Sunday, 23 August 2009

Belgian Holiday



The spawn are off visiting OCD Brother in Law, so it's a weekend of pretending to be Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, zooming around on the motorbike inappropriately dressed in the sunshine. If Audrey Hepburn had soup stains on her skirt and looked like a naked mole rat, that is. Yeah, ok, I wouldn't be the obvious first choice for Audrey. The wig reacts badly to the helmet, and my legs are far too short for capris. ANYWAY.


We're discussing first boyfriends and girlfriends, over pizza.


"Ah, Chris, the trainee teacher with the huge chin. I was sixteen. We used to do photography together, so we'd often be in the darkroom at the same time. Small room, dark, very close proximity. It was inevitable. He used to leave tiny slips of paper with typewritten poetry on them in my study overnight and I would come in and find them in the morning. It was SO romantic. I was totally obsessed. And of course, because he was a student teacher and I was a pupil, it had this added frisson of transgression that just made it even more exciting. Even though all we did was go and drink beer in the depressing old man pubs of North Yorkshire.
"He lived in Doncaster and when my mum finally agreed to let me go over and stay with him, HE told me that she had called him up and insisted on separate bedrooms and I resented her for YEARS for that and blamed her when we split up. When he dumped me I stalked him round all the pubs of York for months. I was sooooo miserable. Also, he never quite finished it properly so I was mooning about thinking that maybe he would get back in touch for ages. It was torture. Anyway, years later I mentioned it to her and she said she had never phoned him at ALL and he had completely made it up".



The CFO is frowning. "Doesn't it seem like ASKING for trouble to put a trainee teacher and some seventeen year old girls IN A DARKROOM together?



"I suppose so. Quaker school was a bit like that. The German teacher gave the A Level exam answers to the pretty girls with long legs and noone did anything about it. How about you, anyway?"



"Hmm. I can't remember her name but I do remember she was 16 and I was 14 which was a big coup for me. I used to have to cycle over and see her on Wednesdays because she went to a different school, and we had NOTHING to talk about so we would sit on a bench and just kiss. It was a real drag having to go and see her".


"Did she dump you?"


He tries to remember.


"Er.. I think I just stopped going. She wasn't that bothered. She was my first though".


"WHAT? You slept with her? She was your first and you can't remember her NAME? Jesus! I didn't even sleep with Chris and it took me, like, two years to get over him".


[Chris! I still haven't got over you! Call me! I know I vomited when I saw your penis, but it was only because I was really hypoglycaemic! Nothing to do with the actual organ!]


There is a point to this. Well, there isn't but now I've decided to make one. And given that times are really hard and I made you a pygmy jerboa out of crap from my dad's garden, I think you ought to play.
So. Please tell me about your first serious boy/girlfriend in the comments with the most dismal details possible. Best story wins a crap Belgian prize. Say, a Manneken Pis corkscrew, perhaps?




Go on. Please?

36 comments:

Titian red said...

First boyfriend, ah, is that the one I used to watch go past the house on his way to the pub every night, never spoke to because I was at boarding school and not allowed out in the holidays ? Crying myself to sleep each night at home but making up stuff once back at school so I wouldn't look totally unfanciable.
Or the guy I lost my virginity to in a calculated exercise at a friends 18th ? Her party was at a prep school in the Summer holidays (lots of room, lots of dormitories) and another friend set me up on a blind date. Having seen so many friends fall in love with "the one", offer their precious gift/cherry/first time to someone and then get dumped weeks later with all the associated trauma I decided that I would do the deed so would have no hang ups. Worked out fine, "thanks very much, yeah nice to met you too, bye" until I went to Art College the next term and met his best friend there.
Hey ho

ringeroses said...

Dave the Rave, my Mum called him. Twenty-three year old hairdresser from Manchester. I was fifteen and very 'girls church school'. I thought he was David Bowie. So did he - red Ziggy Stardust hair and a silver jumpsuit and boots. We met at Scamps in Blackpool every Saturday. One night I lied to my Mum and arranged to stay over in a B n B in Cocker Street.I took a whole shoebox-full of make up and two changes of clothes. It was all more innocent than it could have been really, in retrospect - I went home intacto - but still overwhelming to me. Two weeks later he called and said he had met someone in Manchester and wasn't coming to Blackpool again. I was initially devastated, but secretly relieved.

Steam Me Up, Kid said...

First boyfriend: He wore a bright red floor-length swimming jacket everywhere we went. He would french kiss my face constantly, even when I was talking or trying to watch a movie or eating dinner. He was adorable. Dumb, sweet, doting, and very much gay. A few months ago I googled my own name (yeah that's right, you know you've done it too) and found a blog where I was described as heartless and cold, and referred to by my first and last name, as well as some other specific details so nobody would think it was someone by the same name. In this post, he laments the fact that I never let him touch my boobs. The rest of the blog is full of pornographic photos of naked hermaphrodites doing very interesting things to each other, and large biker men licking each other's pink parts. (I'm sure my students and their parents enjoyed this as well when they googled the name of their teacher.) Reading further, he's off his meds and living in Cambodia.

Maybe I should have just let him touch my boobs.

Mwa said...

My first boyfriend lasted a week. I was fifteen and dumped him for trying to stick his tongue in my mouth. Fifteen!

fabhat said...

First proper boyfriend was the older brother of a friend of mine - I was aged 15 and we went to see Sex, Lies and Videotape at the NFT as first date. Had about another 3/4 dates before he realised that my child rate photocard wasn't a forgery and he dumped me for being too young (he was 17). Except he didn't actually have the guts to dump me - instead he made his younger brother(my mate) do it for him instead. I was gutted.

But I lost my virginity later that year on work experience with a documentary team, in a teepee in Wales. With one of the subjects of our documentary who was a very beautiful red head about my age.
Made for a good story - like Titian Red - just thought oh well at least it's over and done with - and with someone who lived, miles and miles away so wasn't likely to reappear - which luckily he didn't.

Pochyemu said...

I met my first boyfriend online when I had just turned 18. I had moved to Estonia, he lived in Battersea. The dodgy bit. Not that I ever went to his place - the first and last time we met, I paid for a room for us for a week (£300! 18 years old!). He turned up 2 hours late with a 6 pack of Stella, which he spent 6 of his only £8 on. I had to have my parents (who weren't aware that I was even IN England) put money in my bank account as we didn't have any money for food. We lived on apples we stole from a shop for 2 days till the money came in. Then I bought us masses of groceries and paid for us to travel all over London (have I mentioned he was 30 years old and had £2 in his pocket?). We had great sex, he asked me to marry him, I said yes and went back to Estonia, and was in hysterics when he disappeared on a month long alcoholic bender. Totally unreachable by phone. Was very surprised when he told me he was a skint alcoholic on the dole (really Danielle? You were surprised? Yes! I was a dumb kid from midwestern America!). Anyway, to add insult to injury, he dumped ME, stalked me for several years on my previous blog, and he surfaced on facebook unexpectedly the other week as a 'friendship suggestion'. As far as I could tell from his unlocked profile (stalking can go both ways!), he was looking to hook up with dominatrixes in his local area. Isn't that sweet? (PS I totally win this competition.)

justme said...

Pochyemu! You totally DO win this comp! Wow.....we can ALL stalk him whe you come to stay...heh, heh!

Layla said...

Well, there's simply no hope of competing with Pochyemu. It would be like trying to play tennis against Roger Federer.

And I very impressed that she's still actually ALIVE - and not a posthumous winner of one of the Darwin awards.

Pochyemu definitely deserves the prize.
And a round of applause.

Layla said...

I think you should have a competition I can actually compete in.

Preferably something to do with camels..

So Lovely said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
The City Road said...

I feel rather as the Australian cricketers did this morning, obliged to go through with this even though the match has already been won. Twice. 'Steam Me Up, Kid' & 'Pochyemu': Respect.

First girlfriend at school when I was 15, a year younger and taller than me, we went on long bike rides or spent summer afternoons kissing on the sofa. We only ever played with each other through clothing, or with hands down underwear not daring to undress in case a parent came in. She would call to say her parents were out but I lived a bus ride away and couldn't lie to my mum well enough to escape the house.

She said she didn't want to go out with me anymore at the Wimpy Bar, with everyone from school there - though in a quiet and embarrassed way that would have been sweet had it not been cutting me into a thousand pieces. I walked home down the hill in a daze and my dad, who'd been driving to pick me up, opened the car door, looked at my face and just nodded and said "Son".

In a manner that has been very familiar over the years she would turn to me for advice about her subsequent boyfriends, saying stuff like "I don't know why he treats me so badly, you were never like that to me..." and it would take all my strength not to reply with the obvious retort.

I lost my virginity, a year or so later, on the floor with the TV on, the sound turned down; the last episode of 'Roots' where Kunta Kinte returns to his African village.

So Lovely said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
WendyB said...

That corkscrew would be a delightful hostess gift.

softinthehead said...

OMG i cannot compete - boringly I am married to my first boyfriend - i veer between being proud of this (it has been 36 years!) and being mortified. haha

Eering WV is indsokim - I feel I have been outed, I am called Kim and have indian ancestry!!

softinthehead said...

Also " bright red floor length swimming jacket" ???? Sorry ... what?

Anonymous said...

First boyfriend was one of my teachers (not student teacher). I used to tell my parents I was going to our local library to study and he'd pick me up in his little white van and we'd go down by the river. Sounds awfully tacky and probably was, but gave me an enormous sense of power and self-esteem, which was lucky, since the guys my own age were just not very interested at that stage!

Artichoke Queen said...

I don't even remember first meeting my first real boyfriend, I suspect we were around 10 when we first made each other's acquaintance. We spent our summers at our families' homes on the same part of a lake, and we both were part of a gaggle of kids in the little town who we eventually came to call our "summer friends." We were 18 the summer we first kissed and 19 the summer we first Did It, and I am fond of him to this day, and occasionally still run into him up at the lake. He is a lovely man.

The first boy I kissed was some random blond hottie at a Styx concert (you may all pause to admire my musical taste) when I was 12. We held hands during "Come Sail Away" and I spent the whole song wondering if I was supposed to be holding the hand of the guy on the other side of me too, like during the Lord's Prayer at my progressive Catholic church, but then random blond hottie (I *think* his name was Kevin, but I really can't remember -- he looked a bit like Christopher Atkins in The Blue Lagoon) bent over and kissed me and I was glad I hadn't tried to hold the other dude's hand. I skipped off to find my parents and never saw RBH again.

JONATHAN LETHBRIDGE said...

This is not first girlfriend or first boyfriend related, but is equally exciting as I am sure you will agree when you click the link. The Waffle Moth that led me to this site goes by the catchy name of Acleris forsskaleana. More details here about the distinctive reticulations on the forewing..... Jesus. http://ukmoths.org.uk/show.php?bf=1036
I am stunned such a website exists, but there you go. Now tell me, as I know you are a lover of nature and the great outdoors - has this made your day?

Jaywalker said...

Jonathan - UGH. You are a disgusting, depraved NATURE SPAMMER. Go away or at least tell us a humiliating story about your first girlfriend. Pfff.

Lindsey Mason said...

I was a *cough* late starter. However, I have many stories re first loves. Yes, they're are several. What of it? Can I just say at the outset, I was never a beauty - I got my dad's sticky out teeth and had the constant appearance of a child who was trying to eat a tomato through a tennis racquet. So any kind of kissing always involved me trying to keep my teeth out of the way. No mean feat. Anyway, I remember kissing a boy called Clyde (Named after the river in Glasgow, not the glamorous American twosome). I remember kissing him and all I could taste was black pudding in batter. (We lived above the shop, and my da owned a chippy). Ewwww.
Next romantic interlude, different bloke - we were romantically leafing through Kay's Catalogue (yes we might've owned a chippy, but we were working class scum just the same, my mother is probably still paying for my Kay's Catalogue purchased many fashion faux pas). So there we were, leafing through Kay's Catalogue (me desperately hoping we wouldn't happen upon the men in pants, I blushed easily in those days). I'm afraid the excitement got too much for me, and I'd been drinking too much orange juice and I...ummmm there's no easy way to say this. I LET ONE GO. I won't go into any further detail. Suffice to say we didn't see each other after that. ANd I was so traumatised I remained virgo intacta until I was 18. FACT. Then the cherry popper kept my pants (they had Tuesday on the front - it happened on a Friday, but day-of-the-week pants were the fashion back then) as a trophy. Bastard.

screamish said...

stewart the scotsman. long distance thing, he faxed me proposals of marriage. he called me the day before I was leaving for London to tell me he couldnt meet me at the airport because he had a business meeting. HE WAS CALLING FROM THE HOSPITAL WHERE HIS WIFE WAS GIVING BIRTH TO HIS SON.

Once in edinburgh i discovered the sordid truth, went crazy and ...I went to his local and systematically went round every table and told the entire pub the story.

oh madness.....

it formed a pattern and until recently i believed that suffering and arguing and difficulty was something normal when you love someone....so much time wasted when i could have been out there having (more) fun with normal men.

bevchen said...

Nothing to do with first boyfriends (my story is boring anyway and has already been beaten hands down by absolutely everyone on here!). Just wanted to give you a link to my latest fete entry, flat-warming cake: http://confuzzledom.wordpress.com/2009/08/24/lets-talk-about-cake/

I will send you the photos later, when I have more time.

edwynuk said...

I can’t really compete for winner of this competition, my heart wasn’t broken (this time) and we didn’t get up to much mischief but trawling my memory recesses has been a very pleasant reminder of things long forgotten.

My first boyfriend was a border. He used to follow me around the small market town while I was doing the shopping for my Mum, laden down with bags, as I refused to be seen out in public with a shopping trolley (now of course I think they are wonderful inventions).
He would offer to carry my bags home for me, more I think, for the chance to sit in our kitchen and chat to Mum with a proper cup of tea and a biscuit, and maybe even stop for a home cooked tea. I think he missed home.
We would go for long walks through Westgate Fields and Hubbard’s Hills, and at the end of term when he had to go back home we would hide love tokens in crevices in trees to see if we could find them when we were reunited.
He used to sneak me into his rooms, through the back gate into a very lovely ancient building - very risky as the penalty for girls in rooms was expulsion – I was more interested in the building I seem to remember.
I think I still have his letters somewhere he wrote that summer, describing in minute detail his summer job working filling shelves in Sainsbury’s……. Quite. I went to visit him while on holiday in Surrey at my Aunt and Uncle’s and pretended I didn’t know what he was talking about when he made thinly disguised references to sleeping together.
My Mum cried when I broke up with him.

JONATHAN LETHBRIDGE said...

My first girlfriend later became a lesbian, a fact not lost on my best man when composing a speech.

Lucy Fishwife said...

My first real boyfriend had previously been out with my friend Emma, who chucked him unceremoniously when a boy from Eton asked her out, the shallow tart. He (the now ex) used to turn up on my doorstep moping and wanting to talk about her for hours on end - eventually I snogged him just to shut him up. We went out for 18 months, which was a darn good innings for sixth-formers, and split up when my family moved North and neither of us could afford the coach fare to see each other every weekend. Ah young love! It will conquer all, you know, except National Express ticket prices and rapidly encroaching boredom!

WV - indous, the less well-known brother of Aldous Huxley.

GingerB said...

I don't concede yet. My first boyfriend, the one to whom I lost my um, you-know-what, was a friend of my brother's called John. We now refer to him as Dead John, since he is in fact dead, and the only person in my life who knows about him is my brother, to whom I don't speak. He was very handsome in a redneck sort of way, with beefy arms from doing farm work for his parents, and, he had a truck. Since I was not yet driving I was impressed. The relationship ended soon when I realized he was in fact a mean, stupid redneck with nice arms and a truck. So I moved on, to a man 34 years of age to my 14, who would not have sex with me because he knew the legal penalties, but was willing to get me drunk on cheap wine (mad dog 20/20 for you Americans) and ride roller coasters with me, and teach me about art. His pet bunny was named Chagall, and he had beautifully shaped legs and a Sunbeam Alipine to drive me around in. He didn't work, because of his tortured artist status (and drunkenness) so he was on welfare. He taught me to cash in one dollar food stamps for the cheapest thing in the store (a roll) two times each at each store to get .90 back each time and after getting change back at a few stores we'd hit the liquor stores. We'd drunkenly go to the few art museums here and then eat grilled cheese sandwiches on the welfare rolls. Did I mention the beauty of his legs? Now, when his art is on exhibit locally I think of going but I don't. I see him now and then in a grocery store, and we avoid eye contact. It may be that he really doesn't recognize me, or he does and is suitably ashamed. I loved the drunken roller coaster rides, I really did.

Margarita said...

My first real boyfriend was kinda crappy. All we did was hang out in his house. With his family. He then broke up with me at school, then proceeded to walk me home as I dramatically cried the whole way. I then made his life crap at school, and was very drama queen about the whole thing.

It was great. And very immature and I wouldn't recommend it.

Mrs Jones said...

First 'real' boyfriend with whom I exchanged bodily fluids was 17 to my 14 years old. This was in 1978 and he lived opposite me. He was not much taller than me, overweight but .... OMG .... he had A MOTORBIKE!!! My previous boyfriend (with whom only saliva had been swapped) was obsessed with motorbikes but wasn't old enough to have one so, when he dumped me unceremoniously as we were actually walking into our English O Level exam so he could go out with a girl called Prudence (FFS), what revenge could be sweeter than to find someone actually with a bike?

I didn't really fancy him much but I was, shall we say, curious about the whole 'proper' sex thing and, as he was experienced (I mean, REALLY experienced, he'd even had a fling with a married woman....or so he said at the time....come to think of it, that could've been bullshit...), I let him pop my cherry. Outside. At night. In November. In between two benches at a cricket pavilion in the middle of a playing field. God, the romance. I remember it hurt like hell and I was genuinely surprised when he started moving it in and out (and I thought I knew all about sex ed). I was dry as a bone (sorry to be so graphic) but fortunately he knew about durex (told you he was experienced), which was gaily flung to one side when finished. In fact, it was still lying there the next day when I took my best friend to show her because she didn't believe me.

He worked in a camera shop in Guildford and I was at school with his sister who used to deliver notes to me from him daily. She later committed suicide.

I only let him have sex with me 3 or 4 times during our 6-month relationship and that was only 'cos he pestered me to. I remember he once told me he only went out with me because he actually fancied my mother. In the end the relationship petered out and I got back with the one who'd dumped me for Prudence. But, boy, did I have a few tricks I could then show him...

Bizarrely, I last saw Motorbike Boy with his wife at an open day for a local infertility clinic in 1996. We were both prospective patients. I studiously avoided making eye contact but pointed him out to Current Husband who was, quite rightly, very scathing about my choice of cherry-popper.

Z said...

I don't think he counts as a boyfriend if he's so much older than you that it was impossible to tell anyone, so he's been a secret for 37 years. He steamed, though. Literally, but in a rather good way.

Pochyemu said...

Kids, don't even bother with your virginity-loss stories because I so totally win that one too. Ask Jaywalker.

emily said...

First boyfriend i was with for three years. vThere are two stand out moments of excruciation...
1) attempting to lose my virginity to him... please note the word attempting... We were at his house, in the lunch time from school, he had to bar the front door so that his (twin) brother didnt get in, said twin brother retaliated by ringing the doorbell continuously, i was petrified that the barring of the door would fail to be sucessful and was hyperventilating anyway because i was scared... Add to all that the fact that neither of us knew what we were doing, we were 16 and had limited time (due to its being lunch time) and it made for a rather unsuccessful time... My one memory of him naked was how very muscley he was and how strangely large his penis was. Hmmm...
2) we broke up just before leaving school and going to college, at my instigation... Our school had a joke "prize giving" - services to make up etc. We had to go up in front of all of our year and collect "the cupids prize for longest lasting relationship". Needless to say we were both cherry red.

Oh dear. He recently added me on facebook too...s'rather odd!

LaurenR said...

I'm certain my first boyfriend had a name but I can't recall what it was (it might have been Ed?) . He had a lot of acne and an enormous nose. I remember the first time he kissed me -- my first kiss -- looking over his shoulder at the driveway and thinking what a huge disappointment it was. The kiss, not the driveway, that is. Ah well. I later found out that as a young boy scout, he had stabbed a friend of mine with his pocketknife. This was before he was my boyfriend, though. I didn't go for the bad boy types for several years later... And the worst part of all? He wasn't my worst boyfriend ever. Not even close.

Natasha said...

My first relationship, lasting 7 whole months when I was thirteen to a boy named Alex, was a very chaste affair, culminating in a closed mouth kiss that lasted one WHOLE minute. Was it my prudishness that drove him to become an American professional wrestler, who now goes by the stage moniker "Sweet and Sour Larry Sweeney" and prances around in a feather boa? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Larry_Sweeney For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of being indoctrinated into that little gem of American culture, let's just say it involves fake wrestling, fake blood, and very real spandex costumes. Depressingly more successful than me, he has been immortalized as a bobblehead doll. He lists his current interests on his website as, "Pro wrestling, tanning, hitting the gym. Hatha Yoga. Transcendental experiences and writing." So I guess he's an enlightened bobblehead now, thank you very much.

kathycastro said...

Natasha, pleeeeease tell me you have one of the bobbleheads?

Mrs Trefusis... said...

Sorry - I did start trying to write 'My first boyfriend left me to become a monk' as a comment, but the iPhone defeated me so I waited til I was on a real computer, which of course was far too late and the moment had passed. But it's at www.mrstrefusis.blogspot.com for anyone who wants it. Not a patch on Pochymu's awful boyfriend though. xxx

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