Actually, I do. But I but I don’t feel like telling you.
It awes me somehow that this book, which I picked up for free this week, was once in Miss Lewinsky’s very own hands. It is the first time a book signature has really wowed me. I mean: All the best in Law School. Did she know what she was saying?
What a disturbing book. What an incredibly, unbelievable, sweet girl-child. And I mean child. With her tears and pouting and girliness, Lewinsky sounds in it as if she is about thirteen — to her boyfriend “Handsome”‘s fifteen. The man, according to this story, would juggle five presidential calls while placating the girl for not calling her more often.
And all those presents Lewinsky gives him: corny Hallmark cards and Starbucks mugs and games and ties. From a woman hardly making more than a basic secretary. What did anyone buy her? A hatpin?
Shame on Hillary Clinton, for saying, this year, that she ‘didn’t care:’ it wasn’t Sex of “Any Real Meaning,” between Monica and Bill.
I bet it was real for Monica. I bet Bill still dreams of someone as guileless as she.
This book. and its wretched sad details, pruriently pulled from a girl who was afraid, threatened and didn’t know any better, is harder to read than Unica Zurn’s Dark Spring. And this is saying a lot — as Unica Zurn killed herself and her character received oral sex from her pet dog.
It’s as raw as “True Confessions” — and I know, because I used to buy it when I was ten. Girls are curious. Lust is youth. We have feelings, too.