portfolio.

"Since you're so sweet, you can ask something of me, sexually, and I'll do it. Anything you want."

He thought. There was one act that intrigued him above all else, one that he'd always wanted to try.

"Well, I fancy a sixty-nine!" Ernest said hopefully.

"Fuck off; I'm not cooking at this time of night!" She said, annoyed.

"No, no, Ana, a sixty-nine is when..."

And he explained the procedure.

Fifteen minutes later, he was on his back. Ana was certainly none the worse at sucking his dick than Stephanie had been, but Ana's generous butt and vagina were quite the sight as they honed into view. He closed his eyes, imagined it was Ruth and went to work.

Well, she tasted nice enough. But there was so much flesh he felt worried that at any moment, he might disappear, never to be seen again. And she was sucking him faster now, it was getting harder to concentrate. He asked her for feedback.

"You're doing fine, sweetie. Bit faster, please, really get stuck in there."

But it was too late. The yanks and sucks and pressure on his dick, mixed with the smell of her sex, had pushed him over the edge.

"Oh shit!" he cried as his jizz fountained out into her mouth.

In contrast to Stephanie, Ana was more annoyed at being denied an orgasm herself than the cumshot. So, feeling guilty, Ernest offered to dive back down there and finish her off.

But without the arousal of the blowjob, his desire for Ana was gone, and it was a laborious labour to lick her labia lovingly. At last, she pushed him away.

"You came?"

"Close enough. You're pretty green at this, aren't you?"

He nodded.

"My advice? Get yourself a girlfriend. Someone who'll have the patience to teach you. I'll give you this, you look pretty decent naked. Just got to finesse the technique. Do you know anyone you like?"

Ruth leapt to his mind's eye.

But she was not appearing to him. Ernest was seeing Ruth, naked, rocking hard on Jean-Paul's erect penis, and Jean-Paul was confident in bed and masculine, his chest out, his hands on her thighs. Controlling his orgasm. Letting her come first. His body was satisfying her, for Ruth threw her head back and smiled broadly, her eyes closed, lost in her own world. And the contrast with his pathetic failure made a lump spring to his throat.

"Oh, don't cry, honey. You'll find someone. We all start with L-plates, you know?"

Ernest spent the next hour telling Ana all about Ruth and his hopes for a future with her.

*

"I'm in town. Message me if you want to fuck. S."

It was a message he had imagined receiving many times but had long ago realised that it just didn't happen for guys like him. Yet, there it was. He messaged back and agreed with all haste.

It was only then he remembered, he had a date with Beatriz that night! Being a player, even an amateurish one, was hard to keep on top of. It was easy to forget who you were seeing when.

Beatriz was slender and about twenty-five. She wore a slip of a black dress. They had a delicious meal and then went to a bar for drinks. She was a good conversationalist. It was remarkable how many TV shows, films, and books she liked that Ernest enjoyed. She laughed at Ernest's jokes and playfully brushed his arm, escalating to a kiss at about ten.

Beatriz was by far the most beautiful girl he'd kissed. She was what the pickup artists referred to as a "10." Ana, on that scale, would have been maybe a "4."

As if in a dream, he led her through the door of his apartment. Beatriz took his hand and led him to the bathroom. He pushed his initial thought that she ought to ask, as it was him who would pay the bill, aside and stripped quickly.

With the water cascading over their naked bodies, Ernesto and Beatriz kissed with a fervour bordering on maniacal. Ernest felt his cock swell until it was so erect he had to shift position so it was to the side of Beatriz.

Suddenly, he wasn't sure what to do. Should he attempt to fuck her here? Or carry her to the bed? Perhaps she just wanted to make out?

To his immense relief, Beatriz took control. She whispered, "I want it," and then she turned to face the wall. Ernest watched in amazement as this stunning woman braced herself on the wall with the palms of her hands, then crooked her waist so her vagina was visible, split and awaiting his cock.

Ernest took Beatriz from behind as the water fell around them, and she came so fast and so vocally that Ernesto closed his eyes and thanked God for Ruth and her advice to build his confidence, for it had unlocked his true persona, his desires and his phenomenal capacity to please women.

*

That Saturday, Ruth and Ernest met for the first time in six weeks. Their last meeting felt, to Ernest, as if it belonged to another lifetime. They'd both been with more than one person and had more sex than in the previous twenty years combined.

"So, how's your love life?" he asked, "Still seeing Jean-Paul?"

"And Marco! They're both cool with it. In fact, we're thinking about a menage a trois!"

Ernest's eyes widened. To him, Ruth had always represented the perfect wife. The girl next door type he'd be proud to bring home to his mum. He certainly had never imagined her having two dicks on the go at once.

Ernesto realised with a jolt that he had never imagined Ruth as a sexual person in her own right. He had always seen her relative to him.

"So, how about you, Ernest? How's the confidence building going?" Her voice was kind, and she sounded genuinely interested.

"Great! I've slept with three women since I saw you last."

Ernest had expected Ruth to express astonishment and then admiration. Instead, she looked at him long and hard.

"Ernest, you shouldn't do that."

"What?"

"Apart from the risk of disease, it's demeaning, a woman selling her body like that."

"I don't know what you mean," he said irritably.

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

There was a long, painful silence.

"But Stephanie..."

Ruth gave a knowing look with a raised eyebrow. He'd mentioned meeting Stephanie and Jean-Paul in texts. And, of course, she had since shared a pillow with Jean-Paul. Ernest's face fell.

"Ok. Seraphina. She said I was well endowed. She complimented my lovemaking."

"Of course she did, Ernest. That's how they do their job!"

"And Ana, she told me I had a lovely body!"

Ruth's look withered him.

Ernest shook his head.

"But if Stephanie was Seraphina, and Ana never liked me at all, then Beatriz, if that was her real name, must have hated me too. And who knows," he paused, the awful truth gradually sinking in, "maybe I, too, have never thought much of Ernesto Fonts Ginebra."

He looked down, no longer able to meet her gaze.

"That too is as it seems to me," said Ruth, getting to her feet, "Ernest, if I hear you've been paying women for sex again, I can't be your friend. It's wrong on so many levels. Honestly, I thought you were better than that. You've always been so nice. Goodbye, Ernest. I hope things get better for you."

As she left, he was seized by an urge to shout at her, to shout,

"But I have needs! I want to have sex, just like you do," but he did not.

Ernest finished his coffee. He picked up a book called "The Art of the Superior Man," but his head was so thick that he couldn't concentrate. Resignedly, he pulled out his phone.

"Hey, Seraphina. If you are free tonight..."