My love life. It sucks. It never used to but just over three years ago my life changed and it all started to go wrong.
I have never been prolific with ladies. Even since the age of twelve (when I first had a wank to Trading Places when Jamie Lee Curtis got her tits out) I have been too complicated.
When mates were trying to snog girls and get their hands up their skirts, I was writing letters to them. My first girlfriend was frigid. I did not know what that meant at the time but it did not stop me saying she was. So I wrote a lengthy letter asking why we had yet to reach the monumental stage of me sticking my tongue in her throat like some kind of threatened snake. When she would not snog me I must have been the only kid who ever shouted ‘you will be hearing from my solicitors’.
She was particularly heartless when a chronic lack of technique in the backstroke left me a trailing last in the swimming gala. ‘What a loser, why did I go out with him?’ she was heard to remark. Not by me, I was close to drowning, achieving the kind of times that Stephen Hawking might if he entered a year 8 backstroke race.
That relationship came and went. Like all relationships at school it was over in a period of about three days.
My next girlfriend let me snog her. Approximately one minute and thirty seconds after my first kiss I told her I loved her. This was when I first realised my pecker had an ability to think for itself. My brain looking down at him saying ‘what the fuck did you say that for?’ and him replying ‘you’ll be thanking me when she lets you stick your hand up her top’.
A bit like Spartacus leading the peasant revolt against the all powerful Rome.
I don’t actually call my penis Spartacus I call it ‘the doubt’. As in I like to give girls the benefit of ‘the doubt’. And no I don’t call it Herpes.
Sadly the lure of the older man took my betrothed from me. Not old enough for any type of social register, just a lad from the top school whose five o clock shadow meant he could buy Lambert and Butler with impunity.
The other problem I had at school was my chronic girlfriend glaucoma. If Specsavers did ’love glasses’ then I should have got my ass down there a long time ago. I never forget when the one girl I had fantasized about for years - which when you are a horny teenager is as close as you will ever come to an eternity – told me she fancied me at school. I was heartbroken. I am not sure you have a ‘one that got away’ when you are 13 but that was definitely ‘one I would have loved to crudely fondle’.
I will also never forget the first time I could blame alcohol for pulling a bushpig. Like any teenager, I was happy to drink anything as long as it was alcoholic. No Hooch or 20/20 alcopops for me, the night I snogged the ginger skinny girl can be blamed on Copperfields sherry.
So as my GCSE’s finished, some of my mates had lost their V plates yet I did not even have a provisional licence…
