“Thanks for the s**g.”

Amongst talk of universities, summers and getting wasted, I lost my virginity.

I don’t feel any different. It came (accidental pun) and went and I carried on with my night. I then carried on with my week.

It’s not that it wasn’t nice – it was – and it’s not that it meant nothing – it did – it just seems like there’s a massive media build up towards “Yeah, that’s good. Thanks.” I’ve got to say though, having a person I sort of trust to have the honour of being my first (achievement.) was lovely as I didn’t care about how the fuck my body looked, how the hell I “performed” or if I was being seductive enough. I was so preoccupied with someone wanting me, and that person being a decent human being, that everything else (nearly) didn’t matter.

I bet it falls into the obvious teenage losing-your-virginity process: festival, too much booze, tent, mates banging on the walls when you’re putting your clothes back on, sneaking out the other side of the tent, lack of pure remembrance… Honestly, I don’t care about the cliché, I’m just happy that it’s over and done with.

Am I interested in the guy? No. Do I feel an emotional attachment? Not particularly. Do I mind it being a one-night-stand? Not at all. If anything, I’d rather it that way. It’s less messy and those stupid ‘feelings’ don’t need to have another ride, which is always a bonus. I’m glad I’m not living in the 1700s – I’d have been a shit 18-year-old loved-up housewife.

Strangely, things that made me rather anxious before also don’t affect me as much. I’m much more at ease with my body, even though I’m not at my ideal weight, and I don’t care as much about my appearance. I feel older, without reason, and feel like I can conquer anything. Untrue, but I rather enjoy having a relatively positive way of thinking for a change…

On that positive note, I have to re-sit a whole year of English Literature due to my exam results…

There are worse than T. S. Eliot and Yeats.


(And no, he wasn’t the Irish dude.)


Teenage Cupid’s harsh.

I don’t know what it is with me, but the easy, kissing in the bowling alley, cycling over at 9 o’clock on Friday night teenage romance isn’t panning out as it should.

I have a new potential romantic interest and he’s perfect. He’s intelligent, he’s fascinating, he’s cute, funny and Irish.

Although the Irish bit means that his sexiness naturally quadruples, it also means that any sort of relationship, be it a friendship, a bit more or a romantic relationship is just impossible. A huge f***ing sea divides us. It’s not just a border, it’s a f***ing sea.

Oh, I’ve also forgotten to mention that I’ve never actually met the guy (don’t worry, I will, in 5 weeks, when we’ll be going on the same Oxford course – an episode of Catfish won’t be necessary). We’ve been talking every day for the last month, with the conversations this week being moved from the online course forum to Facebook, which has meant that we’ve been having in-depth 3 hour conversations without really realising it.

It scares me how comfortable I feel telling him things. It scares me how much we know about each other already. It scares me how much he makes me nearly piss myself laughing constantly. It scares me how much I already trust him. It scares me how much talking to him lightens up my evenings.

It scares me how much I want to meet him. It scares me how much I want to see if our connection is true, face to face.

It scares me that when I do meet him, maybe I’ll want to be with him.

It scares me that I’ll probably get hurt.

It’s scary.

I’m scared.


Fuck you, Cupid.

Sexualised Youth


I’m 17. Probably 3/4, if not more, of boys my age in school watch porn. It’s a given that they probably have some fun watching it a few times a week. Girls, though? I don’t actually know.

For a seventeen-year-old, I’m pretty behind on everything sex wise. I’ve never had a serious boyfriend, I’ve only really ever liked three guys (each one being a bit of an idiot), co-incidentally only kissed as many and my first remotely sexual experience was that evening with BlackLace. You can guess, therefore, that I’ve never watched porn.

Until I recently watched a documentary by Tyger Drew Honey on young people and porn, I hadn’t really thought about girls and porn. Many girls on the programme said that they’d watched porn since they were 14, 13 or as young as 11. Then how come I’ve never even batted an eyelid? I think I was naïve in thinking that porn was just something boys did.

Something that they discussed in the programme was the effect porn is having on idealizing sex, and idealizing the female body. Women seen in porn, even in tv shows, are perfect, perhaps with huge boobs and a tiny waist and an immaculately waxed downstairs, with spot-less make-up on their faces. Of course, this isn’t how most of us look, especially me. I’ve always been unhappy with the way I look, and this makes me even more uneasy; I don’t like messing around too much down there as my skin doesn’t like it, so you can imagine how I feel about guys on the programme saying that they “wouldn’t even touch a bush”.

We see these amazing bodies everyday and fancy them, the ideal, over-sexualised gorgeousness that they are (I can’t say that I don’t have an imaginary list of sex gods myself – Pio Marmai anyone?) and it’s hard when you know you don’t look like that, never mind when someone else makes it obvious that you don’t look like that, but we all do it. We all fantasize about them, these ideals. Maybe this sexualised youth that my generation is living is destroying reality, I don’t know.

All in all, this stuff is messing with me. Should I try some porn? Should I try getting off to it? Should I conform to the ideal in order to be attractive? Would not conforming to the ideal repulse guys? I have no clue.

In truth, I’m rather anxious about it.

Yet, the more I think about it, the more I feel that it all doesn’t matter, as even if I don’t find anyone, I can still be successful in my chosen path. I can still be a pretty cool lady with steel wings and good wits.

One hopes.

Melodrama. About school, mostly.

I have a week and a half until my exams start, and less than two weeks until they end.

I know, jammy right? 😉 I have three exams, 2 – 2 1/2 hours each, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. I then get to prance around like a happy lamb on a sunny spring afternoon. Woop-dy-doo.

I can’t remember what having a social life and free time was like. From looking after the children for many evenings and constant schoolwork (mostly Textiles) I haven’t had time to myself for months!

In less than two weeks, I’ll be free of everything. I’ll be able to read. I’ll be able to watch TV. I’ll be able to dance around to Dolly Parton in my bedroom until three in the morning. Oh, and I’ll also be able to party.

With two parties being already set, Runner and I are also planning trips to places and camping nights and a whole lot of everything else with everyone we know (nearly); it’s going to be a blast of a summer!

The thing is, I have a month of so-called “study-leave” which of course I won’t be using and so is a holiday, but after that, guess what? WE HAVE TO GO BACK TO SCHOOL. For six whole fucking weeks of the Welsh Baccalaureate (which is a pointless compulsory course in Wales where we have to write a mountain of pointless essays on working with others and whether Wales is better than another country in something – which it is, for creating pointless courses).

BUT (I know I shouldn’t start a sentence with a but, but) we have work experience for one week and I’ll be going to Oxford University for a summer UNIQ course for another, so a month isn’t too bad…

In total, five weeks of school (counting this week) left until the summer holidays.

And five weeks left of school until our last year there technically begins.

Oh such a joyous occasion.

(Which reminds me – BlackLace’s ‘other girl’ now has her own ‘other boy’. How about that? 😉 )

A Quick Update …

Life has been quiet recently.

I haven’t talked to BlackLace since that night, and I couldn’t care less. Honestly now, I’m over it. He was overwhelmingly sexual; it’s a cuddle and a chat that I want in a relationship at the moment, and we never had that. It’s funny that when I was sort of ‘seeing’ him I completely overlooked aspects of his personality, that, upon reflection, are not at all to my liking. Examples of this include his lack of respect for anyone but himself, his inability to have a normal conversation and his general dick-ish behaviour. Haha, fuck him.

I’ve been elated ever since 3 o’clock the morning when I arrived in my bed after that epic night. I feel like nothing can hit me; I’m invincible. Cheesy, I know, but it’s fucking awesome to feel like this. If I could have actually walked on sunshine for the week following that night, I would have.

Party time’s now over: exams are coming up, and my head is going down. I have a French oral exam this coming Thursday with another three exams in mid May. Not too bad, but I’m currently lacking in confidence. It’s not that I’m not studying, it’s just that coursework has been heavy; my English has only been submitted this week and my Textiles isn’t even in until after Easter. Gaaargh.

Looking on the bright side, Summer’s going to be amazing! I’m crossing over to your land, Americans, to the city that never sleeps and its surroundings. I am absolutely BUZZING! I’m trying to sway my mum towards going to Atlantic City during the ten days we’re on the road (we’d have spent 5 nights in NY) just so that I can stand by the sign and sing Bruce. Asbury Park would be the dream, but it’s been shot down to infinity already…

There you go, an update on my rather boring current existence.

You can now go back to your own mundane existences, peeps.


Oh, and don’t forget to put your make-up on and your hair up pretty, and meet me tonight in Atlantic City.

(that is, towards the end of July)

Three’s a Crowd

Am I a b**ch?

Last night was the best night of my short life. CurlyGirl and I, along with an ever-becoming-closer friend of ours (who needs a name – Runner.) went to a ska and reggae night in town, mainly to see friends of the other two’s. The thing is, once I was released into the jungle of hippies, crazy dancers and funky music I was off. I wasn’t drunk or high (though by the end of the night, that could be argued…), it was just an amazing night with an amazing atmosphere and with amazing people; I actually fitted in, for once!

So why do I think that I’m a bitch? Well, just after arriving, I saw a friend of mine and started dancing next to him and he bought me a drink. Didn’t think much of it, I was just having fun.

Then I went outside for a breather with CurlyGirl and Runner. We bumped into a guy I snogged a few years back, whom I started chatting to, seeing as I hadn’t seen him for a while and I used to go to nearly all of his band’s gigs. Didn’t think much of it, I was just having fun. He asked me if I still smoked; I said yes, but not very often, and he offered me his cig and told me that he’d be going for a spliff later if I fancied joining him. Thanks, I said, come and get me when you do. I went back in to dance.

The friend of mine was still dancing so I joined him again. Didn’t think much of it, I was just having fun.

So, of course, this previously-snogged guy came in and started dancing by me, before asking if I wanted to go for the spliff. We went to the graveyard (I know…) and sat, listening to his band’s music on his phone and just catching up, really. It was nice. We shared a teeny spliff and then made our way back, about 3/4 of an hour later. Didn’t think much of it, I was just having fun.

We went back in, where I found my friend again, started dancing; previously-snogged guy then asked me for my hand. My answer, “No.” Shit. But then, I didn’t think much of it, I was just having fun.

My friend bought me another drink. We danced there for about half an hour. Then guess who started dancing around the decks?


I knew I was dancing right in front of his eyes; both of us smiling wide, enjoying the night. He winked at me. I winked back. He started walking towards me, sweat dripping from his hair from his incessant stoned dancing. Can’t say I was in a much better state. He hugged me.

“I missed you” I said.

“I missed you too” he told me.

That’s when we started dancing. Both other guys each side, we danced, arms entangled with rather raunchy moves (dang.). He took me outside by my hand, where we sat down, hugged, chatted briefly then kissed. He started feeling me up, me the same. “Let’s go round the corner” he said. He was fucked. I wasn’t going to do that, not now. “No, you have to work for me” I said, before kissing him and going back in, alone. I didn’t see him again that night.

My friend was there, upset. He said it didn’t matter. I apologised to him. I knew what it was about.

I didn’t see the previously-snogged guy.

My friend stayed with me until the end of the night, 2.30 in the morning, and walked me to the taxi rank. I apologised to him and had a very nice conversation. “There are worse things to do than spend the night dancing with you.”

Why can’t I fall for these lovely guys?

I am such a bitch. They don’t deserve to be messed around like that.

I was just having fun.

I just can’t help it: I want BlackLace.

Damn it.

Guess what? The other girl is lovely. Damn it.

I went to Birdie’s party last night. Tried to get drunk, but failed after getting too tipsy too early and banned from the fridge, which meant that I was forced to sit down and face the music. Thing is, the music was closeted by both the other girl and myself.

We just didn’t go there. We were polite, laughed at each other’s jokes, chatted, but BlackLace and everything related to him was as if it never happened, in either case.

Was this for the best? I don’t know. Maybe bringing it up would have shattered the evening, and we would have felt so awkward in each other’s company that it would have been impossible to enjoy ourselves. OR, it could have lifted the awkward tension, the giant elephant in the room, and made us get along better without the politeness. I don’t know. What I do know is that she’s lovely, which annoys me.

If she was a great, big, massive bitch then I could rant about everything without a care in the world, and maybe partly blaming her for the end of the BlackLace saga. But I can’t, because she’s not. In result, I have to come to terms with the truth:

BlackLace used us both for his own enjoyment; neither of us deserved it.

Awkward encounter with other girl, check. Next job = get over him. How utterly joyful that will be.

At least I have Doctor Rockit’s Café de Flore as a soundtrack to it.

(Yes I did watch the film, and yes, I agree with you, it’s incredible.)

Forgiveness. Yes, that awful thing.

After snogging a random guy at a gig on Saturday, I thought I’d finally got rid of BlackLace from my mind (he’d invited then uninvited me to his party the day before, which sort of hurt!); okay, hardly rid, but at least I wasn’t completely involved with him. But oh no, he could not stop there. He had some more messing around to do.

“Hey :)”

“Hia. How was the party?”

Fuck him.

I have no idea what was on his mind, but it was like nothing had happened. It was like we time-travelled back to that Friday night at his, and just carried on the conversation. He was flirting. He was FLIRTING.

Actually he was doing more than flirting. It wasn’t extremely pleasurable as I was still angry at him for being a douche (ah, his first name), but I went with it. Built him up. Flirted. Reacted to him (not too much…) until I decided to make my move, after a rather disgusting message.

“I have no idea what game you’re playing… Shouldn’t you be saying all this to [other girl]? From what I gather, she’s had recent activity.”

(I’m too nice a person to scream “YOU’RE AN ARSEHOLE, YOU MOTHERFUCKING TWO-TIMING, REJECTING BITCH” like I wanted to do.) It was good enough.

I didn’t get a reply instantly; it was late on a school night so I wasn’t too bothered, and besides, it was out of my system. I carried on with my hectic life, talked to my friends about it, hugged a few people, blah blah. I started talking to Birdie, as I’ve started to refer to her (mine and the other girl’s mutual friend), about it and she started shouting and saying how dare he, blah blah.

Oh yeah, forgot to tell you, on the night of his party, he snogged the other girl.

I had a reply from him lunchtime that day. It actually surprised me. I’ll copy our conversation here.

BlackLace: “sorry if ive been a dick to you. i really dont have a game, i was just messing about” [sic]

Me: Yeah you have been. To her too.”

BlackLace: I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be, I just didn’t think I’m really sorry I never meant to make you feel bad, I think you’re a really nice person and I never meant to be a dick”

It was then I started melting. I couldn’t stay angry at him. I physically couldn’t. I can’t pretend that I don’t like him, don’t find him hilarious, don’t think he’s pretty sexy for a 17-year-old. I couldn’t and can’t. I have no idea what the hell he does to me, but I can’t help but stop caring and actually believe his words. I forgave him on the spot.

Me: “It’s ok hun, I’m sorry I snapped. It just hurt a bit to be messed around like that.”

BlackLace: i can not say how sorry i am, i would never want to do anything to hurt you” [sic]

Me: It’s fine, you’re lucky I’m a forgiving person… 🙂 thanks for apologising x”

I am such an idiot. What did I think would come from forgiving him? That he would leap into my arms and say how much he missed me, how he just wants me, how I’m everything he needs at the moment? That he meant everything he said to me? Of course he hasn’t replied! Of course he hasn’t! Why would he?

Writing this post has actually made me a bit teary. I can’t believe that I let him do this to me time after time. Why do I find him so irresistible?!

I deserve better.

I deserve better, right?

I Swear …

I knew it was too good to last.

Teenage love just isn’t in my destiny, is it?

He ignored me. He would perhaps give a reply to a text the next day, if I was lucky, and then wouldn’t talk to me until the day after that. It was so incredibly strange. It was like the last fortnight hadn’t happened; like we were back to where we were just before Christmas, but even more fragmented, if that makes sense.

Who am I kidding, it doesn’t make sense.

He fucked me over.

I guess I was right with my last post; I was just a casual liaison.

But, what the hell? Why invite me over if you didn’t want anything?

I asked him what was going on with us, and he replied,

“haha um don’t know really, I don’t want like a girlfriend or anything but um yeah just see what happens is what I usually do haha”.


Well, to be honest, I can’t be arsed with that. I’m not going to waste my fucking time.

No more BlackLace.

I have to admit, I’ll miss him. He was good fun.

But, in CurlyGirl’s words: Fuck boys and their dicks.

And you know what? True dat, girlfriend.


(I apologise for my crude language – I thought I’d keep it all in. You know, for effect.)



Lust-Sickness …

Is this what being love-sick feels like?

Concentration is impossible, Friday evening keeps cropping up everywhere I go, and I can’t stop thinking about him.


I’m scared he doesn’t want me, I worry that he didn’t enjoy Friday evening as much as I did, I’m afraid that he doesn’t accept my warts and all. I mean, there are plenty of them to be accepted after all.

What did we do? I won’t go into too much detail, but we snuggled watching a film for a little while, before things started to escalate, and by the time he needed to get ready to go out with his family for dinner, we were lying face to face, semi-naked, with crap all over my front. Sounds gorgeous doesn’t it?

There was a lot of laughing, mocking each other, flirtation and nose-rubbing, which I found absolutely lovely, but I find myself wondering and worrying whether he felt the same way. I barred off my downstairs, and I’m glad I did (it was only our first ‘meeting’ after all) but I hope that he doesn’t think that I’m against sex, or ‘frigid’, which is a horrible word, but apt.

I haven’t talked in-depth about Friday evening to anyone yet, so it’s bubbling inside of me, with all these questions swimming to the surface.

  • Does he find me, personality and looks combined, attractive?
  • Am I just a casual liaison?
  • Does he find the things I do sexy?
  • Do I repulse him?
  • Does he want what I want?
  • Does he like me?
  • Like, really like me?
  • And, the stirring question: Where has the other girl gone?

Maybe it’s lust-sickness.

I’m confused, scared and worried, yet I’m happy.

I’m rather quite happy.