As with my first love story, this is completely unspectacular. I was at a local live music festival, boogying away, and a boy came and danced near me. I was 15, which is my excuse for being this immature: I told him my friend fancied him and then boogied away. Yep. Real smooth. He told my friend that he in fact fancied me, and this news got back to me, and hell, I don’t know, he bought me a pint of cider and we ended up kissing outside Lloyds TSB. He then snuck me into a pub that was IDing, by putting his arm round me and simply saying, ‘she’s with me.’ Ah, I had a momentary taste of the high life that night, apparently. He then bought me a pint of Diesel and continued to kiss me. He was shorter than me. I kept opening my eyes while he was kissing me, and seeing that all my friends were laughing hysterically at the awkward height difference. I remember feeling smothered by him kissing me, as though I was going to suffocate even though I was breathing through my nose. We swapped numbers. He rang me the next morning and I ignored his call. I then ignored all his texts.
It could have been something beautiful… but it really was not. With the height difference it was likely doomed from the start.
I wrote this a week ago and have just read it over and realised one important thing – ‘he […] continued to kiss me’, ‘while he was kissing me’, ‘smothered by him kissing me.’ I’d like to point out that I was a willing participant in said kissing, even if I clearly didn’t enjoy it all that much. I was young(er) and stupid(er).