Oh God, What Was I Thinking

There’s little to say about #2. No musical blowjobs or book of 52 things to do in bed. But I have started this blog, I intend to finish it, and I’m sure there will be some lessons learned by the end of this post, and at least a partial explanation of why I can never listen to Mr Brightside.

I met #2 at university, while I was still dating #1. There was nothing wrong ith #1, but I already had the impression he was the sort of person who’d want to quickly settle down in a lovely beige house with two perfectly beige children and a little beige dog, and I knew that lifestyle wasn’t for me.

I was an art student now, and I wanted to sink my teeth into a life of Absinthe and promiscuity. I’d only properly kissed two boys, and while #1 and I had ticked a considerable number of things off my little Cosmo book, I wanted more.

Enter #2. He was tall. He was creative. He was flamboyant. He was exciting. I had an immediate crush. I didn’t act on it straight away (I wasn’t that bad – that’ll come later), and it took me until almost the end of the first year of university to finally rip off the plaster, to coin #1’s phrase.

I broke up with #1 over the phone. It was awful, and occasionally I still feel bad about it. Occasionally. I’d never heard a guy cry before. He even said that he’d planned on proposing after we’d both finished uni, so I dodged that beige bullet after all.

Within a couple of weeks, #2 had declared his undying love for me via MSN Messenger:

“I fancy you.”

Giggling, I typed my reply and hit send.

“I fancy you, too.”

That was all it took. We were a couple. We were the couple. Not exactly what I had planned, jumping from one steady boyfriend to another, but at least I was an experienced woman now.

We consummated our relationship in his dorm room. It was still a little fumbly and awkward (I’m beginning to think that’s just my style), but it happened organically, no promises of birthday presents etc. No wild positions or kinks unlocked (yet), but I was secretly excited that the number of people I’d slept with had now doubled. (If I’d known I’d be writing about them all years later, I’d have reined it in a bit. But hey ho…)

The subject of how many people we’d slept with, and more importantly, when we’d had our first experiences, came up in conversation not long after. I told him I was 17 when it first happened, and asked about his first time.
He looked at me with surprise, seemingly shocked that I didn’t know the answer.

“The other night, with you!” was his response.

I was stunned. I felt like such a vixen. A lady of the night. Not so long ago, I’d barely kissed one boy, and now I was popping cherries? Woof.

—

#2 and I continued to date throughout uni, until our final year. He had an annoying habit of sticking the same album on every time we slept together, which was Hot Fuss by The Killers, which basically meant I have listened to the first two tracks of that album again, and again, and again, and again. Never heard it in full, though. I remember once we actually made it to ‘Smile Like You Mean It’ (track 3) but nothing kills a climax like Mr Brightside. I think I subconsciously formed a habit of faking it just to stop listening to that song.

We split up eventually, but not before the addition of #3 in the lineup. But that’ll be the next post…