The memories...
First serious boyfriend. I was all of 15, 16, he was a year or so older. Oh, the times we had- he'd get utterly baked and call me up at quarter past stupid, rambling on and on about how he felt he really was Valyn Velfor (his mind-bogglingly terrible RP character who was quite obviously ripped off of Vincent Valentine, of Final Fantasy fame), that we really ought to get together and be superheroes, instead of merely giggling over the moronic scripts we were writing, how I had the perfect voice (I sound like Gary Coleman, for crying out loud) and how I should totally come over and we'll go sex one another up in the woods behind his trailer.
He was ruggedly handsome, even despite the somewhat frighteningly excessive amounts of body hair. I would have put up with the madness had he let me shag him.

After that, there was a nice boy that I acted horribly towards... still regretting that. Gorgeous. Didn't get into his pants either.

After him, there was Sicilian Boy. Around, oh, seven, eight years my senior (shut up, it seems more when you're 19). Let's just call him Betty.
Betty is convinced he is at least part wolf, can manipulate people's energy into making them hump like rabbits, has mood swings that rival the most hormonal of women, constantly verbally abuses JUST ABOUT EVERYONE, whines when I slug him for it, gets horribly, horribly drunk off a single shot of whiskey and spends the next few hours telling everyone that they're quite obviously inferior to him because THEY... are not Sicilian. He'd also call my family "a load of sheep-fuckers" and go on and on about how extraordinarily white-trash I was (I'm really not. Really. Stop looking at me like that).
The things I used to put up with for thirty seconds of disappointing sex every friday...

No apologies for length or girth, cos I know you all love it and want more.
(Sir Dixon Dongs Good evening, gentlemen., Mon 20 Nov 2006, 18:10, Reply)