I'm a little worried about this, but here goes...
I was about 18 when I first saw her on TOTP, she was singing her then mega-hit live in the studio. I watched, adoringly, as the BBC camera circled her teenage body -- there was just one problem:
at the time of her first UK hit LeAnne was only 15 -- a full year off the UK age of consent. I fealt dirty, I fealt like turning myself in to the police, I fealt like I was a peado.
Thankfully, she passed the age of consent and became more attractive, and more womanly, and I could then admit to my adoration. Sadly, though, she got married before I had chance to fly over and pop the question.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 17:35, 2 replies)

Aim high....
I was 10 when the film My Girl came out. There she was, Vada Sultenfuss. I guess this was my first experience of a proper crush. Being a rather innocent and trusting (stupid) child, I had no problems telling my friends about this crush (mistaaaaake!) and quickly learned the life lesson that in future - keep daft crushes to oneself (oops, never will learn). Needless to say, I am still teased relentlessly in the boozer should this type of conversation ever arise.

*cringe warning* back to 10 years old....

So the teasing began and carried on for months, up until the film was to come out on rental video. There was a life-sized cardboard advertising poster stood in the local video shop of the two main characters in said film and my mate helpfully told the video shop guy of my huge crush, so embarrassed but happy, I left the shop with the poster, wobbling down the road with it under my arm, being careful not to bend it (well not on her side anyway). It was placed in the corner of my room, I dread to say, like some kind of shrine to American fee good movies of the time and that's when I decided - he had to go! That Culkin character was leaning against 'MY' Girl, how dare he! So with dad's stanley blade in hand I carefully removed his image from the entire thing. plus I managed not to horrifically mame myself (or her) in the process, Hooray!

*cringe mark 2* (actually blushing mid-type)

With a ferocious optimism that only a 10 year old could muster, I began writing a script (it was basically a shameless rip-off of My Girl but with the script re-written by a 10 year old - you can imagine the quality it inevitably oozed....) I was convinced that if I could get a script written and sent over to the Hollywood types, it was completely reasonable to assume that I would get cast in the lead role and the object of my desire would be cast by my side.

It began well, I was really trying quite hard to produce something worthwhile, all the time bathing in the glorious delusion that soon, I would be having a smooch in Hollywood, oh how beautiful it would be, then we'd climb a tree, presumably. I even had my mum proof reading pages of the script. I'm not sure whether mum humoured me so not to stifle a potential script writer, out of sympathising for a young one in the midst of a first crush, or whether she just nodded and agreed to get the strange boy to leave the room....

Eventually (at about 11 pages) my script writing capabilities dried up completely, (much like my then object of desire's work offers, by the looks of things) and the crush began to become less and less of a big thing, the poster went in the bin and I resigned myself to the fact that I would never be meeting My Girl. Then towards the end of the summer term at school, Karen showed me her mimsy in the cloakroom and I forgot all about My Girl.
(smithe-ingelby-smithe, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 16:47, 2 replies)

Don't tempt me, Frodo!
I'm what nature has deemed a "cheater", so my teenage crushes verged far and wide:

Elijah Wood. After Fellowship of the Ring came out, I went a bit mad, joined his fan club, bought and watched the Faculty (Ten pounds and two hours of my life I really should try and claim back). Oddest thing was, I was purportedly straight at the time and none of my friends thought my crush was particularly odd. Hm.

Daniela Denby-Ashe. I... words can't describe. I will marry her one day.

Hermione Granger. Not Emma Watson, you understand (though quite clearly, I would). No, I actually harboured the oddest feelings of affection for the young witchy minx. Maybe it was her swottishness, I don't know. My only fictional crush.

Luciana Paluzzi (played Fiona Volpe in Thunderball) - a google image search will tell you why. Actually, pretty much every Bond girl was definite crush territory back then (and now...). Famke Janssen in Goldeneye was another one who led my mind to some impure thoughts.

Tom Welling, Smallville. Though that might just be part of my Superman-fixation.

And of course, Seven of Nine.
( Pretender, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 16:08, 5 replies)

she fancied someone else
her black shiny body
her sexy evil voice
her rebellious manic persona

crasher from go-bots, I still love you

what did you see in leader-1?
(Raol Duke, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 15:43, 4 replies)

Wendy Richard as Miss Brahms


Thought she was lovely when I was a little boy but she now looks like this:


( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 14:58, 4 replies)

On a more serious note...
Back in the late nineties/early 00's, I used to have a thing for both Andrea and Caroline Corr (yes, they of the Corrs), despite me going through a grunge and metal phase, music-wise. I gave up trying to explain how I was a fan of Nirvana, Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots, and the Corrs, and instead just listed the first three.

I'd still try for a threesome with the two above-mentioned Corrs. Oh yes.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 14:38, 5 replies)

Jenny Agutter
Post Railway Children... She's in a picture from a book I was given for Xmas when I was 9 called Sci-Fi Now... Wet from head to toe wrapped in the arms of a fake Giant Octopus... and then there's the nurses outfit in American Werewolf...


I need not say any more, except that she's still fit as nearing 60 :0P
(hengushrh is found at the Dole office every second thursday, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 14:21, 5 replies)

Well, there was that time...
...when I was reversing over and driving over Zac Efron repeatedly...

...Bloody dream not being real...
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 14:12, Reply)

Shirley Manson from Garbage
Ah Shirley Manson, the flame haired Scottish songstress from briefly popular mid-nineties band Garbage.

'tis the summer of '96 or possibly '97 - the details are a little vague. I'm stood in line outside of the prestigious* music venue that is the Newport centre quaffing cans of Kestrel with my mates and little do I know that I am about about to experience one of the most profoundly erotic moments of my young life - needless to say, I was, it has to be said, rather sheltered in that respect. Subsisting almost entirely on a musical diet of Korn, Entombed and the like it was perhaps odd to find me clad in an oversized machinehead t-shirt with a group of similarly attired mates queuing for a Garbage concert, but it almost certainly had something to do with seeing the spafftastic Shriley Manson up-close.


Eventually, the line began to move and we hastily nailed the remainder of our lukewarm less-than-premium lagers from their somewhat rusty cans and made our way into the cavernous arena. For reasons unknown the support act were the Crystal Method. This did not sit well with us, but soon enough they buggered off and it was time for the main attraction. We shouldered our way to the front in that self-centred manner entirely bereft of consideration that only teenagers can manage (years later at the Reading festival I nearly started a fight with a bunch of young 'uns for doing just that, but that's not really relevant here).

The concert gets underway and she strides out onto the stage. Shirley Manson wearing a tiny, tiny red dress and proper 'fuck me boots'. Stood a mere ten feet from the stage and a gyrating Scotswoman I was in a randy teenage heaven for the next hour or so - my feverish, but at the time rather limited imagination running wild. I still maintain to this day that I got a look at her knickers at one stage. I hobbled out of there hunched awkwardly in a pathetic attempt to mask the raging stonk on that I had. We then spent an hour lurking round the back in the hope of getting a glimpse of her and if we were truly lucky an autograph. Alas, we were to be disappointed and the closest I ever got to her was the promotional material for the concert.

Probably still would.

*completely shit.
(barnaby_kettleworth, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 14:10, 2 replies)

To name a few...
Melissa Joan Hart (who hasn't aged at all I might add)
Lauren Laverne
Kes from Star Trek Voyager (and Seven of Nine, of course)
Jennifer Connelly (who is a bit too skinny nowadays and seems to have less in the eyebrow department)

These women all had bucketloads to answer for in my early teenage years, and I still have soft spots for all of them now.
Recently I have found myself watching alot of Countdown. Though not due to being made redundant, or the new letters/numbers lady, but the linguistic lovelyness of Dictionay Girl. Susan something I think. She can refer to my dictionary any time she pleases...
Perhaps a bit stranger, comidienne Jo Caulfield...
Slightly mixed bag there.
(Megamoss, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 13:48, 8 replies)

Not real people
I had my usual share of being too shy to talk to girls I desperately wanted to be with, but I thought I'd share some of the ladies who made my heart flutter despite never having actually existed:

The narrator from the Second Renaissance on the Animatrix DVD. Such a calming and beautiful vision of femaleness, all floaty and wispy and reassuring.

Imoen from Baldur's Gate. In the first game (before you find out she's your half-sister) she was the perfect mixture of sexy and spunky. And apparently had a lesbian scene in the novel, though I never read it.

Aeon Flux - the original cartoon version, rather than the Charlize Theron movie version. Slightly gawky, but simmeringly sexy at the same time.

In real world terms, Natalie Imbruglia and Anna Friel (that poster she did for Sky magazine in particular) still cause terrible pangs.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 13:39, 1 reply)

Like, I think, 90% of men my age
Michaela Strachan had a special place in my loins.
( Rookie You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 13:33, 3 replies)

Elizabeth Montgomery aka Samantha from Bewitched
Not sure what channel it was on but I was about 12.

My god she was awesome!!
(sleepmonkey, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 13:21, 1 reply)

Oh I've just thought of another
Emily - the 18yo girl I had a crush on when I was about 5 - I recently found out is a lesbian.

This upsets me as she will now be in her late 40s, so not really a proper lesbian any more.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 13:07, 11 replies)

My ruin
I shall call her Melissa for that was her name...

From the age of about 12-17 I had a ridiculous crush on her - a vision of loveliness in her netball skirt*, I'd actually stay behind after school to watch her play for the school, to much mocking from my friends who would presumably go home and wank to thoughts of girls playing netball anyway...but I digress...

Melissa never really gave me a second glance beyond friendship. She'd use my doting puppy-like mannerisms to get me to fetch her a can of coke, or even ask other boys out for her...(ffs!) but it was obvious I was in the kind of 'just friends prison' that made Alcatraz seem low security.

Typical unrequitted teen fare you might think - but the problem was I was so obsessed with being with Melissa, showing off, making her laugh, even being within a stone's throw of the steam off her piss I pretty much scrapped any chance I had of going on to do the a-levels and degree I wanted cos I could never concentrate in class (especially as most were with her). Not that I flunked my GCSE's thankfuly but you rarely get into Veterinary school if there is even so much as a B on your results.

Not only that but I also passed up many other better girls for this privilege, including Carrie who was stunning, thought I was a 'God' and pretty much re-enacted my behaviour toward Melissa, to me.

WTF was I thinking?

*Melissa wasn't even that good looking thinking back, it was just because I couldn't have her that I just HAD to.

I'm pretty much the same now - which goes to prove twats never learn.
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 12:59, 1 reply)

Driving Miss Karen...
OK, last one from me this week and apologies in advance for the lack of the funnies. As people are sharing their deepest, darkest (and in some cases incredibly depressing) tales of their first skirmishes with the opposite sex, I thought it only fair to tell you about Karen and the lengths I went to to try and be her boyfriend. I must’ve been eighteen or nineteen – first year at Uni. All I wanted to do was stroke her hair and make her dinner. This was love. I was fully aware she was anatomically correct beneath her clothes, but I never really thought about fucking her. All I wanted to do was be with her.

I’m usually a complete and utter gobshite, but whenever Karen would breeze into our local I’d go deathly quiet and suddenly find a shitload of interest in the bottom of my pint glass. Karen was so lovely she robbed me of my voice. My mates were forever thankful of this and would usually breath a heavy sigh of relief whenever they saw her walk through the door.

Karen was on the same degree as me. We’d occasionally have the same lectures. Every now and then we’d be put in the same group to talk about dead important economic-related stuff*, and all I’d manage to say was the occasional: “Meep.” Or, if I was feeling particularly chatty: “Errrppp…” I was absolutely fucking hopeless and consoled myself by getting off with as many ugly munters as I could possibly find. Karen just didn’t seem at all interested in me. It was like I didn’t exist.

Then one day we went on a trip to Stockport to look at a leisure centre (fuck knows why). I spent the day sulking and trying to breath Karen in. It was incredibly fucking miserable. Then we went back to Manchester on the train and I went directly to my local and had a pint. Kicking myself for being such an incredible, spectacular retard.

Then Karen walked in the pub. Then it started to – as it tends to do in Manchester a lot – absolutely fucking piss it down. After half an hour or so I felt someone behind me as I nursed my pint (I was a poor student and had developed the act of nursing a pint of Boddingtons down to an art form). I looked behind me. It was Karen. She explained she lived in halls way over on the other side of town. She explained she was supposed to be meeting mates here but because of the weather they hadn’t turned up. She asked if I could drive her back to her halls, just as long as I wasn’t drunk.

Of course, I agreed. Didn’t matter that I didn’t have a car – one could be arranged. And then the terror struck. I went back to my halls, none of my flatmates were in so I ‘borrowed’ my mate Mike’s car keys, then went and found his crappy old battered green VW Golf. Got in it. Started her up and drove, incredibly slowly to the pub where Karen was waiting by the window. She grinned with relief and legged it outside, her coat protecting her head from the rain. She slid into the passenger seat and we set off. Thus began the most terrifying drive of my life. I went slow. Very slow. Peering intently at the road out in front. Clunking through the gears and doing my best to appear all manly. We drove in silence, the car protesting, stalling occasionally. Then, after what seemed like a decade, I dropped Karen off at her halls and she said: “Thanks, Spanky – see you around.” And she got up and left without another word.

Visibly shaking, I turned off the ignition. Tried to figure out what’d just happened. Karen, my big chance, and I’d somehow managed to fuck it up. But then something more pressing came to mind. I spied a phonebox over the road, got out the car and, still shaking, crossed over. Found a ten pence piece in my pocket. I phoned the communal phone in my own halls. All the lads I lived with were on engineering courses, they worked later but should all be back by now. I asked if I could speak to Mike and gave the flat number. After an age I heard Mike say:

“Hello,” in his broad Blackpool accent.

“Mike, it’s Spanky,” I said. “I need your help, mate. I borrowed your car. I’m over near Trafford. Could you come and get me? “

There was a pause as Mike digested this news. I could hear him pad over to the window and check the car park for his motor, which, of course, wasn’t there. “Fuck me…” Mike was strangely calm. “You do know I’m gonna pound your head in when I get there?”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” I said and hung up the phone. Then I went back to the car and waited, feeling sick to the pit of my stomach.

You see, Mike and I knew something Karen didn’t know - I CAN’T FUCKING DRIVE! Never got a license, had one lesson once when I was seventeen and that’s about it. When I think that I could’ve been killed, taking my major league teen crush with me it still makes me want to do a little poo in my pants.

And Mike wasn’t lying. When he eventually got there – by bus – he did pound the living shit out of me. He hid his car keys after that. And apart from the occasional “Hello,” Karen never really bothered with me again… Just don't think she was that into me...


*All bollocks, of course…
( SpankyHanky, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 12:23, 3 replies)

Penny...
Inspector Gadget's neicee.

I was about 5 but these things are etched in my mind still.
(snarf81, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 12:19, 1 reply)

Jodie Foster
and before any of you start making Taxi Driver or Bugsy Malone jokes, I mean in the movie Maverick, notable for having James Garner, James Coburn, and pre-crazy Mel Gibson in it, as well as featuring the most sultry voiced, sassy, seductive and downright sexy Southern Belle of all time, Jodie Foster. Also she plays poker, quite well.

To be honest, I like Jodie Foster in pretty much all of her (adult) roles, but this one takes the cake, it's as though it was made purely for people who want to see her gorgeous face going through a variety of expressions of delight and innocent worry.

Also, on an unrelated topic, does anyone remember that link in the newsletter ages ago about a guy who had a website of fake nude photos of BBC presenters? Or is my rampant imagination getting the better of me?
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 11:47, 3 replies)

Hammer Horror films late at night
With the sound down so as to not alert the parents.

Exhibit A from 'Lust For A Vampire':
www.moviemarket.com/library/photos/210/210882.jpg

And

Exhibits B & C from 'Twins of Evil':
i14.photobucket.com/albums/a330/ray_luxury_yacht/funnies/E94_collinson-twins.jpg
(theremin put the lotion in the basket on, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 11:46, 6 replies)

Like A Virgin....EXACTLY like a virgin in fact...

As I lumbered into the hormone raging, tumultuously tantalising teenage years of titillation, with my spaff-tanks constantly on a hair trigger, I was lucky enough to watch a concert in Detroit* featuring none other then our favourite ‘adoption-addicted practitioner of hokey religions’…Ms Madonna Ciccone.

Note: I would like to add at this juncture that for a very brief stint in the 80’s Ms Ciccone was professionally yet delicately performing a skilful juggling act of balancing innocence, raw attractiveness, and confident sexuality – and was also sporting a fabulous, full breasted, scantily clad body that bore no resemblance to the withered, haggard, grizzled-and-chiseled East German shot-putter look that she currently favours.

I was entranced – but fwapping until my ears bled was a very private method of showing affection, so I had to find the right way of declaring my admiration to the world. This presented me with quite a tricky conundrum…How do I demonstrate my longing for this slutty, lacey-gloved-with-the-ends-of-her-fingers-poking-out goddess without making myself look like a mong-eriffic mutant?

And then the idea struck. I would buy a T-Shirt. What harm could that do? It was a gesture that was simple, yet potentially pointless…Just like me.

Now, although I was aware that it was not the ‘done thing’ for boys to wear Madonna T-shirts, my mind was made up, and I had decided that I was going to make a stand. After all, I had already been forced to keep my admiration for Duran Duran firmly locked in the closet of shame, knowing that all the explanations in the world about the 'skill of musicianship' and the 'groovy basslines' would still have had me condemned to the new-romantic wave of Culture-Clubbing Namby-Pambies, with the other boys who wore makeup on the sly and seemed desperate to ‘out’ themselves to the beatings and ridicule of the entire school bullying circle.

Children can be cruel.

But just a T-shirt?...Surely that could have no ramifications whatsoever? So with a fluttering heart, trembling hands, and a cock primed at ‘perma-semi’, I ventured to the record store to purchase a T-shirt featuring the resplendent face of the ‘Material Girl’ herself occupying the entire frontage. She was staring out to me from the shelf as if stating a direct message of intent; indicating that should we ever meet, then surely we would be together for one of the most intensive 12 seconds that I would ever experience before I crash my yogurt truck over her flimsy crop-top.

I paid my money, rushed out of the shop and ripped the packaging open. I felt awash with love as I popped my arms and head into the relevant holes and slipped the wonderful image over me. In a strange way it was as if…’two by two our bodies become one’.

(Actually, it was a little bit tight on me …but I wasn’t fussed).

Bursting with a mixture of pride, glee and rampant horniness I could not wait to go round my mate’s house so I could revel in his jealousy that I had this wonderful vision of sexehness emblazoned across my chest like a badge of lusty honour.

Beaming with joy and squirming to keep my trouser tent under control, I rang his doorbell and was soon confronted by my then best mate, Alex.

“What do you want Pooflake, you monumental spaz?” declared Alex.

I puffed out my chest, placed my hands on my hips and waited for the envious dribblings to flow as he clapped eyes on the creature of 80’s scutter perfection that I was displaying.

“Well…whaddaya think of THIS?” I bellowed, pointing at my T-shirt with my eyes bulging maniacally as I waited for the plaudits that were sure to follow.

"Ermmm….Who IS that?” he asked, squinting and looking genuinely confused.

“HA!” I laughed loudly, and scoffed at his ignorance – What a cretin! – How could he not recognise one of the most famous faces on the planet! I smirked at him with utmost disdain, and was about to verbally cut him to shreds…

When suddenly…out of the corner of my eye, in one of the full length windows of his porch I caught a brief glimpse of something that shook me to the very core with horror.

It was a reflection…of myself.

It is my unfortunate duty to admit that even in my early teens I was still struggling somewhat to shed my over-genorous portions of ‘puppy fat’ (that to be honest I’m still trying to get rid of *cough – 35 – cough*)

So in my haste to display my affection I had inadvertently allowed my combination of blind love, incomparable incompetence and considerable stomach-package to let me purchase a girl's skin tight T-shirt, and stretch it over my preposterously podgy young body, thus contorting the slappertastic songstress until she resembled a misshapen abomination that looked like the ungodly manifestation between a bull rhinoceros and that horrendous billionairess ‘Wildenstein’ woman.

Due to the stretching effect caused by my ample love handles, Madonna’s chin bulged down-and-outwards at such grotesque, disjointed angles that it would not look out of place if it had been nailed to the Rock of Gibraltar. My girthtastic gutbucket also provided the unfortunate added effect of pulling her cheeks out sideways, making her eyes slant ever-so-slightly southwards at the corners and turning her smouldering stare into a more quizzical ‘downsy’ look. To top it off, I had developed impressive specimens of whatever was the boy equivalent of ‘Moobs’ (What is the boy equivalent of ‘Moobs’?...erm…’Boobs’ I suppose)…anyway, my gargantuan, belly-button-worrying spaniel’s ears were thrust forward and had formed two huge lumps on Madonna’s already stretched-to-capacity forehead, just over her eyes, and it made her look as if she had contracted a severe, almost fatal case of the Mumps…and Elephantitis

My eyes filled with tears as I turned and sprinted home as fast as my wobbling bosom-boulders would allow…nearly giving myself two black eyes as my tits repeatedly pound me in the face with my own frantically flapping nipple action.

I knew from then on that I could never look at Madonna in the same way again – In all fairness I probably ruined her for Alex too – In fact I think he’s gay now.

I then realised I had no choice, and I did what any self-respecting teenage boy would do in the situation. I never wore the T-Shirt again, and instead decided to employ the garment as a quite frankly unnecessarily over-sized replacement for my standard-issue wank sock…and it was with sorrow that I was eventually forced to finally throw it away after it became so crustily rigid that it could have potentially been used to karate chop the Star of India diamond in half.

In hindsight, I suppose I’m quite lucky that she’s such a munter now. I don’t feel like I missed out that much.



*She was the one who was in Detroit - I was at home in Coventry watching it on the telly – I’m not fucking made of money you know.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 11 Nov 2009, 10:56, 6 replies)

Naomi (My Secret Shame)
Growing up, I was never particularly successful with the fairer sex, but that never stopped me aiming high, and Naomi was about as high as you could get. This girl was stunning, even in primary school. She was in the year below me, but she had her pick of the boys, always going out with the most fugly twats she could find, presumably to taunt me*.

The pick of the bunch, apparently, was Nick, who was fortunate enough to develop acne early, was shorter than 90% of the class and resembled an ape in both facial and cranial structure. It compounded my misery that I wasn't with her to see an angel with such a brute.

Eventually the end of primary school approached, and in our town, the only decent schools were same-sex, and duly we parted ways, and I expected to never set eyes on beautiful Naomi again.

Imagine my jubilation therefore when none other than Naomi turned up at my evening drama club! Another chance to repeatedly freeze up and accidentally offend her as per my teenage flirting methods. I always felt she was looking at me like she must know how I felt about her, but it could have been my wishful thinking.

One day at a performance, we were all high on adrenaline and cheap coke, and we were asked to name the person in the group we fancied most. It came round to me. No more hiding, I would name her and damn the potential for embarrassment! It drew some looks but I survived. I then realised her turn was coming up, and there was more at stake here then I first imagined. 'mmm... i'm not sure' she said in her heavenly tones. I died a little inside. Oh well, at least she didn't say my mate. Win! I tried to do something to impress her that night, but it backfired, looking back, pissing on the floor isn't exactly the most sophisticated of seduction techniques.

My greatest shame however, came in casting for our next production. The role in question was for a young Aladdin. Now, as the only person of any sort of ethnic origin in the group (and pretty much the town), and one of few males, I thought I pretty much had this one in the bag. To this day, I still regret my reaction when the lady in charge named Naomi as Aladdin. I threw a right little hissy fit. But Naomi calmly said to the room, "It's alright, SigmaX0 can do it'. Genuinely, I find it hard to forgive myself for being such a cunt, even though I was only 13 or 14, and Naomi, i'm really fucking sorry.

I've seen her a couple of times since, but haven't plucked up the courage to go and say sorry. I'm not even sure she'll remember.

*may contain traces of bitterness/regret/bias
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 10:55, 2 replies)

The follow up
The first half of this story is here: www.b3ta.com/questions/teenagecrushes/post564037
And here is the follow up.


The brown eyed girl.
My first crush. Yeah, she phoned and we talked and talked and talked. She told me about her soon-to-be ex-husband - she'd found out what a bastard he was - throughout their marriage she'd never come first or second or even third.
I wanted to make her first in my life, I really did.
Or at least I did when I spoke to her on the phone.

We arranged to meet for coffee, catch up on life and laugh about school days.

She still wore her brown wavy hair long and her face and the whole way she moved still held memories of long gone summer days and the kids we once were. Over hazelnut lattes she told me about her dull job in an accountants and I told her about how I'd always loved her, loved her wavy hair, her big brown eyes, the way she laughed, her smile, except what I said was, "Yeah, my job's shit too." She smiled, nodded and sipped her latte.
"So, um, what's your ex doing now then?" I have no idea what made me ask that question - I wanted to know if she still loved watching old Tom and Jerry cartoons or if she remembered being engaged to me all those years ago. She looked up from her coffee and frowned a little, "I'm not really sure. I think he's seeing someone. I know you two were friends...I've got his number if you'd like it?" she tilted her head and looked at me like she thought I fancied him - it was a sort of pitying look because she knew just what a bastard he was. "Oh, right. Er, no, I was just, um, curious." FFS some days I'm an idiot. She began to rake around in her bag and wrote down his number for me. I didn't want his number but I took it and then she said she had to get back to work - there was an urgent job on and...well, you know what it's like. Yeah, I did know exactly what it was like, I nodded and smiled and said some crap about doing this again sometime soon. She smiled politely back at me and told me that would be nice and how lovely it was to catch up with old friends and how I hadn't changed a bit and hoped my mum and dad and my brother were all well. Then she grabbed her coat and left.

When I could no longer see her walking away from me I drank the rest of my coffee - it was cold and tasted rank. The slip of paper was folded up on the table, I shoved it in my pocket and forgot about it.

Soon after I began to have an on-off thing with this really sparky girl she was fun, a lot of fun, very into al fresco sex which is great during the summer but not so good when there's snow on the ground. Have you ever had a relationship with someone who fits you like a glove, almost? Deb was fit, funny, sexy and amazing in bed but - and there's always a but, isn't there? She was bright and sparky but had left school at sixteen, messed around with drugs, drink, a few criminal activities, in short - you name it and she'd done it. Everyone's got a past and mine is nothing to be proud of but when I talked about books I'd read or films I'd seen she'd just smile and slide her hand down into my pants or hers.

You know, I'm writing this now and kicking myself - why on earth did I think there was anything wrong with a woman who didn't want to talk about stuff and would rather go to bed?! Maybe I'm getting old. Anyway, Deb and I were still going at it like jackhammers most nights when I found that piece of paper again and this time I opened it up and looked at what the brown eyed girl had written.

It wasn't her ex's number.

She'd written the same words I'd said to her on that ill-fated wedding day: Will you go out with me? and a mobile phone number.

I would have phoned her right there and then - it'd only been a few weeks, perhaps a month or so since I'd had that coffee with her, perhaps she'd still feel the same way.
So what stopped me? Deb was in my bed at the time - I'd got up to get a glass of water and heard my mobile go off, it was in a jacket pocket and I ended up looking in that jacket. I may be an idiot and sometimes perhaps a bastard, but it wasn't fair to Deb or to the brown eyed girl to start anything. I put the piece of paper back in the pocket, got my water, returned to bed and wrapped my arms around Deb. I kissed her neck and hoped she couldn't tell that I wanted her to be someone else. I'd like to say that I was honorable towards Deb, kissed her tenderly and said, "I can't do this anymore; I love someone else, I think" but I didn't. When Deb turned towards me my hands found her perfect perky tits and my cock just fell right into furry cup velvet heaven - I did close my eyes though.

That all seems like ages ago now. Deb and I eventually split up - last I heard she's getting serious with a personal trainer and is happier than she's ever been before - I'm happy for her. I've still got the slip of paper and on days when it's pissing down I look at it and wonder what the brown eyed girl is doing now.
(Stiff Richard, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 10:08, 23 replies)

Rik Mayall, who then pwnd me :(
Ever since the Young Ones came on our tellies, I've had a crush on Rik Mayall - I even went to see him in a play at the National Theatre. I also had a very torrid sex dream about him once...

Spin forward 10 years and I am working as a secretary at Jonathan Ross's production company and so I get an invite to come along to the comedy awards....you may remember the show - Julian Clarey made the 'fisting Norman Lamont' joke on live tv..

Anyway, my friend had come straight from work and was Jonathan's writer's date so was sitting at a table near the front of the stage (whereas I was in pikey town in the balcony). As the wine flowed and no food came, she got more and more drunk on an empty stomach. During the show she called Michael Barrymore 'gay' as he went up on stage - this was before he had come out - a random but perfectly correct heckle as it turned out.

The awards finished and plebs and celebs all pile into the ITV bar. And who do I see but Rik Mayall - my personal god and he is within touching distance. However, my drunk friend also spots him. I approach to say a cool hello, to tell him how much I admire him etc, and my friend lurches over and starts being uncomfortably flirty, despite Rik's wife standing next to him. I drag her away and we leave him alone.

The next night is an agents party (yes I totally lucked out that Christmas) and who should be there but mr Rik Mayall! Chance number 2!! So I casually wander past and say, 'oh hello again'. Now unbeknownst to me, at the end of the Comedy Awards party, my mate happened to be in the reception toilet being sick, and Rik walked in on her...'mid flow'.

So when I say hello to my all time hero for the second time, he looks at me with distain and says 'oh it's you. Your mates not going to be sick on me again is she?"

And walks off leaving me crushed.
( camp freddy well, would you look at that!, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 8:26, 2 replies)

Helen Mirren
In fact still do. Just looked up a few pics of her. I think I need to be alone now.
(tuppyholeman, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 7:20, Reply)

Worzel Gummage
And I'm a bloke.

My only ever gay crush. I was 9, but "fully formed" if you know what I mean.

Oh, man, Worzel...
(raymond "three griddle pans" luxury yacht lovin' the christmas action, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 0:41, 1 reply)

Philippa Forrester...
Back in the day, I would have gladly eaten my dinner off her minge.
Nowadays though, she looks like she'd beat me to it.

img1.photographersdirect.com/img/21971/wm/pd1934658.jpg

Sheesh.
( Chum Gnomesky Nom Chompsky, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 0:04, 13 replies)

Oh Boy.........
Growing up, there were two minxes that I used to want myself silly over...

Tiffany, The Ginger songstress, she was beautiful, had quite a thing for redheads....mmm later on in life, discovered she did playboy, searched for those pics but to no avail....

Sabrina, hit our pop charts with the song 'boys boys boys'... what a beautiful pair of love pillows, and the video to the song, if you viewed in slow motion, you could see a nip slip, she was dirty looking, she also posed naked too, wanked myself raw to her.
(BigKahuna I Like to Pooh a Lot, Tue 10 Nov 2009, 22:40, 2 replies)

Charlotte Green
In my head she is epic.
dogga!
(bowi555 built like a steakhouse but handles like a bistro, Tue 10 Nov 2009, 22:37, Reply)

So many to choose from
Seeing as to my advanced age, these will seem pretty dated...

Olivia Newton-John - My 6th grade math teacher, Mr. Miller, had her on the wall. Us boys couldn't quite figure out why it made us feel so tingly.

Debora Harry - Call me? What more appropriate song. And Videodrome, that movie was unbelievable.

Dale Bozzio - lead singer of Missing persons. I actually ended up seeing her again in Lake Tahoe a few years back. Still does it for me.

Phoebe Cates - Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Unavoidable stiffie during the pool scene.

Some brown-haired chick in my dad's Penthouse: One day, my father decided to dispose of a good portion of his adult magazine collection. I discovered this one as I was taking out the trash. Imagine: a beautiful, brown-haired lady, no shirt, her 36-D breasts poised pertly in the air. Her hands had just unbuttoned her blue jeans, and were poised to unzip them. A small wisp of panty was just visible in the V...
(WhatthehellamIdoinghere Getting older each day since, Tue 10 Nov 2009, 20:05, Reply)