by M.J. Nicholls
(02/10/10)

Zack attracted attention from womenfolk by dint of having the letter Z in his forename. Something about the letter Z suggested mystery, excitement, danger and gentlemanliness. At first, he thought: Zorro. Women were unable to distinguish between men with the letter Z in their forenames and the fictional character known for his smouldering machismo, heroism, and unbelievable talent for sword-fighting Spaniards.

So there was only one thing for it: a name change. See, Zack wasn't ready to lose his virginity yet. Having turned nineteen in March, he was seeking a special mate with a Z in her forename too: a Zelda or a Zebedee. He knew it was idealistic: in this climate, parents opted for conventional names such as Jane or Anne, but he was unfazed. He was an idealistic kind of geezer, and he wanted it to be known far and wide that he would not settle for anything less.

However, he took the initiative and had the Z removed from his forename. He was now Ack. There was nothing exciting about Ack, apart from its relation to anti-aircraft fire -- as in 'ack-ack' -- but most girls of his age had never heard of this phonetic wartime abbreviation, so he was safe from their affections and free to go and find his Z-love.

It took Ack a few weeks to realise that without the Z in his forename, girls with Z in their forenames were unlikely to be interested in him. Why would a Zelda ever be attracted to an Ack? What possible reason could Zebedee have for kissing Bill? Or Norman? Or Alan? In his haste, he had ruined his chances for Z-love. He felt a fool.

At that time in his village, it was illegal to change one's name twice in the same year, so he had two options -- move to another town (impossible) or pretend that his name was Zack. Sufficiently horny for finding his one true Z-love, he chose the latter.

It was Saturday night, and Ack was hanging out with his friends at the local nightclub, The Zzzz. People went there because they found the Zs in the title cute, and there was an implied connotative sexuality -- sleeping took place in a bed, and sex also took place in a bed, often one after the other. So the cool kids who liked both sex and sleep congregated there.

Within, the Z-theme was explored to the hilt. Drinks were served in Z-shaped glasses; ZZ Top, Warren Zevon and Frank Zappa dominated the music in various tuneless mixes by DJ Zed-or-Ded; and people used the expression 'z'up?' to greet one another.

Ack soon noticed how his status as a special Z customer had been stripped away. The girls who had been attracted to him now shunned him in favour of boys with forenames nearer to the letter Z. His friend Xavier was now fending off attention, and he had no intention of meeting girls named Xantia or Xena! It was a real shock at first.

He went to the bar and ordered a drink. The barman was serving a beautiful girl who appeared to be haggling for a Z-discount. She produced her passport which confirmed her name: Zazie. Ack was stunned. Did he have the right to speak to this beautiful creature now? Now that he had severed himself from life in the Z-name community? He wasn't going to pass up the opportunity.

"Excuse me," he began, "I couldn't help noticing you have Z in your forename. I do too -- I'm Zack."

She turned an inch, pausing to size up the average-looking stranger.

"Hmm. Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely. Look, here's my passport," he said. He produced his old passport and smirked. His smirk seemed uglier without the Z -- even he felt his face taking on a rusk of creepiness.

"Well, I suppose that's right. Can I get you a drink?" she asked.

"A zinc brew, please," he said. Zinc brew was a low-alcoholic lager.

"Can I get you anything? Zazie, was it?"

"That's right. I'll have a Zambian rum," she replied.

This felt wrong. Ack knew Zazie was on to him -- there was a detectable vibe of loveliness around the Z-named, and Ack had lost this now. He was alone with his A-name charm, his natural A-ness. As men with names beginning with A knew -- the Aarons, the Alans, the Arnolds -- this charm was minimal. A-men had to struggle and fight for the exotic Z-women. In most cases, the A-men ended up with the A-women -- the Annes, the Antheas, the Abigails -- and led deeply unhappy lives, often ending in autocide.

Zazie humoured Ack for the time being. She kept her rum glass close to her mouth, shielding her lips from his gaze.

"I've never once met a Z-girl in here before, you know. This is a most satisfactory occurrence," he said. What the hell was that? Why was he speaking like an autistic robot?

"I see. That's a great utterance," Zazie replied.

He was losing her. He needed to access his databank of Z-lines before it shut down forever.

"I'm known locally as the zapper," he said. That was better. At least it involved a Z.

"Oh, is zat right? Pray tell."

"I'm known for zapping things. I zap people with my zinc-sharp wit, my zirconium humour and my zoom-zoom speediness."

"Oh right. I see. You're quite the Z-man, aren't you? I have to say, when you first approached me, I thought you were a total A-guy loser!"

"Ha-ha! No, that's not me. I'm a Z-man through and through."

"Indeed."

Having gleaned enough of his previous Z-ness from his past name, he coasted on this charm. Zazie was quite the catch for Ack -- two Zs in her forename, plus a third in her middle name (Hazel) and a fourth in her surname (Maize). She truly was the holy grail of Z-named women and the perfect candidate to pluck his innocence. Now he was ready -- at long last, he was ready -- to become a Z/A-man. Shame he had snipped his Z...

"Sometimes at night I lie and dream about meeting the right Z-girl," he began, opening himself up.

He poured his miserable adolescent heart out to Zazie -- the decade of torment from his peers at having the spikiest letter of the alphabet in his forename, the horrible prodding that ensued, and the endless attention from girls who liked his cool letter and outcast image. He was a good Christian lad, given to neither carnal temptation nor violence, and these years were horrible.

"I really suffered, you know. I suppose, in my own zealous way, I was holding out for that one special Z-girl," he said, doing his Z-eyes (darting right, diagonally left, then darting right again).

"I hear that. Being a Z-girl is cool, so I didn't have a hard time, really. I'm told male Zs do suffer from discrimination, which is obviously bad. Ha -- 'discrimination is bad.' Look at me with the piercing intellectual conversation," she said, shyly bowing her head.

"No, I thought that was funny. You really made a zinger there," he said, unsure what was zinging.

"Thanks. You know, you have really beautiful eyes," she said. What? Women weren't supposed to make compliments towards men! Then again, she was a Z-girl: unconvenzional.

"Do you want to do the Zugzwang Boogie?" he asked. This was a dance common to Z'ers -- a disco boogie with high erotic potential. They rose to their feet and approached the dancefloor.

Zazie bent her torso forwards, tipping her flexible neck back, forming an approximation of the first half of the Z. Ack leaned his lower body backwards, bending his head forward to meet her neck and bosoms. They swished back and forth, alternating shots at being the left and right half of the Z. This is the most sensual part of the dance: occasional crotch collisions, bosoms thrust on display, and excessive pelvic gyration.

Despite a few A-man wobbles (arching backwards in imitation of a left-half A), the dancing was a triumph. He had seduced Zazie with the ritual dance of the Z-lover, and if he kept the A-wobbles to a minimum, he was looking at a potential loss of virginity that night. Z-girls were swift when it came to Z-boy suitors, and he fit the criteria: Z-charm, Z-dancing and Z-handsomeness.

"Look, I've had a zipping great time tonight, Zack. I really think we should lose our virginity together and become Z-lovers," she said.

She too was a virgin! This was zodding unbelievable!

A brief word about Z-sex. Z-sex is not to be entered into lightly, especially by someone who has recently lost his Z-ness and relegated himself twenty-five places down the alphabet into a humiliating A-ness. For Ack, this was going to be a tricky process involving a further reach into the surrendered realms of the Z-man and some lubricious improv.

The Z-position is, of course, an uncomfortable interlocking position involving both bodies meshing together into one Z-reflecting Z-shape. The woman squats on her knees, her legs forming the bottom Z-line, then twists her body forward to complete the Z-diagonal, then tilts her head back to create the top Z-line. Preferably, the woman should drape her long hair across a table so that the top line is more accurately rendered.

The Z-man has the trickiest task -- the reflected Z. He is called upon to assume the backwards Z-shape: he sits on his knees, forming the reflected bottom Z-line, then bends backwards to form the Z-diagonal, and cranes his neck to attempt the reflected top Z-line. He is expected to insert the penis beneath the half-open thighs of the Z-woman (it is often easier for the Z-woman to be a few centimetres higher on a cushion for this manoeuvre to take purchase).

Zazie was a zoology student living in the Z-block, and had her own quiet room in which they were free to commence the loss of their innocence uninterrupted. As Ack entered this Z-filled paradise -- posters were cut into Z-shapes, the carpet pattern was as near to Zs as she could afford, and even the corners of the room had been filled in with cement to give the room a Z-shape (though it more resembled a badly rendered U) -- he was lost.

"So, Zack, I trust you are familiar with how Z-lovers have intercourse? If you would like to lubricate me, we can begin. Are you nervous?" she asked.

"No. Let's take it easy. Zeasy does it," he said, adding a chortle. Ack was so nervous, he could barely salivate, let alone access the slitheriness of eroticism.

"Of course."

The Z-lovers removed their clothes and began lubrication. The lathering process created an easy and effective method of foreplay, combined with the necessary ordeal of slicking the skin in the mucilaginous ooze required for the safe docking and locking of organs. Ack relaxed as Zazie lathered up his torso, zigzagging her oily hands across his hairless boy-chest.

Ack lathered Zazie in turn, accidentally massaging the oil into her back in an A-shape, then correcting himself before she felt the slither of his A-ness corrupting her Z-perfection.

"Oh, Zack! Lather me up!" she said, slicked with pleasure. Ack found this amusing despite being in the moment too, and bit his lip. Zazie tossed two pillows onto the floor and squatted down, assuming the Z-position. This was it. The moment he had dreamt about since he turned twelve: sharing his Z-soul with the perfect Z-girl. Yet the whole act was artificial, artless, anomalous: an ailing assumption of Z-unity marred by his obvious A-ness.

Zazie knelt down, bent her torso forward and tilted her head back, ready to receive his

                                                                                                                                    Z-love.

                                                                                                                        She

                                                                                                              too

                                                                                                        had

                                                                                               been

                                                                                        waiting

                                                                                   for

                                                                              this

                                                              moment:

                                                           at

                                                  last

                                            she

                                   had

                           found

                       her

            Z-soul mate and they were making Z-love together -- blissful and passionate Z-love!!!

                                                                               But

                                                             something           wasn't

                                                        quite                                   right

                                                about                                                    his

                               lovemaking: his thrusts seemed less Z-like, and more like the

                      spiky                                                                                                        stabs

                 of                                                                                                                            the

           A-                                                                                                                                       lover!

"No, stop! Something's not right!" she said, forcing Ack from the perfect folds of her Z-gina.

"What's wrong? What? What is it?"

"You're...not...you're not a Z-man are you?" she asked, trembling.

Ack knew he was rumbled. He could have lied, but she would know from his A-thrusts that the game was blown. He slithered back against the bed, his erect A-penis throbbing in the purity of the Z-room. His eyes glistened with the imminence of tears.

"It's true. I'm so sorry! I thought you wouldn't like me because I was an A-man," he said.

"You're an... oh my God. Go. Get out. Get out now. Get out now, before I phone the police!" she said, scrabbling away from him, her Z-skin chilled with humiliation.

"I used to be a Z-man. I chopped the Z from my name to fend off attention from girls. I used to be a Z-man!"

"Oh God, you're insane. Get out! Get out!" she said.

Ack, sensing Zazie's boiling indignation, grabbed his clothes, covered his modesty, and headed for the door. The dream was ruined; his virginity remained unvanquished.

Perhaps he would get that name change after all.

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