I know I said I'd blog about my friend who is sleeping with a boy who wears skirts, which I will get around to, but first I want to tell you the story of my first ever date.
It was with Metal Guy. I'd completely forgotten this whole experience until my new friend Mike started talking about balaclavas and woods. This may be the reason why I wanted to block it out.
Anyway so I was 15, young, a little naive, very awkward, and I'd recently started getting a bit wild and partying with older guys. I was hanging out with a group of people who were at uni, much older, into music I'd never heard, drinking and smoking shit I'd never seen. School was the most fucking awful experience of my life and I was just getting used to having friends and doing teenage stuff. One of the guys, who was the ring leader of our little gang, decided to sort of adopt me. He introduced me to weed and (for some unknown reason) poppers, to getting drunk outdoors, to heavy metal which I tried and failed to like, and to lots of people who seemed inherently to like me just because he did. Metal guy wanted to be a famous metal guitarist.
One day he told me he wanted to take me out somewhere. Now I grew up in a large fen-edge village, a few miles outside a city but definitely in the country. He told me he wanted to go on a walk so I said that would be ok but I didn't really trust him because he was what my mother calls a 'winder'.
So we went on a walk in the woods at night. "STRANGER DANGER!" I hear you quite rightly cry. These woods ended up being one of our regular haunts as a group, where we would gather and drink and play music and dance around a fire all night and cop off with each other to bed in the morning. I came to know them very well. But at 15, I didn't. We walked through the woods and talked about things I no longer remember, and looked up at the stars and held hands.
All of a sudden he got a wicked look on his face, said "I'll be right back" and promptly scampered away into the woods in the dark. What? I stood staring into the blackness. Fuck, I thought. I'm going to end up as front page news here. I figured it was better to keep moving than sit on a log waiting to be eaten by a bear or axe-murdered by a psychopath. So I wandered through the wood, strangely calm, wondering where my strange non-date non-boyfriend had gone to. About ten minutes after wandering in a circle clutching my house keys for defence against the bears, I almost had a spontaneous aneurism when he jumped out at me from behind a tree, roaring comedically. Obviously I screamed my head off and kicked him in the balls, which would have been a very sensible thing to do to had he been a bear or axe murderer, but instead he emitted a low moan and stumbled off into the darkness.
I ran after him squealing apologies and found him collapsed, face down on the ground, not moving. "James I'm so sorry!" I howled. He didn't move. "James?" I prodded him. He didn't move. I decided he must be fucking with me. "Come on James get up, I know you're fine."
Ten more minutes of this and I started to panic. He was a tall muscular man and I couldnt shift him. What if he was dead? I'd go to jail for killing my first date by whacking him in the nuts. Manslaughter surely? I saw myself sitting in the dock pleading my case. "Please your honour, I thought he was a bear!"
I decided it was time to phone 999, and informed his inert form of this. I was starting to shit myself that I'd done him some serious damage. I took my phone out of my pocket and began to dial.
He leapt from the ground and laughing uproariously, tackled me sideways, throwing me off balance onto a log. (Why do boys always think this shit's funny?)
I could have happily killed him. I didn't, but it was a while before I went anywhere with him again. We went out for a few months after that. He now lives in New Orleans, is constantly off his tits on crystal meth, and works in a heavy metal bar.
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