![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Day 16 – Your first kiss, in great detail
He was tall, black, stocky, shaven-headed, wearing a heavy leather jacket and docs, and a Satanist (translation: sported upside-down cross jewelery, quoted Metallica, and hated the fact that his parents were Jehovah's Witnesses.) I was 16, overweight, awkward, labelled the school swot, socially inept, and quite convinced I was hideously ugly. At my school this meant I qualified as completely unkissable, but I wasn't at my school, or anywhere near it: I was in deepest, darkest Sanderstead, visiting my cousin, and out on the rampage with her friends. Since there wasn't much rampaging to be done in Sanderstead this mainly consisted of buying bottles of martini and cheap cider at the local shop, then sitting round drinking them in the house of whomever's parents were tactically out for the evening. The previous night this guy hadn't been there, but the others had been talking about him nonstop: he had sounded like some kind of wild, loki-like ringleader, at the centre of every tale of teenage mayhem. And now tonight's party was just kicking off (in a huge terraced back garden - my cousin's friends were invariably rich) and there he was in the flesh; tall, grinning, and safely dangerous. Somehow we ended up talking (of grunge and metal and privileged teenage rebellion) and ten minutes later we were snogging and groping in amongst the rhubarb. He tasted of old cigarettes, and I didn't care.
(It's funny the details you do remember. I can't even remember his name, which was only ever a nickname. I never saw him again - by the time I came back to visit my cousin again, he and a couple of friends had been expelled from their posh private school for dealing, and had slipped out of her social circle.)
Topic list is here
He was tall, black, stocky, shaven-headed, wearing a heavy leather jacket and docs, and a Satanist (translation: sported upside-down cross jewelery, quoted Metallica, and hated the fact that his parents were Jehovah's Witnesses.) I was 16, overweight, awkward, labelled the school swot, socially inept, and quite convinced I was hideously ugly. At my school this meant I qualified as completely unkissable, but I wasn't at my school, or anywhere near it: I was in deepest, darkest Sanderstead, visiting my cousin, and out on the rampage with her friends. Since there wasn't much rampaging to be done in Sanderstead this mainly consisted of buying bottles of martini and cheap cider at the local shop, then sitting round drinking them in the house of whomever's parents were tactically out for the evening. The previous night this guy hadn't been there, but the others had been talking about him nonstop: he had sounded like some kind of wild, loki-like ringleader, at the centre of every tale of teenage mayhem. And now tonight's party was just kicking off (in a huge terraced back garden - my cousin's friends were invariably rich) and there he was in the flesh; tall, grinning, and safely dangerous. Somehow we ended up talking (of grunge and metal and privileged teenage rebellion) and ten minutes later we were snogging and groping in amongst the rhubarb. He tasted of old cigarettes, and I didn't care.
(It's funny the details you do remember. I can't even remember his name, which was only ever a nickname. I never saw him again - by the time I came back to visit my cousin again, he and a couple of friends had been expelled from their posh private school for dealing, and had slipped out of her social circle.)
Topic list is here
Tags: