Loathing Lascivious.

When I was a little boy – no more than seven or eight at most – I was at home during the school holiday and a man called to talk to my mother about insurance or something. She brought him into the living room where I was sitting, and he said something to me to the effect that my mother was a good looking woman.

I got his number immediately. I saw lasciviousness written all across his smarmy face, and I heard lasciviousness in what he was saying. I even understood that saying it to me while my mother stood next to him was an underhand displacement device, even though I wouldn’t have had the word to describe it at the time. He disgusted me.

Not bad for an 8-year-old, eh? I wonder what the hell I got up to in my previous life.

And I still find lasciviousness disgusting.