Despite putting up with my taunting him occasionally about his unusual first name, Rolf has been my best friend since we were young. He's a great guy and I've always admired – almost hero-worshipped him. {Okay, what does it matter that his name sounds like a dog's bark?)
He's an accomplished fencer in both epee and foil and usually scores even better at high school academic tests than I do. Also, he got to second base I think Americans call it (stroking boobs), and third base (fingering cunt) a long time before I did. In fact, by the time I was getting to second base with Sophie he had hit home runs (vaginal intercourse) with more than one girl. {If I got that wrong I'm sure someone will correct me.)
Rolf, Sophie, and me are all high school seniors in the same class. I've been going steady with Sophie for two years, ever since we were sixteen. Rolf seems more inclined towards casual relationships, but I don't envy his popularity with girls.
Made in the mould of Paris Hilton, Sophie is a rather petite gamin blonde with fine features, short hair, and slender limbs. I don't need to describe how I feel about her; you can imagine that for yourself. We went all the way after six months of going steady, and still make love whenever we get the opportunity – that being somewhat limited because parents tend to be protective of their dependent daughters.
Like Paris, Sophie doesn't come from a poor family – not that they're millionaires in the same league as the Hiltons. Her parents are just partners in a small law firm, but more comfortably off than my parents. My father is in advertising and my mother is a senior nurse at the main hospital.
When I'm at Sophie's place I sometimes get the impression her parents think she could do better in the boyfriend stakes. I guess the saving grace is that they not only accept her choice for the time being but like me as a person. Not, I suspect, that they would lose any sleep if Sophie switched her affections to someone from a family that was among their circle of friends.
Rolf, on the other hand, lives in a solo-parent situation with his "divorced" mother. Only she isn't actually divorced, he's confided in me. Rolf is illegitimate – a politer word than some would use if they knew. He has no idea who his father is, and his mother is certainly from the wrong side of the tracks in relation to Sophie's family.
Fortunately, my parents are liberal enough to accept my ongoing friendship with Rolf, and have helped his mother financially over the years. Sophie gets on well with him, like he's my twin brother, and we sometimes double date, though not with her parents' knowledge.
Sophie's an angel about him, really, and isn't jealous of our long-standing friendship. We always have fun when we're together, even when Rolf doesn't have a date.
Like me, Rolf thinks Sophie looks like Paris Hilton, and she kind of accepts she does but doesn't like anyone making too much of it. I guess she feels she's her own woman.
It was Rolf who suggested I should make a personal porn video with Sophie – an idea he put to me in private, prompted by my parents buying me a DVD camera for my eighteenth birthday. I can't say his idea didn't appeal to me – not that I thought Sophie would be a party to anything like the infamous video that Paris Hilton starred in. (I only know about that by reputation, of course). If Sophie was also familiar with it, I didn't ascertain, but she specifically declined to have any sex acts included.
What she did do – and quite eagerly to my surprise – was perform a cheeky striptease on camera and cavort about our house in the nude after school one day, letting me fill up a whole tape of delightfully captured memories, some of very lurid poses.
Naturally, Rolf kept asking if I had put the proposition to Sophie yet, and I made excuses for a week after the filming had taken place.
"You're too yellow to ask her," he finally said in exasperation.
"I respect her too much," I tried another excuse.
"It's not like you're gonna put it out on the Web or anything. If she loves you she'd be happy to give a private show. She wouldn't be the first girl to let her boyfriend film her nude."
"That doesn't mean all girls are the same. Sophie's modest," I smugly procrastinated over telling him the truth.
"Sophie's never struck me as being that much of a prude."
"What would you know?"
"I know you're a lucky prick having her."
"I wouldn't if I asked her to do something like that."
Actually, I hadn't thought about the risk of losing Sophie until after I'd asked her, willing to take a refusal but never doubting our relationship would survive either way.
"Then you can't really believe she loves you," Rolf accused.
That stung.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!"
"What if I said I'd already filmed her?"
"I wouldn't believe you."
"Yeah?" I challenged.
"Yeah."
"Well, I have."
"Prove it."
"You're kidding me."
"Show me the video," he was as relentless as usual when he wanted his own way.
"I'm not going to show you something that private!"
"I thought we were best friends."
"If we were you wouldn't ask me."
"Then I don't believe you."
That crack, in its context, was the severest challenge our friendship had faced since we became teenagers. I was struck dumb.
"So are you going to prove it or not?"
I said, "I'll only let you watch the first couple of minutes."
"That sounds fair enough."
Trusting him, I went upstairs and retrieved the edited and lurid amateur movie from its hiding place, and brought it back to the living room.
"So there really is one," he said.
I turned on the television and inserted the disc in the player. Taking the remote, I sat on the sofa beside him again. Sophie appeared on screen, dressed of course, looking gorgeous, fooling around, and play-acting sexy. Then I pressed the stop button on the remote. "Believe me now?"
"Nope," he said. "Every guy has a video like that of his girlfriend. It doesn't prove anything."
"I'm not showing her to you with her clothes off."
"That's because you couldn't get her to do it."
