Innocent Loverboy

Love, sex and interminable pop-culture references

Category: Recollections (Page 1 of 8)

ILB recalls moments from his past, vaguely related to love, sex, or whatever else

Top Class Girls

April 15, 2025 / / 0 Comments

“So this is Microsoft Publisher,” the IT teacher stated. “It’s important you need to learn this, because in the future, Publisher will be the thing everyone uses. It’s probably going to last forever!” (She cleared her throat and began to stride around the class as she continued.) “I’d like you to create a webpage using Publisher. You don’t need to know any HTML for this. Just design something about… (here she gesticulated vaguely) …our school.”

Einstein and I set to work first. Our design didn’t end up featured on the “good work” display, but then again, it wasn’t particularly interesting.

What did end up featured was something my bully produced with the title “Top Class Girls” in a bizarre font. It went on to explain that our school had “many young and beautifull [sic] girls” and, following a few pictures of several such girls, went on to categorise them into “Class A” and “Class B”.

I tried to point out that this was sexist, but our head of year, who laughed like a sheep, shrugged it off with something like, “ehh… the design’s quite good.” I also vaguely wondered what my bully’s girlfriend would think about being halfway down the “Class B” list. The Floof was actually quite pleased with being on it at all.

Will Schuester (Matthew Morrison) holding up a copy of the Glist from the "Glee" episode "Bad Reputation".
It wasn’t quite the same as this, but…

Right at the top of the “Class A” category – and in a slightly bigger font size than the rest – was someone named [here ILB casts around randomly for a female name] “Dani”. I didn’t know who she was; she hadn’t gone to my primary school and wasn’t in any of my classes, but she was clearly a known name. I did, of course, become acquainted with her soon afterwards, because she pinched my bum.

No, I don’t know why either. Bum-pinching had become the hot girls’ preferred way of communicating with me. It wasn’t something the staff would notice, especially when we were cramming into the assembly hall; they presumably also liked the squeal I let out and how high I’d jump in the air. I did occasionally wonder how my sexually-obsessed bully would have reacted had any girl pinched his bum.

But the images weren’t fun, so I stopped wondering.

They also weren’t keen on denying it, either. “You should recognise me,” Dani said at one point, “because I pinched your bum yesterday and you saw it was me.”
“You could have just said hello,” I pointed out.
“Nah, that’s no fun.”
“What, and my bum is?”
“…”
“…”
“…I mean… yes…?”

Einstein and I weren’t the only ones left off the board in favour of institutionalised sexism. Lightsinthesky’s design was left off too, although (as I pointed out) I didn’t think “METALLICA GENERALLY RULE” in huge black text was much of a design. Still, it would have been better content than “Top Class Girls”.

“Some of the girls on that one are really fit, though,” he said, because of course he did.
“I don’t know, really,” I admitted. “I don’t really talk to any of them, but I’ve met Dani, because she pinched my bum and…”
“DANI PINCHED YOUR BUM?!”
“Yes. Anyway, I turned around to see who it was and…”
“YOU WHAT? YOU’RE THE LUCKIEST GUY IN THE SCHOOL! ANYONE ELSE WOULD WANT DANI TO PINCH THEIR BUM! I’VE HAD DREAMS ABOUT THAT!”
“I actually felt a bit violated.”
“YOU IDIOT! USE THAT! HAVE YOU EVEN THOUGHT OF HOW [my bully’s name] WOULD REACT IF HE FOUND THAT OUT?”

I had, of course, thought about that, but I’m sure he’d find some way to weaponise having my arse grabbed by presumably the most beautiful girl in the school. I don’t quite know how. But he’d have found a way.

Years later, in the carefree sixth form days when everyone had kind of loosened up a bit and Dani had left the school, the Floof and a gaggle of the other girls made their own list of the boys. They’d put me in at number 10 initially, before bumping me down to 11 because they’d forgotten about Brad. He took my place and I was unceremoniously crossed off.

“How do you feel about that?” asked one of the other hot girls who had pinched my bum five years prior.
“Oh, I don’t know…” I said vaguely. “I guess that makes me Class B…”

And I’m still annoyed that nobody got the reference!

Psychedelic fuck

February 28, 2025 / / 0 Comments

“I want a psychedelic fuck,” I said. Her e-mail address wasn’t quite that – the profanity was missing one letter and the word “psychedelic” was misspelled – but the meaning was clear enough.
“Me too,” she replied, and she left it at that. I dithered for a while; frankly, I had been expecting more. At the very least, confirmation of any fucks she had had herself – psychedelic or otherwise.
“I’ve had sex,” I humblebragged. “It’s…”

At which point I wondered exactly how to describe what sex is in one sentence fragment. It wasn’t easy. Eighteen years of sex blogging later and I still can’t do it.

“It’s quite good,” I settled on.
“I don’t know, though,” she wheedled. “A friend of mine had sex and it hurt so much she never wants to do it again…”
“It shouldn’t hurt.”
“It was her first time, though.”
“It still shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt any time. My first time was awkward, but it didn’t hurt.”
“I’m not sure,” she went on, “if I’ll ever be ready.”
“Even though we’re both about ready for a psychedelic fuck?” I couldn’t stop myself from saying. The sort of statement I would have put a smirk emoji after had emoji been a thing back then. :-p didn’t really convey the same message.
“Even though. I’ve got another thing I do,” she said. I could practically feel the accompanying blush through the screen.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“I’m downloading porn.”
“Oh,” I responded. “Yeah. That. So am I.”

Two years later…

“I don’t know what the sort of thing is,” she said, “but my boyfriend doesn’t really want to have sex with me when I want it.”
“You mean he’s not ready?”
“No, I mean, we have sex when he wants, but not when I want.”

Her boyfriend sounded like a bit of a dick. I never met him, but the pictures I saw looked scary.

“Your boyfriend sounds like a bit of a dick,” I said.
“He is,” she readily agreed, “but the sex is really good. It’s the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“I thought you said you weren’t ready for sex?”
“That was two years ago. I had sex about a week after that. You told me it shouldn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt. I like it now.”

My heart suddenly beat twice as fast. Did I have that sort of influence?

“Anyway, I want sex.”
“Yeah? Are you going to pounce on your boyfriend with the questionable morals but firm and unyielding penis?”
“Nah,” she demurred. “I’m downloading more porn.”
“Oh,” I responded. “Yeah. That.”

There was a notable pause.

“So am I,” I added, opening VLC as my halo lit up and began to spin.

Bar Bathroom

September 9, 2024 / / 0 Comments

It’s 11:30 pm on my first day at university and I’m wanking feverishly in a stall in the toilets of the union bar. It’s club night and my fap fap fap is masked by the thump thump thump from just outside. I’ve never been clubbing before, but here, everybody does it.

That is not all everybody seems to be doing. The sexual energy from the heaving mass of sweaty bodies is electric. As it turns out later, not everyone was having sex with everyone else, but for the majority of us, this is the first day of freshers’ week which, sixth form told us, was specifically reserved for sex with someone new. In this very bar, on the dancefloor outside, I will have incidents where I don’t want to cheat, and those where I’ll fail to get laid. I just don’t know this yet.

Outside this bar bathroom, the milieu continues unabated. The freshers’ reps are all called things like RAUNCHY, PLAYMATE and KING SNAKE. It’s become common knowledge that GIANT does, in fact, have a rather small penis, but he’s been sleeping with half the freshers, which makes it okay. About an hour earlier I had been talking with a pretty blonde who then vanished from view. Her equally pretty best friend apologised on her behalf – she had a boyfriend – but that didn’t bother me, as I was just chatting.

I’d also come to university as someone in a long-term relationship. Engaged, actually. In the unlikely event that I did get any leads to be having the kind of wild and carefree sex I never ended up having, I wouldn’t be following them up on account of the fact that I was in a relaionship.

I am wanking in the toilet because I feel that, despite how out of place I seem to be, and how what is going on elsewhere doesn’t affect me, I deserve, on this very first night, my own sexual experience, so I’m giving it to myself, no matter how desperate or unclean or pathetic this all is. I’m going to have an orgasm here, tonight, and nobody else will know, and that will be mine. Just something that I can do.

Also, I’m horny.

I don’t yet know that the following three years will be an era of sexual self-discovery. That I will feel both the closest to and the furthest away from death than ever before, and that I will emerge from the whole experience having had no more sex, but aware of the sort I wanted to be having. I haven’t even been to a lecture yet.

There’s no way of knowing which way this is going.

I have my first orgasm of semi-independent life standing up, in a bar bathroom stall. Whatever happened next, nobody was going to take that away from me.

…and you’ll be oh so happy

August 30, 2024 / / 0 Comments

It was another hot, but windy, afternoon in Denmark – the seventh out of seven days in which both sunbeams and breezes had been wrestling for dominance. Considering that, it was still very much summer. We were going home – not quite on our way, exactly, but very much aware that it was imminent. The pretty girl I had been flirting with all week was wearing a T-shirt that said “I ♡ my dad’s credit card.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever see you again,” I said mulishly.
“Oh no, we’ll see each other again,” she smiled warmly. We hugged for the last time.

I never did see her again.

The girl I had a crush on was sitting under an awning in the corner of the campsite, with a lit cigarette and strong cup of tea. The organisers had been very strict – both alcohol and “euphoria drugs” were banned. They had been more lenient with people enjoying the occasional fag, which I found slightly contradictory. Evidently, I couldn’t go anywhere near Leaf while this was happening, but I was close enough to hear what she was saying.

“You look really happy,” said one of our number – Beth, who had availed herself of Black Cat condoms with Marks earlier that week. “I mean, like, really happy.”

She had a fair point. The drugs may have been banned, but Leaf herself looked nothing short of euphoric. I described the look myself, at the time, as “blissed out”… although she always looked fairly heavenly to me, of course. The broad smile plastered on her face and curling steam from the mug framing her did nothing to taint the image I had. She looked, for all the world, in total bliss and nothing was going to stop that.

“Yeah,” she said, dreamily/sleepily. “Now all I need is some sex.”

At which point my crush took on a while new dimension. I knew, of course, that she had been having sex by that point – and it wasn’t going to be me, of course it wasn’t – but, a couple of years prior when I’d first met her, and started to become interested – she was, in her own words, “an innocent”. She was still a virgin when I kissed her a while later and, even though she was still the same person, the fact that she was now sexually active (and really quite good at it, by all accounts) had awoken something at the back of my brain.

I shouldn’t have let her get to me at all. Before I left for Denmark, I was absolutely sure that I was romantically fixated on one other specific person. I didn’t see Leaf often enough to have – or, at least, I thought I didn’t – an “official” crush, but the instant I saw her at the station, it all came rushing back. For the whole week I had been thinking of the friend I loved, the flirty girl I knew in the US, the pretty one on the camp who was more than happy to talk to me… and yet my eyes were only for Leaf.

But now she’d had sex. Were my fantasies now justified? For years I’d been dreaming of kissing her. I’d been friendly and shy and wrote a whole album’s worth of songs about her at one point.

What was she like in bed? Was she still sweet and smiley and funny, or did she switch and become a sexual dynamo? What did she look like, I asked myself, with no clothes on? As she smoked, did she do so after sex like they do in the movies, and would I have to excuse myself from the room if so?

And then I found myself feeling slightly sick that I’d even entertained such thoughts. I was a trusted friend, not a dirty lecher.

One year later

I’d managed to organise my thoughts. The pretty Danish girl was happy with a new boyfriend (who she has since married). My friend was now just a friend. I’d had my time at university, and after all that, I bumped into Leaf one more time, in the middle of a gig. It seemed appropriate.

My stomach did a little flip as we hugged, but we exchanged no more than that.

“You know she has a sort of boyfriend?” asked Beth over MSN.
“I didn’t know, but I’m not surprised,” I replied, truthfully. “She’s an attractive girl.”
“Yes, I know she is,” nodded Beth, “and you couldn’t keep your eyes off her, could you?”

I hadn’t realised that I’d been that obvious.

“I hadn’t realised that I’d been that obvious,” I replied. “What about you? Are you okay?”
“I am,” said Beth pleasantly. “I’ve just had a cup of tea and a fag. I’m feeling really happy. Blissed out.”
“Sounds like all you need is some sex,” I filled in.

She never thought to ask where I got that idea from. But she did have sex that night.

I got to sit in my room and cry about Leaf.

Teenage Dirtbag

August 3, 2024 / / 0 Comments

I’ve got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby
Come with me Friday, don’t say maybe
I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby, like you

“I don’t know the chords,” admitted Music Man, “but I’ll improvise. If I get the right key. Does anyone know the words?”
His eyes roamed over Lightsinthesky (who was parked behind the drum kit), Leigh (who was clutching a borrowed guitar), and Einstein (who nominally played the trumpet, but had never brought it to school, except for jazz band). I didn’t have my violin with me, but I was there, hanging posters.
“All right,” I said huffily, “I’ll sing it.”

Not taking GCSE music, very few of us should have been in the rehearsal room, but there was going to be nobody to stop us. Music Man was taking it, of course, and most of us were in jazz band. That would be our excuse, if we were ever asked. Nobody ever asked. It was a tiny rehearsal room, anyway; you could barely fit a band in there. Einstein was perched on a side table, due to the dearth of chairs.

“Her name is Noel. I have a dream about her…”

We may have all loved music, but Lightsinthesky had an ulterior motive: Leigh. Several years ago, when I was 13, I offhand said that if I was a teenager, I may need a girlfriend. Lightsinthesky made it his mission to find me one, and randomly selected Leigh (who I didn’t know), before deciding that he’d rather have her, and spent the rest of his school life trying to do just that. The fact that she was in such a close proximity to him in the rehearsal room was a genuine surprise. They even tried to start a band together at one point.

“What’s wrong with my life,” he said in an undertone as the bell rang, “is that Leigh isn’t shagging me senseless every lunchtime.”
“She just played Teenage Dirtbag with you,” I pointed out gamely. “Well, us. I mean, I was singing lead, but you were there hitting things, so…”
“But she’s so intensely shaggable and…”

I’d stopped listening by that point. Singing Teenage Dirtbag by virtue of the fact that I was the only one who knew all the words was an unexpected high point. I suddenly had a vision of the trailer for the upcoming series of my life, Year 11, in which I’d be turning sixteen and taking GCSEs. It would be of all the main characters rocking out in the rehearsal room, except I’d have a microphone this time, and I’d also be wearing my new glasses. I hadn’t ever worn glasses beforehand. This was a new thing for me.

It would be filmed from a bird’s-eye view in vibrant colour and I still regret never making it.

Two years later and we were back in the rehearsal room, accompanied once again by Leigh, plus the girl who had a crush on Music Man and Lightsinthesky, who had become a bassist, because apparently that’s how you get all the ladies. We had moved on from Wheatus by now, and Music Man was teaching us how to play RHCP. We did a fairly good Californication, as long as my guitar was turned down enough. Lightsinthesky got over his distate for pink and jeans as long as Leigh was wearing them.

I was having a much more interesting 17 than I had assumed my 16 would be. I’d be having my first kiss and, eventually, sex for the first time. I’d spend the first term of year 13 a lot more confident than my fractious year 12.

Somebody started playing Dammit by Blink-182 at one point, and everyone gradually joined in. I still didn’t have a mike, but I knew all the words.

“Well, I guess this is growing up,” I yelled over the racket, chancing a sideways look at Leigh, looking for all the world like she was living her best life…

…and beaming at me.

Sofa, so good

July 25, 2024 / / 0 Comments

I didn’t know who J.D. Vance was until this morning, and now I almost wish I still didn’t.

Note the “almost”. I’m dismayed, but not surprised, that there are people that abhorrent still seeking office in 2024. What I am surprised by is how many people are taking about how JDV didn’t have sex with a sofa. I mean, of course he has. Look at his face and then tell me that man has never been caught in flagrante delicto with his nan’s favourite settee. It’s impossible to deny. I notice he hasn’t openly done so, which means he has something to hide.

Back in my late teens I used to get horny while watching Robot Wars. This wasn’t really a deliberate thing, nor am I particularly turned on by chrome; I just did once and it put the idea into my brain somehow. I’d go to Woodcraft just after Robot Wars finished, and since my main activity after Woodcraft was going home and crying, that was my Horny Time. I may have missed a bit of metal carnage now and then, but I was happy with that.

I’m not going to say the couch in the living room took the brunt of my horniness, but then I can’t say it didn’t play its part.

To my credit, though, unlike JDV I didn’t actually fuck the sofa. I’d have had to take my trousers off, and although in the end I always did, this usually happened after the show had finished… and often in my bedroom (where there wasn’t a piece of household furnishings to shag), or the bathroom. Back in these halcyon days, of course, I didn’t masturbate to orgasm, so I wouldn’t have left a stain…

…but I digress.

The invisible, intangible and completely fictional person my teenage self would have sex with – before Karolina, but after the “My Girl” I fantasised about at 14… I should write about her as well, at some point – could manifest in pretty much any room of the house, but it was easier to conjure her up in the lounge than anywhere else. Occasionally, of course, this would happen in my bedroom (what I charmingly referred to in my head as “sex fests” taking place on my bed, occasionally with the devil fellah). Sometimes the bathroom would be a better place to do it.

But it was easier, especially since I didn’t have to move that much, to just dry-hump the Chesterfield, using the pillows for support. Job done. I did, of course, run the risk of breaking it – it wasn’t the strongest in the world – but years later and I was having sex on it with the Seamstress, so it clearly survived that long.

So, although I wouldn’t say I had sex with my sofa, like JDV clearly has, I had sex on it, at least once with someone who wasn’t there; I may well have fucked my sofa, as a result: I was a seriously weird kid and did all sorts of odd things. This would just be one more thing to add to the list.

Won’t be doing anything on – or to – our new, inherited sofa, though. It may well be called a love seat… but that’s a compound noun… not an instruction!

Slap

May 25, 2024 / / 0 Comments

I was on the way back from Manchester, and I was alone. I’d stopped off at… somewhere, I’m not entirely sure where… but the station was empty, for myself, an unassuming couple sitting on the bench, and a sleepy member of staff who looked as if he would rather be anywhere else, doing anything else.

I had used the combination disabled toilet / baby change, and to break up the tedium, I decided to spend the rest of my wait gaming in the customer lounge.

Said customer lounge was a large, sad, square room with uncomfortable wooden benches. I huffed my bag off my shoulders, fumbled for my Game Boy Advance, sat down gingerly, and was just about to push the power button when…

Slap.
“Unh.”

No, that was just my imagination. Let’s get back to Ice Climber.

Screenshot from "Ice Climber" (1985).
Ice Climber is a perfectly acceptable way to pass the time.

Slap.
“Aah!”

Okay, that was definitely real. I knew that sound, too. It was very familiar, and not just from porn (although that was, of course, the first place I’d heard it). I’d even made it a few times myself, despite never thinking I’d even get the chance.

But it was unmistakable, even without my prior knowledge. The telltale sound of flesh against flesh, skin meeting skin, pushing out the air between them and the very slight echo. Yeah. I knew what this was.

The only question was, where was it coming from?

Slap.
“Oh!”

Turned on, ashamed, I prowled around the room trying to puzzle out the mystery. A cursory glance around the platform outside and I noticed the lack of the couple on the bench. The sleepy guard was looking the other way… and there was no other activity.

Slap. Slap. Slap.
“Mmm… mmm… mmm!”

As the slaps and moans increased in terms of pitch, tempo and volume, I could definitely discern the direction they were coming from. The wall to my left. The wall, the thin brick wall, to my left. The wall separating my empty customer lounge and the disabled toilet / baby change.

The disabled toilet / baby change! That suddenly made perfect sense! I was the single boy perfectly content to sit and play Ice Climber; they were the horny couple deciding it would be a better use of their time to go and have sex in the disabled bathroom. (I mean, I don’t blame them; I’ve done that.)

How decadent. How risqué. How blatant. How…

how…

…sexy.

I even managed to pinpoint, through a sound I’m not even going to try and transcribe, what may very well have been an orgasm. It was certainly, if not that, a finishing move.

I didn’t quite get around to playing much of Ice Climber, but I did get my train. In fact, when it arrived, the couple were back on their bench, looking for all the world like nothing untoward had happened. Cool as you please, they stepped gracefully into a carriage. I followed suit, and as they swanned away into the milieu of seats, I traced them with my eyes…

…and regarded them with nothing short of ardent worship.

Sercia

April 28, 2024 / / 0 Comments

Dear Sercia,

Hi. You may not remember me, of course, but I think you might. I certainly remember you. I learned how to spell your name, at least. Occasionally I spoke to you, although we rarely – if ever – exchanged more than pleasantries. But then, you never said much to anyone at all. You were quiet, unassuming, and impenetrable.

But then that all added to the mystique.

You never even seemed to mind that I bunked next to you on that residential. There weren’t many spaces left and I took one between you and my geeky mate. He was a friend, of course, and I just liked your general vibe. You radiated an air of calm, cool collectedness, which made me feel at ease. At that time, I wasn’t particularly enjoying life, and you helped.

The other thing that I associated with ‘the Sercia vibe’ was your air of general innocence. Because you were so quiet and somewhat detached, you seemed to carry around a certain amount of purity. You were sweet, slightly abashed and almost virginal. You were also very pretty, which helped complete the look.

What was the big thing for me, of course, was the reputation you had.

It didn’t suit you at all, and yet you seemed unfazed by it, to your immense credit. You said, in your soft, dreamy voice, that you had never kissed anyone without that leading to sex – and, since that was during I Have Never, I would assume you were telling the truth. Your closest friend, who was slightly more forthcoming with information even when not playing I Have Never, would talk about you in ways that you never contradicted.

The air around you and your general attitude didn’t really fit with the picture that was gradually painted of this hypersexual, promiscuous dynamo who would sleep with pretty much anyone at the drop of a hat basically because she could.

“Sercia,” your friend said, “had a lot more sex than me in the earlier days. Of course, she had started when she was 13, so there were a few years between us and I had to catch up…”
“That’s quite early…” someone said uncertainly.
“Ah, yes it is, but that’s Sercia; you know what she’s like.”

But did we? Did we really?

At the time, of course, I had a huge, unrequited crush on Leaf, and I didn’t need another one on you, Sercia. You were out of my league anyway, and in any case, I wasn’t going to be hooking up at any Woodcraft event, on account of the fact that… well… it’s me, isn’t it? People don’t go for me. I only ever got to kiss Leaf because she was drunk.

But my brain built up this fantasy anyway.

Scene from the classic arcade game "Time Crisis" featuring the text "Sercia".
Get into the castle and rescue Rachel!

Somehow, inexplicably, we’d end up in a relationship. On the last night, with nobody else in the room (which never happened; it was a major thoroughfare, people had sex in the smaller rooms), we’d have sex, and it would be a moment of glory given your beauty and experience (and my enthusiasm). For the next couple of years I would spend my spare time ferrying myself between Nottingham and Solihull – a much shorter journey than London to Birmingham – and we would enjoy each other’s company, and each other’s body.

Judging by what you said, it would only take a kiss. But I wasn’t going to try that.

What you don’t know, Sercia, is that I almost tried it. On the last day of the residential, I was going to ask you out. You hadn’t raised any objections to sleeping next to me for three days, you were single, and you were quiet enough to say no without anyone else finding out. Had I actually asked Leaf, I would have been so embarrassed by her rejection that I would have hesitated on going to any further events. I didn’t want to jeopardise that.

Besides, I liked your general vibe. You were fun. It would be fun.

But, of course, I didn’t. I didn’t (and still don’t) do asking people out. I wasn’t even sure what to say, or how to say it. The one and only time I did, it didn’t go too well.

So I didn’t say anything, and I didn’t do anything. Because I never did. And you never knew what was going on in my head every time you sighed in your sleep or turned up at breakfast looking perfect.

You came to a few more events, because of course you did, but you were conspicuously absent for my last few.

“What happened to Sercia?” I asked my geeky friend.
“No idea. I haven’t seen her either. Maybe she’s just busy with… Sercia stuff?”

Yes, what exactly did you do when not at Woodcraft? Nobody had heard you talking about anything but sex. Trying to imagine your life was almost impossible, like envisioning a stupid professor or a competent Tory Prime Minister.

But kindly take this letter as an indication that I did very much like you.

Because I never told you, and I think you ought to know.

No, YOU listen.

March 18, 2024 / / 0 Comments

I didn’t understand it at the time and I still don’t.

You were very quick at the time to turn this into something I did. This was something YOU did. It wouldn’t have happened at all if you hadn’t done it and you know that. I’d like to think you had known that at the time, but I’ve no way of corroborating that.

Nevertheless, you took my reaction – which was much milder than I would have usually reacted – and turned it into a “thing I did”. You can out of it looking like a person who had been wronged. Nobody heard your side of the story and thought anything else.

The thing is that it shouldn’t have been a “story” to work through. It shouldn’t have happened. YOU shouldn’t have done it.

I didn’t mention this at the time, but it shouldn’t have even been an option! You didn’t offer me any sort of explanation, other than that you just did it, and when I asked why you did it when you knew how badly it would upset me, you said you didn’t know and then hinted that you wanted to upset me.

Worst of all, you turned this into something that I did, and called your mother who then tried to advise you to finish things with me because of something, I remind you, that YOU did.

This was a long time ago, yes. But it still comes to me in my dark moments or when I think too much. I see things on social media now that bring it back to me. I can’t let it go because it’s not something I did that I can make peace with or justify. This is something you did. You never justified it because you didn’t think you needed to.

I didn’t even get an apology from you and you expected one from me because of something I didn’t even do.

I’m writing this here because I’m fairly certain that you don’t read my blog any more. To all intents and purposes you have moved on. I mean, sure, we all change over time; I’m now 39 because it was my birthday yesterday. But I will never forget this – I will never forget what you did and how I reacted. I wish, I wish, I wish that it had never happened. Not just for my sake, either.

When you got up to walk away I thought for a second that you were getting up to come around to my side of the table, give me a hug and a kiss and tell me that you were sorry for what you did when you knew how it would affect me. I didn’t realise you were storming off until a few seconds too late.

I will admit that later on that day I asked you to never mention it again on the condition that our lesson learned at the time was that this sort of thing was unnecessary.

You said

What we have learned today is that you are pathetic.

which is not really what I wanted to hear. In fact, you said it twice, with a huge smile on your face.

Was this you trying to hurt me again?

I’m writing this on my blog because it’s my creative outlet, and hey, this is about a relationship, so it kind of fits the theme. But I want to tell you this:

I am not pathetic.

And you know that. You just didn’t want to admit it because you didn’t want to admit you did anything wrong.

But it still hurts, and that’s why I’m saying this.

Kaf AF

February 25, 2024 / / 0 Comments

Back in my youth, I had a friend who I’ll call Kaf. He was a good friend, actually – I knew him at primary school and kept seeing him all the way through secondary. I have bumped into him since (of course, since his family home is just around the corner). He’s now a research chemist working on air purification and the reduction of atmospheric NOx – needless to say, we couldn’t tell you this in year 6.

Kaf was, for a while, my most reliable friend, and I always saw him as quite mature: he kept a fiver in his pocket at all times; he walked around the area on his own and had been doing so since the age of ten; he knew how to re-wire a plug as long as he had the fuse for it; he wore a puffa jacket and affected a deeper voice than he naturally had. He also enjoyed a huge degree of personal liberty: ask him what he was doing, and he’d be free.

At the time I also wrote a paper diary. It wasn’t the most thrilling piece of literature in the world – although I’d always let people read it – but it was, at the very least, relatively chaste and safe for all to read. The first time I ever wrote something which I thought was a little dodgy came when I added

Kaf was free and we went into town and talked about girls

which I then justified with

(it’s the only thing he’ll talk about).

This wasn’t an unusual subject. Kaf was very interested in “girls”. At the age of 14, I also was, and in fact I’d already had crushes, but Kaf was limerent on a whole different level. He would constantly talk about the girls from the local Catholic girls’ school, with whom he apparently flirted with relentlessly every day (“phwoar!” was his description of one of them). He would occasionally look at someone our age in own and say “she’s fit” far too loud. Daringly, he had posters of Melinda Messenger on his wall and wondered if there was something wrong with me for not wanting one too. After playing Worms 2 I taught him how to use IRC once and he immediately started an online relationship with a Swedish girl we had never heard of before.

I, however, was much less talkative around the subject. I had a little sister and a fair amount of female friends, but I knew very little about “girls”. It happened that I certainly didn’t know that they were the reason for the puffa jacket and affected deeper voice. He wasn’t an unattractive guy, either: he was Greek Cypriot, had well-kept dark hair and a physique built from all the football he played. He was also a little taller than me at about 6’1″. I was considering myself average-looking and non-descript, so was much less likely to talk about, as I put it, “girls”.

The conversation wasn’t all that stimulating, either. We were a little too young to talk about sex, but a little too old to send a Valentine to a friend merely because of her gender. I mainly walked along in silence, listening to Kaf talking at great length about his patented ways to “pull”, despite having never seen him with a girl.

But that is why I added

(it’s the only thing he’ll talk about).

to my journal. I was a little nervy, but I did want to assert the fact that I could discuss my awareness of, and attraction to, the opposite sex. Shifting the blame for the topic of our conversation onto Kaf was a good way of assuaging any guilt I may have felt.

Not that I should have. But then I felt guilt for a lot of stuff.

But that was the first time I mentioned “girls” in my diary. They made infrequent re-appearances since, but less and less so as the years went on until I finally asked someone out. I wrote a very heartfelt entry that day, and even then it was still unusual for me to be so gushing (pantomime fairies notwithstanding). When she turned me down, it began the constant flow of “veil of tears” entries, and when I finally moved to LiveJournal a year later, pretty much all my posts were about “girls” (young women, really; we were in the sixth form by then).

Even then, though, I kept feeling like I had to justify the things I was saying. If I had a crush on you, of course I’d write about you. That’s what journalling was for, right? But I had to be respectful. Kaf took it a bit far. I could keep my integrity…

…as long as I didn’t start writing about sex.That would be ALL SORTS OF WRONG.

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