Thursday, November 16, 2006

Start as you mean to go on...

It hasn’t escaped my notice that all the stories I’ve entertained (sort of) you with of late have involve me getting dumped, treated badly, or just plain ignored.

But it hasn’t ever been thus!

Indeed, there was a time where it was me who did the dumping. That time was 1987.

Somehow I acquired a boyfriend in the first term of second year. I say somehow – I vaguely remember his friend asking "Will you go out with Conor?" and I said "Yes" and that was it.

Our relationship consisted mainly of getting really embarrassed when our classes passed one another in the hallway. He would blush crimson, and one of the other lads would normally push the poor kid into the oncoming path of me and my friends, strutting along with our folders clutched tight to our non-existent breasts. If we were both feeling particularly brazen we might exchange a nervous hello.

Over the course of our month-long relationship we managed two excruciating phone conversations. He was, and probably still is, unbearably shy.

Occasionally his friend would come up to me and ask, "Are you still going with Conor?" and I’d say yes.

It was coming up to Christmas – Mistletoe Disco was imminent. This was just the normal junior disco (Spagna and Bon Jovi and chanting ‘tiocfaidh ar la’ along to U2’s Sunday Bloody Sunday) except people went racing round with mistletoe encouraging others to kiss.

I supposed I must have known that my first kiss was imminent, but I don’t remember being remotely anxious. When someone inevitably held up some mistletoe between me and Conor we just did it, surrounded by a circle of about fifteen of our friends.

They didn’t cheer or shriek or laugh (as my friends would undoubtedly do now were I to kiss anyone in public). I suppose they just watched. He circled his tongue in my mouth – it wasn’t the most pleasant experience - I swiftly disengaged.

I don’t remember feeling anything – no sense of achievement or relief. I suppose I hadn’t consumed quite enough teenage magazines by that time to view my first kiss as some sort of milestone.

Because I was twelve, I also didn’t have the weight of expectation which must have burdened some of my friends who didn’t get their first kiss until fifteen, sixteen.

Because it was Mistletoe Disco, you weren’t restricted to your ‘boyfriend’ so I also snogged a lad who had been at my primary school. It was the same as Conor, but with added cigarette smoke. Grim. Then, because I was getting the hang of things, I snogged Conor again.

Back at school our relationship went back to exactly how it was before. I don’t remember spending any time with him.

After the holidays, his friend came up to me in the foyer one day and asked if I was still going with Conor. I said no.

That was the end of that.


  • "After the holidays, his friend came up to me in the foyer one day and asked if I was still going with Conor. I said no."

    Ha. Brilliant. I love it.

    I had the old weight-of-expectation thing behind my first kiss, I think. I didn't like it much, anyway. I was 13 or 14. It was like kissing a rubber glove. My next kisses were like vacuum cleaners, mops and broom handles respectively, so I guess I had a bit of a thing about kitchen apparatus.

    By Blogger Clare, at 1:20 PM  

  • By Blogger Clare, at 1:22 PM  

  • I didn't have my first kiss until I was 18. I remember at middle school when I was 12 the girls in the bathroom were asking me if had ever french kissed. I didn't know what that was, so naturally i said 'yes.' god i hated adolescence.

    By Blogger Chaucer's Bitch, at 2:01 PM  

  • Excellent post Spin! Have you looked up Conor on Google?

    I dimly remember my first kiss being quite wet, but I don't remember the circumstances of it, or any weight of expectation. I must have been 11 or 12, he was called Jonathan, and Adam Ant was in the charts.

    Many years later, my then-husband-to-be was walking down Prince of Wales Road, London NW5, when he came across a police cordon and a couple of coppers who told him to stand back for his own safety. It turned out Adam Ant had gone nuts in the street with a car battery.

    By Blogger patroclus, at 4:02 PM  

  • Blimey, I would imagine it would be quite hard to go nuts with a car battery. Was he using it as a missile, or what? Did he throw it, then run after it and pick it up again? Did he find some way of extracting the acid and squirting it at passers by?

    I'm not being sarky, btw. Am genuinely intrigued.

    By Blogger Clare, at 4:08 PM  

  • I'm always amazed you can remember all these relationships. I don't know if it's just me but I can never remember the details of my break-ups and dumpings and whatnot. I can, yes, only remember the good times - both of them. So I'm constantly amazed when I meet or see the occasional ex and they blank me/glare/come at me with a knife.

    By Blogger Wyndham, at 4:12 PM  

  • I don't know what's more depressing, the recovered memories of snoggless school discos or the fact that in 1987 you were only in second year.

    By Blogger realdoc, at 5:32 PM  

  • Clare - this should tell you all you need to know...

    By Blogger patroclus, at 6:39 PM  

  • Poor old Adam. A couple of weeks before the incident in the pub with the pistol he sent a really bizarre letter to Time Out where he ranted about another letter writer who had slagged off his ex-girlfriend Heather Graham.

    I can remember rinsing my mouth out under a tap in disgust after my first kiss. Yech.

    By Blogger Betty, at 8:22 PM  

  • My first proper snogs were in Norfolk in a field with Liz.

    I'd done the school disco kissing stuff before but this was different, this was like being eaten by a soft skinned pirate.

    She also grabbed my cock in a manner akin to climbing the ropes in the gym. After a while, and when nothing much happened, she let go.

    She dumped me the next morning for an older guy. I suspect I was being used but at 14 that counted as a good first contact.

    By Blogger toomuchgrief, at 10:03 PM  

  • I had a boyfriend at the end of primary school. Our relationship consisted of avoiding each other at lunchtime and occasionally holding hands on school trips. I got bored over the school holidays, and I am still ashamed to admit that I dumped him on our first day at secondary school. He still talks to me though.

    My first snog was with a boy appropriately called Darren Love. We went our for three days while I was staying with my grandparents at Highfields Holiday Park in Clacton. I heard from him again a year later when he phoned to see if I would be repeating my holiday. Bless.

    By Blogger Kellycat, at 7:33 AM  

  • Just checked - Conor does not have an internet presence. Loser.

    In fact, the only person I've ever gone out with who can be found on Google is that lad I picked up at Glastonbury last year.

    That'll give you some idea of what a galloping non-entity I am.

    Wyndham - I have an astonishingly good memory. Except when I have a few drinks than I forget everything.

    By Blogger Spinsterella, at 10:46 AM  

  • You might not believe this, Princess (that's how I often used to think of you), but your spurning of me at School prompted me to change my name to Brad Pitt, get some plastic surgery and make my own way in Hollywood.

    I'm still traumatised though.

    By Anonymous Conor, at 11:18 AM  

  • "chanting ‘tiocfaidh ar la’ along to U2’s Sunday Bloody Sunday"

    Been lurking on this blog for a little while but didn't have you pegged as a Fenian Spin.

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 2:23 PM  

  • Fucking hell anon, I hope you didn't think that I was a protestant?

    By Blogger Spinsterella, at 10:06 AM  

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