Swelling excited, like getting into a fight you know you can win, was pounding me for a whole week. And bloody hell was it brimming with endurance. I was leaving my tiny decayed, city-of-school to my home, city-of-play to see her. Sure I hadn’t finished my homework, but clearly I was just too nervous. Soz.
Outfits were not planned out, better not to, no expectations, no hurt. You don’t feel like you’re letting yourself be Frank Cotton torn. Vague plans to meet – arranged. Respective friend’s parties to take each other to as dates – check. New haircut – painful, but done (at least it didn’t bleed profusely this time).
DAY 1:
Get off train, rush to meet her and co. at bar. Get lost en route. Fine and dandy, locate bar -give my phone three squeezes- it acts like it knows already. Self assured prick. I walk in. I’ve misplaced the air from my mouth, my fully automatic heart pounding. I really didn’t need that second cigarette.
She says “Hi!” before I see her. I turn and look. “Crap” I think. “She’s even better than I remember.” At this point all witty comments that had been mounting during my four and a half hour train journey regressed back to their little grey cell makers. And I forget how to greet.
Skip to an hour later: In a gallery drinking not/with/her/friends and a bottle of wine later kissing and laughing at the contortionist creeping us out to hip hop. Yes. Hip hop. And I don’t think they’re taught the concept of a beat at freakschool. Even though there was no camel toe my eyes made like Vampire tears. Unattractive.
“This is the girl I’m seeing”
Quick scene change, at friend’s party (mine actually good) all I know, this fantasy is real. It’s being fulfilled. She mounts me. The kiss feels like an urgent static TV glow all over my body. I can’t let it stop. Ever. She. It. Feels just too good and too perfect. And only on reflection do I realise I can’t even compare this to Not-a-vigin-anymore and relish that goodbye.
But then she leaves.
And I want her even more.
Bitch.
DAY 2:
No official plans, but a win for me. I have ‘left’ my paraphernalia with her. Ooops [Props]. Her, I, an Owl, a Pussycat, and a rolled-up tenner. I can’t stop smoking, Probably because I am so nervous? I like to think I’m shaking with infatuation and the pain in my nose. We talk about families, and Henry and June. She is so smart and so unreadable. I don’t even know the best way to impress her. What she’ll laugh at. What will make her turn and rush into my arms. What will excite her. But Boy-0h-Boy am I trying.
She actually stays to watch Marty, where there are no good Tomatoes and only the terrible ‘peck’ exists.
We say Bye at the door. My heart is spat on again.
DAY 3 (not consecutive):
Sunday is skipped. Why? “Oh it’s Valentines day. I don’t know what it’ll be like when I’m dating someone, always having to spend it with “Ex-bf-now-turned-bff”. ” Great.
We meet for lunch. She is almost two hours late, but she has my things. Bagels followed by Booze. Eve tells Alfie that Eve is still in love with E-b-n-t-b and has been sleeping with them the whole time.
“I don’t want casual sex, and I’m really enjoying finally being single”. Single? Really? Then we have a three pint fuelled toilet catch up. Then I’m at the table alone.
Maybe I’m not a GoodGirl. They don’t cut themselves do they?
But now she knows. It’s not just about the sex.
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