Над пропастью во ржи

           Thethingis,mostofthetimewhenyou’recomingprettyclosetodoingitwithagirl—agirlthatisn’taprostituteoranything,Imean—shekeepstellingyoutostop.Thetroublewithmeis,Istop.Mostguysdon’t.Ican’thelpit.Youneverknowwhethertheyreallywantyoutostop,orwhetherthey’rejustscaredashell,orwhetherthey’rejusttellingyoutostopsothatifyoudogothroughwithit,theblame’llbeonyou,notthem.Anyway,Ikeepstopping.Thetroubleis,Igettofeelingsorryforthem.Imeanmostgirlsaresodumbandall.Afteryouneckthemforawhile,youcanreallywatchthemlosingtheirbrains.Youtakeagirlwhenshereallygetspassionate,shejusthasn’tanybrains.Idon’tknow.Theytellmetostop,soIstop.IalwayswishIhadn’t,afterItakethemhome,butIkeepdoingitanyway.

           Anyway,whileIwasputtingonanothercleanshirt,Isortoffiguredthiswasmybigchance,inaway.Ifiguredifshewasaprostituteandall,Icouldgetinsomepracticeonher,incaseIevergetmarriedoranything.Iworryaboutthatstuffsometimes.Ireadthisbookonce,attheWhootonSchool,thathadthisverysophisticated,suave,sexyguyinit.MonsieurBlanchardwashisname,Icanstillremember.Itwasalousybook,butthisBlanchardguywasprettygood.HehadthisbigchâteauandallontheRiviera,inEurope,andallhedidinhissparetimewasbeatwomenoffwithaclub.Hewasarealrakeandall,butheknockedwomenout.Hesaid,inthisonepart,thatawoman’sbodyislikeaviolinandall,andthatittakesaterrificmusiciantoplayitright.Itwasaverycornybook—Irealizethat—butIcouldn’tgetthatviolinstuffoutofmymindanyway.Inaway,that’swhyIsortofwantedtogetsomepracticein,incaseIevergetmarried.CaulfieldandhisMagicViolin,boy.It’scorny,Irealize,butitisn’ttoocorny.Iwouldn’tmindbeingprettygoodatthatstuff.