I thought I'd share a story about my first boyfriend. I wonder if I can think back that far... :o) I was listening to someone talk about their first experience and that got my mind meandering back to that time in my life - a time of trepidation and fear and excitement. It was also a time of visiting unknown pastures and wondering just what good girls did in order to NOT cultivate bad reputations. One of my best friends and I used to walk to the shops at lunchtime... In the 6th form when we were finally allowed off the school grounds, having gained the privilege because we had passed the O levels and gained entrance into the hallowed sixth form - oooooh. Privileges included the aforementioned ability to leave the school grounds without getting into trouble AND we no longer had to wear the uniform - a kilt and blouse (and a polo neck skin tight under-top in the winter), the socks and the below 2" heeled regulation coloured shoes and the summer dress with sandals in the summer. Anyway, we were walking to the shops and were talking about boys and dating. We were 17 and scared shitless. We were getting close to an age where boys would expect more than kisses and neither of us had really ever dated. Obviously I had kissed boys before (summer holidays in Spain were a real hoot and my cousin and I really enjoyed innocent fun going out with boys and kissing them) but we had never gone further than kissing. As we got older we got more nervous and the discussions got more desperate about what would be expected from us. We went to an all girls school and we were really rather naive. It was sad that nobody really found the need to talk to us about relationships and sex but there you go. I have remedied that with my children. And they're all young. :o) They keep telling me that it's TMI but better TMI than no I.
Back to the boyfriends thing. I didn't start the whole dating game till after I was out of high school (we do high school from 11 - 18 in England unless you fail your O levels in which case you can go to college to retake them or just quit at 16). I was finally driving and able to go out and about and started going out to pubs. See, I was a good girl and I waited till I was 18 (OK, a month or two shy of 18) till I went to pubs. We didn't need ID in those days either. And who asks girls how old they are. They needed more women in pubs :o) So, I started going out to pubs and I didn't drink and drive much (I was very stupid but VERY lucky) so the designated driver would drink soft drinks and the rest of us would go on the piss (drink alcohol).
I met this first boyfriend through friends. He was cute. He was short (as am I) and he was a little younger than me. But he was probably more outgoing than me. He had an advantage over me. He wasn't shy and, if he was, he was also a pot smoker which made him less than shy. He and his friends smoked pot and cigarettes. I did neither but I didn't want to look like a bore so I made my first mistake. At 18 1/2 I took up smoking to try to look (and how dumb is this?!) more sophisticated. UGH! The next time we met up, down the pub, I was a smoker. What an idiot. But I guess that, as a smoker, I was more likely to try smoking pot. We met a couple more times and then I went to his house to meet his family. They were nice enough. Cute younger brother (always been into the younger men LOL). We then went to his friend's house to meet up with them and have some drinks. I was driving so no drinks for me. So they offered me pot. Never having had it before I though what the hell. Tried it but it did nothing for me. After a few hits I decided I needed to go to the loo so I went off to the loo and they continued smoking pot and drinking beer. Finished up and washed my hands and, as I was coming around the corner, I overheard these chaps talking. Hmmm. I really didn't like what I was hearing. They were talking about holding me down and giving me a giant hickey and then seeing what else they could do to me. At that point I decided that my best course of action was to piss off out of there ASAP. So, I grabbed my bag and quietly left the house and buggered off home. Never took his calls after that. What a total bastard.
Met him at his younger (and even cuter) brother's house (a party he was having) a few years later. I was seeing my second boyfriend at that time and we'd gone there together. This git asked me to go upstairs for a minute because he had to show me something. So I went up there a few minutes after he'd vanished. Got to his room and knocked on his door. Went in and he was lying naked in his bed!!! WTF? He asked me if I'd like to join him. LMAO I was at this party with my bloody boyfriend, for pity's sake. I informed him, very sweetly, that, no, I wouldn't like to join him and that, no, I didn't want to see what he had under the covers and left the room laughing my ass off. We left the party soon after that. It was pretty funny how over confident he was. Laughable.
Anyway, yesterday I was working out in the dark (as I usually do). I was on the treadmill and was watching a documentary about being fat and on the verge of death until the guy decided to get a juicer and do a 60 day juice fast (considering getting a juicer now but not to do a 60 day juice fast - I can't afford the weight now). So I'm pounding away on the treadmill and there is a little bit of light in the gym and suddenly I see this humungous black thing scuttle across the wall to the left of me. I screamed my arse off. How much of a chicken am I? At that point I was a huge chicken. It shocked me that I didn't pee myself :o) So, I'm screaming and screaming (but God forbid that I stop the treadmill and run out of the gym - wouldn't want to fuck up my workout, after all) and screamed some more. Did any-bloody-buggering-body come down to see what the hell was wrong? Was mummy getting knifed? Was mummy getting murdered? Was mummy getting some? Nope. I screamed some more and reached back to turn on the lamp (while still walking on the treadmill) and watched this big black hairy thing scramble across the wall, behind the photo shrine I've put up of my dad (which is why I treadmill in the dark), and crawl across the adjacent wall. Still screaming I finally see my 9 year old outside the gym and he asks me what's wrong. I scream at him to tell his dad to come down (he was on the third floor). He eventually came down. At this point I had stopped the treadmill with 2 laps still to go but I was worried that the bugger would vanish and I'd never be able to workout again and that just wouldn't do. Had a shoe in hand but didn't want to mess up the shoe. LOL
Wade came in and I handed his some tissues and he killed the thing. Didn't tell me what the hell it was. It looked like a quadillopeed - a big, furry, black thing with fangs and horns. Fucker's dead now. *shudder* I hope it didn't have babies. UGH.
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