There have been many boys who have caught my eye and made my heart flutter but up until now none have been worthy. It started as all good love stories do with a boy who lived down the road, nothing ever happened but I used to think I’d marry him one day. I once sent him an excruciatingly embarrassing love letter as a teenager and still feel all scrunchy inside when I remember it.
Then it was the boy next door with the chocolate brown eyes. We used to hang out quite a lot but only when none of his mates were around. He was very cool and part of the in-crowd which I never managed and was sweet to me, when we were alone. He wasn’t worth my time but was a good first kiss.
Then came the basketball boys, some crushed on from afar and one that I used to hop the fence with to play one on one at a local school. They made me feel cool and I spent most of one summer with my tongue down the throat of the fence hopper. Who told his mates he’d only kissed me as I promised to give him my Walkman… A) I’m showing my age and B) what a dickhead.
There was the total arse stain Freddy – so notable I’m using his real name. He was bloody gorgeous, much more experienced than me, and a real arsehole who was definitely not worthy of my first time. We were ‘in love’ (we weren’t), he was ‘the one’ (no, God no) and I was set on moving oop North to be with him (dodged a bullet there). One night he got drunk to the point of needing to be carried and tried to strangle me whilst saying vile things. I never spoke to him again, apart from when he text me asking if I thought my mate would shag him. It destroyed me because I’d let him in whilst being mired in grief having just lost Mum.
The kindest man I’ve known was next and my first ‘proper’ boyfriend. Although we lived three hours apart we saw each other all the time and I adored his family. We really tried to make it work but when he started uni and I was still doing A-Levels it all started to fall apart. I promise you I didn’t choose my university city based on where he was studying but I did have a glimmer of hope that being in the same postal city meant we’d get back together. We didn’t.
Since then it’s been a maelstrom of ridiculous crushes, mis-reading signals, and generally not being very good at love.
I’d just like a beau I could actually adore, instead of thinking I do and then realising he’s a bellend.
With thanks to ‘My Life: An autobiographical journal from Adventures to Zealous Plots’ by Mr Boddington’s Studio