Teenage Crushes - Part TwoFreddie Woo writes: I've still got weird feelings for a well-known female TV presenter from the 1980s. I'm now in my forties, work in the same building as her and she follows me on a number of social networking sites. And now, she knows about it.
Tell us about the teenage crushes that still make you go wobbly.
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Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 5 Nov 2009, 11:04)
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Look ! A story -Teenage crush..
She recently 'Friended' me on Facebook. She was looking for photographs from school. She is married with children, living in the US and to all appearances, deliriously, indeed even smugly (in that married-with-children way all married-with-children people you once knew seem to be) happy with her lot in life.
I knew nothing about this girl but age 14-16 (I think), I had idealised and idolised and eventually idolatised this girl into some sublime, seraphic sybarite of whom I was utterly not worthy and all this without ever speaking a word to her.
It was the early 90's. Grunge ruled the world - there was lots of hair, (fake) leather and torn denim permitting glimpses of forbidden tracts of flesh. She had that singularly pale/pink flesh-tone possessed only of Irish women. Her hair was white and orange fire - strawberry blonde in the more common parlance, its' lengthy tresses flapping and blowing in the wind like wings as she crossed the schoolyard. Her electric blue eyes, piercing and joyous as she laughed at my childish jokes lifted my heart and spurred me on.
I never spoke to her directly. I merely caught glimpses of her looks in the crowds I entertained. I was never shy in groups or with an audience but left alone with girls, I was dumbstruck.
I was cool, but not popular, long-haired, clad frequently in black, perma-possessed of a record bag and coccooned in a gang of like-minded individuals - we walked the tightrope of rebellion and reality - we were rational enough to ensure our exams were all passed but still went out on Saturdays to rock bars, gigs and such, drank and smoked dope and occasionally, pulled girls!
She was on the outskirts of the popular gang. Not rich enough to have access to the inner circle but pretty enough to be granted satellite status. She attended all the school parties but never went out with any of the popular boys.
I think I might have thought I stood that one fleeting chance in hell of her actually responding to my entreaties. These entreaties took the form of ten flawlessly constructed Shakespearian sonnets bound in a plastic folder which was the most luxurious and opulent I could afford (by which I mean, steal).
Finding myself effectively mute before the monochromosomed, I couldn't have presented this golden gift to my exquisite angel myself.
Instead I enlisted the services of another of my lust-ridden, youthful desires - the one whose rejection was yet to come when I mistook genuine friendship for romance some years later.
So what happened with the recipient of my ten flawlessly-constructed Shakespearian sonnets?
Nothing - the usual rhetoric of rejection.
rafter
baz
(, Mon 9 Nov 2009, 11:23, 2 replies)
I'd just like to say...that the line "Rhetoric of Rejection" is particularly fine alliteration and shall, with your permission, be used in a poem or song lyric in the not distant future.
(, Mon 9 Nov 2009, 17:44, closed)
Go for it!Enjoy!
(, Mon 9 Nov 2009, 19:31, closed)
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