Saturday when I was a teenager meant Youth Club night. For those who are unaquainted with this, this was a place you could go to without your parents from the age of about 11 to 16. Total freedom to do what you wanted without the watchful and scathing gaze of your parents. Teenage Heaven.
Preparation for this (if you were a girl) took hours and involved having lots of girlfriends over to get ready with you. Oh, I remember only too well, five or six semi clad girls in my bedroom. Lots of makeup and hairspray, perfume and anti-perspirant. That and arms and legs everywhere as they try to slip into their club outfits.
There is always one girl in school who you really admire. The one who you attempt to copy, maybe by having the same hairstyle or outfit. Mine was Cheryl. She was a curvy, mousy haired girl about the same height as myself. She had an almost perfect smile with dimpled cheeks and gorgeous ice blue eyes.
I wanted to be Cheryl. She came from a good family and although she didn’t turn the heads of all the boys she won my heart. She looked good, smelt good and had a beautiful pair of pert but rounded breasts. This I know from sharing showers with her at school and having seen her undressed in my bedroom. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to be alone with her.
She always dressed in the latest fashion and looked so good both in and out of clothes. I used to think about her sometimes when I was alone in bed. I’ll leave the rest to your imaginations. Ooh, you can create the most delicious fantasies, can’t you?
We would finish getting ready and clear the house so my parents could get to use the bathroom. Then it was off to the bus stop for the next bus to our local shopping centre. We would all pile off the bus and then decide out of all of us who looked the eldest.
More often than not it was the lovely Cheryl (probably helped by the fact she must have been a 36C cup. I know I was so jealous). We would pool our spare cash together and then count the kitty. Then Cheryl would walk in to the wine shop whilst we all hid round the corner as not to raise suspicions.
Cheryl was under strict instruction to buy bottles of sherry or if we hadn’t raised enough cash, wine. This stuff was knock out, probably made in some obscure country nobody has ever heard of. It would probably clean ovens and de-scale kettles but we wanted to get a little tipsy before the club. A little bit of Dutch courage to enable the shy ones to get out on that dance floor and shake some booty.
We must have looked a real sight swigging sherry straight out of the bottle. It warmed us during the Winter and fortified us for the flirting we were about to do. Yeh, it sounds like we were the queens of the ball doesn’t it? On the contrary, none of us usually got any male interest. Could that have something to do with all the inebriated giggling? Who knows. We didn’t care we enjoyed ourselves on Saturday nights.
I had my eye on a guy whose name escapes me, who could dance like a pro. He also looked quite hot too. Only problem was, so did almost every other girl at the Youth Club. We would stand on the upper balcony and just watch him with a lustful stare. He knew he made us wet and got off on all the adoration. Not the usual type of guy I would have gone for but he made me hot. He always arrived and danced with one girl all night.
We were all envious of this girl and used to metaphorically sick pins in her as she enjoyed the attention he gave her on the dance floor. Then we found out something which made us all happy. The girl was his sister. Phew!
Every week I would try and catch his eye, shorter skirts, more makeup, lots of lip gloss. I would quite literally get dressed for him only. I began to fixate on him. The way he moved, the close fit of his trousers (look I was an hormonal teenager) around his ass. He looked like David Van Day, here is a picture of him if you have no idea who I am waffling on about. Apologies for the image, I couldn’t find a better shot of him. Oh and I cut off his side kick Thereza Bazar, I hated her and her squeaky voice. LOL.
I don’t know if I missed out on any male attention whilst in this dream like state. Maybe I did, for me there was just one guy in the room and it was him. My crush on him must have lasted for a good three months (that’s a lifetime when you are young). LOL.
Then one night a group of us got talking to a girl who lived next door to Mr sexy. My whole world fell apart that night. She revealed that this super hot guy was gay. NO WAY! He couldn’t be, he loved to dance, looked good all the time, he had all Abba’s albums, had a dog called Toto…and never danced with anyone other than his sister. The penny dropped.
Are you picking up a familiar theme here with my past love life?
PS I made up the bit about Toto