Sometimes the Swedish guy pops up in my mind. His first name was Per. We had fallen in love in Amsterdam and he was bone skinny and blond and his eyes were blue and translucent. His honest character struck me; he never lied. He did visit me twice a year and he wrote me funny love letters in between. We never made love. He explained to me he was a virgin and he wanted to keep his virginity for the woman he might marry, later. It was okay with me because I didn’t like bone skinny Swedish male virgins in my bed anyway. So, the last time I saw him was shortly before he left Amsterdam to go back to Sweden. He suddenly looked kind of fat around his middle. I asked him what he had been eating and he answered, ‘I ate a lot of Dutch stuff.’
A few weeks later he wrote me a love-letter from a top-security prison. On his trip to Sweden he was arrested and later he was convicted in Stockholm, because he had indeed eaten a lot of Dutch stuff.
That’s what I liked about that Swedish virgin; he always spoke the truth.