There IS a reason why I've never had a boyfriend of my own nationality.
Actually more than one.
First, I kept getting disappointed.
Second, they talk too much and never just kiss you.
Third, I moved to England when I was very young.
Ok, the first and second reason just confirmed themselves, which makes me ultra glad of the third reason, i.e. I have somewhere to escape to.
BTW I am getting gradually more drunk and bored, so be prepared!
Family party- the perfect excuse for 1st Kiss Boy to show his face, now framed by a seriously receding hairline. The man is 6 months older than me, scary!
He turns up on the wrong train, forcing me to drive around a town melting in 36 degree heat for an hour. After all he is MY first friend (ever), so I have to pick him up. And of course I only have his Dutch number, and of course he can't hear my mum phoning him cos he is listening to his MP3Player when I finally do find him behind an intimidating UmPa band.
As I wait for a parking space (a couple is loading their baby into a Mercedes and I am fairly patient), an ugly old git overtakes me (I have pulled aside to let him past) and squeezes into MY parking space.
I lose it, and launch a tirade of expletives into his wrinkly face, making sure I don't exclude his frumpy wife who has waddled up to the car alarmed by the noise. I actually collected a gob of saliva in my mouth to spit through his open window into his speccy face, but I don't want to end up spending my mum's big birthday in jail.
They are tough like that, abroad.
So I drive up 6 floors in the multistorey car park, getting more frustrated with every packed floor.
Anyway, fast forward 2 days of stolen glances in my direction (upwards when I tower over him in heels), lack of sleep due to offering to share "my" room with him (Two beds, mind!) and the occasional familiar hand on my hip- we are getting drunk and playing drinking games in my sister's flat.
Her boyfriend, 1stKissBoy, my cousin and her boyf.
We give up on "I've never" shortly after my cousin utters the immortal, ill-advised and not quite truthful confession: "I've never been sober at school".
By this stage, I have confessed to having been unfaithful, to having had a threesome and to trying drugs.
I want to leave, my sister needs her sleep and 1stKiss is dithering about. Finally I leave him to find his own way back, feeling slightly mean but taking consolation in watching the amazing stars and feeling rather tipsy.
He arrives 30 minutes later, furious.
I hide my fit of laughter under the sheets and turn off the lights, he is still furious, I am still drunk and find the whole thing hilarious.
He ends up in bed next to me.
We have both changed so much in 15 years, but I like talking to him in the dark and get slightly turned on.
Anyway, I was drunk.
So, we had a chat in the course of which he actually apologised for his rejective behaviour 15 years ago.
The funnny thing is, as a teenager he was really cynical, "wise", well-read, intelligent and rebellious, whilst I was really romantic, naive, more religious than him and hopeful- especially concerning relationships and our special connection.
In a way, I looked up to him. He introduced me to Monty Python, computers and dirty comic books, he dismissed Dirty Dancing, the Bible and my boyfriend. He thought my leggins were of "bad taste" (tight and white with multicoloured polka dots, well, it was the early nineties!), everyone should have read Karl Marx, and he had no idea what a "top" was- a bra with no cups, in 1990-speak.
This, he'd wanted me to take off when I lay in his bed, embracing him 15 years ago. He tasted of the herring he'd eaten a few hours before, and hoovered up my tongue like a swimming pool suction device.
He thought he was Rhett Butler and I wondered why Scarlet didn't talk with a permanent lisp.
I had a boyfriend whose dad was in jail and our entire relationship had been conducted via letters.
Bless the time before the Internet!
Anyway, 1stKiss obviously wanted to rekindle that old fireworks, and he nearly managed it.
His blue-eyed attitude however completely put me off.
The boy who'd quoted Karl Marx and Supervixxens had been replaced by a short, unattractive man whose hands were the same size as (and softer than!) mine, who was into Feng shui, the Soul and Love- whilst I had tasted life, cocain, threesomes and bitter disappointments in London.
I told him I was turned on but that it wouldn't mean anything if we slept together. I dreaded facing my mum in the morning, and I dreaded doing it with someone who'd not bought me a ring in the bed I'd last done it in with the Bastard.
In the end, I kicked him out. At 6am.
To his own bed, facing the covered mirror closet (the feng shui!), two yards away.
I was dripping and I longed to feel his penis inside me, I was considering how easy it would be to reach for the condoms left in the bedside drawer, or how easy it would be to just let him penetrate me without one.
Our interesting history would have come full-circle in a blonde, blue-eyed offspring.
He lay on top of me for a while, humping through the thin sheet, tasting my tongue, more sensitive this time, feeling my desire and hearing my words that it wouldn't mean anything.
I took him to the train the next day; breakfast was awkward but not noticably so at 12pm after 5 hours' sleep- on our way to the station he kept talking about "Before Sunset/Sunrise" which I dismissed as silly tripe. At least I can name the actors. Turns out, the Baronet has a history with someone linked to an actor in that film...
Anyway, I am far too cynical for all that and I made damn sure the guy got his train.
He is keen to come visit me, not put off by the fact he'd have to share my bed- I suggested we "leave it at that" but I think he missed the meaning.
Yesterday, a 4 page letter arrived. I put off reading it for ages- it caused me that sort of worrisome lump in my stomach I have before all my parent's court confrontations- but it was rather harmless.
He loves me. So what!?
) text me, suggesting a bout of naughty SMS.