Back in 1985 when I was ten years old I was absolutely convinced I was gay.
Two reasons for this – one, while all my mates were literally jacking off over photos of cars in Top Gear magazine, I didn’t see the attraction or interest. This meant, in the eyes of my peers, I was a bona fide, grade A, dyed in the wool full on fairy brown-nugget mining shirtlifter. And two, Marianne Jones (a girl who got pregnant by the time she was fourteen to a lorry driver from Stoke with a fuck off big tattoo of an anchor sprawled across his butcher-sized forearm and a weird squint), led me round the back of the swings and showed me the contents of her underpants. I was aghast. It looked like a punctured fleshy rugby ball and I ran off crying.

This event had me doubting my own sexuality.

Oh, and I also quite liked Frankie Goes to Hollywood and would dance round the playground singing ‘Relax’ while doing an incredibly gay dance.

So, in my own ten year old way, I decided I had to sort myself out and start acting like a real man. I had to get in with a lady. I had to show my mates that I did, indeed, have an unrelenting love of the quim.

And the only lady I sort of knew at that stage was my PE teacher. A stern woman in her early twenties named Miss Knight who looked like a masculine version of Simon Le Bon and literally scared the shit out of everyone in the school. But, hey, she had tits therefore she was worthy of my affections.

So I set about over the next few days making sure all my mates knew I intended to *ahem* woo this amazing bronzed valkyrie with the Dudley accent and incredibly severe haircut. But I had to play it cool. Miss Knight was not to be toyed with. I had to make her mine through cunning, through all my manly powers. She was like a preying mantis – one false move and she’d probably chew my head off.

Then it came to me – an absolute cert to make her interested, or at least make her aware someone was interested in pulling down the proverbial walls and tackling the deflated fleshy rugby ball within.

I would send Miss Knight a note. An anonymous note.

But I wasn’t going to just write it on a card or a page ripped out of my exercise book, God no – that would just be a bit lame. I decided to write it on her car (obviously showcasing to my mates my complete and utter heterosexuality by the simple fact that I knew what a car looked like), in shaving foam (yet again, something utterly manly) that I’d knicked from my dad that morning.

At dinnertime I gathered a few of my mates so they could witness this act of utter Rambo-esque manliness, and we all sneaked round to the school car park where I singled out Miss Knight’s motor, a dilapidated sick yellow VW beetle, and set about writing my note of love on the bonnet. A simple message.

SOMEONE LOVES U

I stood back, admired my handiwork.

It looked good, the foam expanding in the air to make big crunchy letters. I turned to explain to my mates that I was, indeed, a fucking superstud, and noticed they’d all fucked off.

Then my eyes trailed across the car park and settled...

... on the windows of the school staffroom, where every single fucking teacher in the school stood, sipping tea, wondering what that fucking weird kid with the bowl haircut from class 4D was doing now.

Two weeks detention, my parents in to speak to the headmaster, no pocket money for a six months while I paid for the damages, and a ban from ever being allowed out of the sight of a teacher at break time ever again – how the fuck was I to know my dad’s cheapo shaving foam would strip paint at twenty paces?
( SpankyHanky, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 16:31, 4 replies)

Amazing bronzed valkyrie
was the tea-spitter for me
*clickity click (as my rheumatism sounds)
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 17:49, closed)

All that thought and effort
and odds on she supped from the goblet of fur anyway.
Have a click!
(randomstupidname would really like this signature field to be bigge, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 19:47, closed)

Nice story, good chuckle from that one.
cheers
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 2:49, closed)

Classic, as evar
There's a wonder your parents didn't get you neutered early on :D
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 9:54, closed)