Friday, 27 September 2013

remembering first 'love'

In between opening drawers in the library and being 16 I met my first 'love'.  I thought it was love at the time.  Looking back, it was perhaps rather, infatuation.  

Today, in another post delving back to my teens, and inspired by Chantelle of Fat Mum Slim, I'm telling the story of my first love, and first kiss with him (we'll gloss over the other first kiss).  The idea of doing this is making me cringe a little, because there's something not quite right in this story.  But then, when are relationships ever perfect?

My first love/kiss, not skipping the awkward details

It took months from my starting to read RAW magazine, and dyeing everything black, through a starvation diet and too much exercise, before an incredibly shy me was willing to talk to anyone who might be, just a little bit, rock.  My break came one lunch time at school.  I came out of the library (still with straggly hair, but it's black now, and still with my librarian badge on) to see the new girl, who was definitely rock, picking up her stuff where it had been knocked on the floor.  I went to help, and we got chatting, and I made a friend for life.  She was called Deborah, and she was into T Rex and
Napalm Death.  Deborah was new in town, and she wanted someone to go with her to the rock disco at the Methodist church.  I was so scared to go, but I figured it'd be OK with Deborah, so I agreed.  It took forever to decide what to wear, but I managed to dress eventually.  I looked very Goth.  Deborah was a rocker.  She would end up being a Glammy, but she could rock jeans and a lumberjack shirt, which I'm pretty sure is what she wore that night.
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We went in.  We paid our £1.  We hung out (which is incredibly boring).  Then someone wanted a fag, so we all trooped out with them.  I was making lots more important friends, and learning a whole new addiction...   Outside, leaning on the wall, and not smoking (so I'm really not sure what he was doing there) was a man.  Not a boy.  Definitely not.  But a man.  His trousers were VERY tight, and very decorated, his T-shirt was covered in tassles, which used up most of the fabric, his long hair was purple and blue, he was wearing makeup, and he smelled strongly of Spiritual Sky Musk.

I was desperate to stare at him, but I couldn't.  I needed to pay attention to learning to smoke.  So it was a while before I went back into the church hall.  But when I went in, the smoke machine had been on, green and yellow lights were flashing, Aerosmith was playing, and there was only one person on that dance floor.  That dude did look like a lady, and I had the whole song to stare at him.  I really, really, really wanted to go out with him.

Well I got to know him a bit more over the next few weeks, and it turned out he was very Christian (I am very not, but I made an effort, because he said he would only go out with Christians), he didn't smoke, which was pretty rare, he was living with a friend of his (the DJ), and he was 11 years older than me.  Now at the time, my main concern was how to convince him that I was a Christian (I did it by playing God in a church play), but looking back on it I'm wondering what on earth had happened in his life that he was back to hanging out with teenagers.  Whatever it was, I am glad he was a Christian, so sex was not in the equation. 

He was clearly a bit damaged, and a bit strange.  And he was wildly exciting.  It would take months before he was willing to go out with me, and by then I had moved on, but those months we spent a lot of time together.  He introduced me to cider, and lots of cool poetry, and kissing on benches.  Also, the boy could dance (in fact, when my friend Deborah got married, he taught my darling husband a few moves).  Ah, but I've missed the first kiss, and I promised it, didn't I?

One Saturday night a friend's parents were out of town, and there was to be a party at her house.  Deborah and I went to glam-man's house to get ready, and go to the party together.  She and I were talking about just how ridiculous spandex trousers looked when he came out of the bathroom wearing pink spandex, and I changed my mind.  I'm really sorry I don't have any pictures of him (do any of my friends have any pictures?).  Anyway, we all went to the party, we drank lots of cider, cried in the kitchen, talked someone out of suicide (cue my first kiss, which we're glossing over), and all fell asleep wherever we could find.  I tried to 'fall asleep' as close to glam man as possible, and when it seemed that everyone else was actually asleep, or otherwise engaged I started to trace the lines of his makeup on his face.  And then he held on to me, and kissed me!  And we kept on kissing.  Unfortunately at this point I hadn't discovered the wonders of Lipcote, so I looked a mess, and so did he, but it didn't matter.  That was me hooked, and I would stay that way until I came to my senses about 9 months later on summer holidays.

Considering it was 9 months I have no idea why I have no photos, although I suspect it was because I was too shy to ask!

So, what's the story of your first love?  First kiss?  I hope it was fun.  I hope you didn't look as much of a mess as I did!

By the way, that first 'love' of mine was falling in love himself while we were together.  Unfortunately it was to someone else.  The two of them are happily married now and still as bonkers as ever.  Christ is still important to them. Kudos.

Posts in this series

This is one of a series of posts inspired by Fat Mum Slim's list of 50 things to blog about.  If you'd like to take a look at the rest, you can find them here.