All the men I've loved
(This is an archived post from 2023 moved from my Patreon)
A series...
I've had a lot of boyfriends. I don't state that to brag. In fact, it's an anti-brag. Testament to how many times I've got it so incredibly wrong. (Or rather that they did?) Though, on the flip side, also testament to my romantic optimism. Every time I fell off that horse I went and climbed straight back on again. Always hopeful. Ever hopeful.
If you lined all these boyfriends up in an identity parade, there'd be little to bind them. Different heights, hair colours (some hairless), weights etc. There's been no type. But there have been stories, oh there have been stories! I thought I'd tell you some of them, but I warn you, they might sound unbelievable.
First off the block I thought we'd start with D. He was not my first boyfriend, but he was a very significant one. You'll see why later. I met him in a Firkin pub in Leicester back in 1997 when I was 17 years old. He was drinking with his twin brother and showed absolutely zero interest in me or my pals. That didn't put me off of course. I piled on in there and sat down, chattering away. He looked a lot like Tim Henman, and whilst I wasn't (and am not) a tennis fan, I appreciated his classically handsome looks and height. He was a departure from my usual penchant for crusty, ponytailed, bearded hippies.
Imagine my delight when I found out he was 26! Catnip to a teenage girl; the possibility of casually saying to a teacher 'oh I can't help with the art display this evening as my boyfriend wants me to meet him after work'. And he didn't have just any old job. No pizza delivery here! He was a social worker. And an Oxford graduate, which he had quickly dropped into conversation. I was smitten because D was social currency in my teenage world, and having just left a private school I was severely lacking in this area.
D seemed to be perfect. Socially conscious (see: social worker career), clever (see: degree x 2), daring (he owned a motorbike left back at his parent's house), environmentally aware (he could drive but chose to use the bus), an early adopter (he had a mobile phone), generous (he bought me gifts randomly and regularly), romantic (he gifted me a copy of Equus by Peter Shaffer on our first date - though upon reflection, perhaps a play about a boy religiously obsessed with horses isn't hugely romantic), rich (he liked to buy new clothes, took me out for dinner etc), well bred (his father was a land owner farmer and his mother a bank manager) and most importantly, he was a gateway to a world I knew nothing about (David Bowie, London, wine, art galleries, pub quizzes, broadsheet newspapers).
I was so in love I could barely contain myself. I made scrapbooks of our relationship - yes, insufferable, but the need to document 'us' felt important, otherwise it might not be true.
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