Memoirs of a Gold Star

February has arrived and Blondie and I are still doing our thing. Arguing for 2 weeks about who has done what (or who) and then meeting up and spending the day in bed. The relationship was dying a not so slow and painful death. At the same time, Media Studies girl has become a good friend. So good in fact that in the October of the previous year she left large amounts of mascara all over my white puffa jacket. (Before a word is said, I was living in Essex and it was 1998.) What made her part with her alleged waterproof mascara? The demise of her two and a half year relationship with the man I like to call Paul Simon, on account of his liking for a curtain hairstyle.

With my encounters with Blondie under my belt, I was feeling much more confident about my chances of someday, somehow, securing a date with Media Studies girl. Sitting next to her through some god-awful African cinema (albinos and incest are all I will say!); I wondered if I would ever get a moment to tell her or show her how I felt.

Two days later my prayers were answered. A field trip for the Media Studies class, London, Valentines Day. If Darwin hadn’t presented such a compelling argument, I’d have thanked God. The class was excited, next Tuesday, London Baby!

It all began innocently enough; the usual messing around on the coach down, attending the first set of “talks by key industry figures” only because we’d had no chance to escape. The break came and we scattered. The venue was an old style speaker’s hall, and we took to the stalls which were empty. It turned out, Media Studies girl actually wanted to listen to one of the speakers, so we took our seats. We talked throughout. Leaning close to keep our voices down, her breath on my ear and neck set my hairs on end.

I couldn’t think of anything else but kissing her. And I had no idea how I was even supposed to attempt that. After all, who was I kidding, Paul Simon might have had the dodgiest haircut of the nineties, but he was 6ft 1 and built, oh…..and he had dangling bits and a Y chromosome. I had to get up, stretch my legs, move, do something! She followed me out and we perched in a window ledge, watching Westminster hustle and bustle with its own importance. I regained my composure and relaxed as a few of our friends joined us, breaking the spell. Maybe it was being in London, maybe it was the 6lbs of pick and mix we had consumed or maybe it was just us, but things got silly. 5 year olds at a wedding kinda silly. Knee slides along the parquet flooring was too good to resist, someone polished this floor very well!

Human skittles became the game and of course, it true primary school flirting technique fashion, Media Studies girl was my main target and tumble she did. I got up and ran, praying to god she’d give chase. And from that moment on she never disappointed…

I slid to a halt in my socks (not an easy thing to do) and caught her in my arms as she careered towards me, using her momentum, I pinned her to the wall, arms above her head and grinned. Feeling rather pleased with me, I must admit. Then she slowly let a smile spread across her face, looking me straight in the eye. She raised a seductive eyebrow and my composure fled. And we stood locked together. The daring look in her eyes had my knees weak and my mouth dry. Every point of skin contact felt red-hot. I let go, slowly and backed away.

It wasn’t a last kiss. You’ll learn this about me, I never really let go of anyone. By the time the Minibus arrived back at my youth centre, Blondie and I had firmly established a text relationship….It blossomed….

There was nothing that was going to stop me seeing Blondie….no matter the distance, the opposition; this girl was going to be my girlfriend. And yes, not just a girl who is a friend.

Now, if you’ve been reading along with this, you’ll know that my experience in the world of women amounts to one very drunken night sometime ago and a brief time topping and tailing with Blondie. No Casanova, I’m sure you’ll agree. But I’ve never let the devil of detail slow me down.

I was a good kid, never bunked off school, never smoked, never took drugs, wasn’t particularly bothered about getting drunk….so, you’ll forgive me for being a tad excited when I “skipped” college for the day and boarded a train to the Seaside to meet my girlfriend. Validated was how I felt. A destiny being achieved. Oh and there were those bundles and knots in my stomach. Stage fright is the common diagnosis.

Hand on heart, I scarcely remember what happened when I got off the train, there was a café, something to eat, walking, and hand holding…and then, we were on her street. I found myself struggling to swallow, the enormous elephant of sober second time (daytime) sex wandered along with us and my hands cold and clammy. Yet again, time seemed to slip away from me. Glimpses of the carpet on the stairs, the toilet on the right and her room…

Blondie was cute and I was as horny as hell, heart jack hammering away. She stood in front of me and in broad daylight stripped until she lay naked across her bed and for once in my life, I was completely speechless.

Not a thought of discretion crossed my mind, I drank her in. Her pert boobs, the gorgeous pinkness of her nipples…hard as nails and oh, the curve to her hips and the inviting v that led my eyes astray to her pussy…Mesmerised I was. Locked to the spot. An immovable object. Blondie was however, an unstoppable force. She sat up and took hold of me, dragging me close in by my t-shirt. I was still mouth open, bunny in headlights. I dropped to my knees and she spread her legs around me….draped one over my shoulder. I’m sure I stopped breathing. Her fingers came to rest under my chin and she tilted my head back and said “Lick me baby, show me, let me feel…”

Have you ever had one of those moments where the world literally screeches to a halt? This was my first. Panic is not a viable option when your first and only girlfriend has her legs draped over your shoulder. Honesty also didn’t seem like an option, I mean that really is a pick your moment kind of thing and I refer you back to the leg draping. So I did what you do, I blagged it. Turns out, it’s the easiest thing in the world and as far as this Gold Star is concerned, the best fun you can have on your knees. Now you see, that sounds smooth doesn’t it? Years of hindsight dim the memories of the screaming voice in my head “Whatever you do, don’t fucking bite her!” But I remember it being the most sensual moment in the world. Never before had my world been so small and so big…never had I felt so in tune with another person. Her softness, the gentle throbbing, undulations, yet all so natural to me, instinctive. I lost myself to women the moment I took Blondie in my mouth, on my tongue, around my tongue. Small wonder I fell hard.

Blondie and I would bunk off every second Monday and spend the day exploring what it meant to be a lesbian….getting naked at 10am and hours spent rolling around, discovering how many ways you can get a rise out of this girl. All was going fine, it was a happy lil set up. Not without its drama, or her drama. Blondie was well liked, by boys and girls alike, her popularity resulted in weekly arguments after some confession of indiscretion or another. Her finest hour….calling me minutes into the new year to tell me exactly how many other people she had kissed that night. Oddly enough, we still speak at roughly the same time every year.

For me, that was enough, I started to detach myself from her emotionally, though I admit to not saying No to the sex…no matter the risk at times. Parents coming home in the middle of the day, Blondie hiding under the bed…naked as the day she was born and visible for all the world to see, in her panic she had forgotten to pull the duvet down to cover her bare ass.

Blondie was ultimately responsible for my “outing” to my parents. I’d already given my Mum a “heads up” and dropped the I’m Bisexual bombshell, my plan was small steps…she took it well. Asked if I needed a helpline number and announced “Can’t say I’m surprised…” Dad on the other hand, got a slightly ruder awakening. Faced with my mobile phone bill of a couple of hundred pounds (mostly to a number near the seaside) and a handwritten envelope addressed to me, postmarked “Seaside”. In his anger (it was a very big bill!), he opened the letter. I don’t know how far he read.

If he only made it through the first page then all he had to deal with was the graphic imaginings of what would be occurring “next time I get my hands on you”. If he read past that…well lets just say Blondie had an interesting theory on how we could have babies that were biologically ours. I know, even I struggled with that one. Lord only knows how Dad felt.

Long Story short, Dad shouts, I go out, get hammered, police escort home, throw up repeatedly, go to my Saturday job, and get sent home. Dad then explains that being gay is against the rules in his house, and university also isn’t an option if I want to be gay. Oh and Blondie was never to be seen, heard or spoken to again. I nodded my agreement and promptly carried on far more discreetly. By this point Blondie was struggling to hold my attention, phone calls diminished, thankfully the sex did not. Media Studies girl was creeping up on my heart. I was starting to believe I had a chance, but did I have the balls to make my move?

Life was rolling along pretty well for me. I decided I was hopelessly in love and that was ok. I settled down to be her friend.

I belonged to a youth group and was busy getting involved. This meant I needed to go on an activity weekend for “Young Leaders”. From my club, it would be me, Jamie and Rob. Friday night fell and we found ourselves in an old fashioned dining room. Made me think of Malory Towers (Enid Blyton’s Boarding School of my childhood).

As everyone tucked into some fabulous fish and chips, the cattle market opened. We might have been a bunch of volunteer do gooders, but I’ll tell you…volunteering will increase your chances of getting some! I was, at that time, bumbling along, very quietly being bi-sexual. Friday night passed without event and Saturday was a long long day of team activities. Dinner out of the way and the fun was soon to begin. You see, everyone knew that on a trip to Wickers House, Saturday nights are yours and the local pub always serve!

Of course, we had to earn our pub trip and an hour and a half of line dancing, led by a couple head to toe clad in sequins, was more than reason enough to get incredibly drunk. As soon as there was a crack in the door, we made our bid for freedom. I got the drinks in and we took ourselves outside. Two drinks later and the air was filled with the shouts and hollers and laughter of freed teens!

I was loitering near the door when this blonde hurricane came barrelling out. She stopped, pulled herself upright and grinned at me. Noting a double Archers and lemonade in each hand, I commented… “Girl after my own heart…” Thankfully, she didn’t think the line was as bad as I did (or she was already quite drunk), because she grinned again and walked off.

It got cold outside and eventually we took over inside, rowdy teens, legal or otherwise, do not make for a quiet Saturday night drink. Blondie had plonked herself down at our table. She was also with two boys, Dan and Sean. Football swiftly became the conversation of the evening, Blondie talked endlessly, at times over the boys, she was as Essex as they come and she blew away any cobwebs you might have had. She had her eyes firmly on the prize that night. The floppy haired lothario at the Young Leaders retreat, and his name was Harry. Every girl (so inclined) had a thing for him. And to be fair, for a teenage boy, he was ripped. A six pack he clearly worked on religiously and loved to show off.

I was far too wrapped up watching Blondie watching Harry, to notice that my drink had yet to run dry once. Dan, it seemed, was watching me as intently as I watched her. Fair to say, I put away far more than I really should have done. I do blame Dan’s generous buying of drinks and that monster with the green eyes. She got her claws into him and how was I supposed to compete with a boy??

The drinking continued and I became convinced Dan was actually rather lovely…Finally the harassed landlord ushered us all out of his pub and pointed us back to the hall from whence we came. Small cliques that had been formed this evening stumbled up the driveway, the speed bumps were proving tough going for some and the bushes that lined the drive caught a number of drunken wanderers that night. Up ahead, I could see Blondie tucked under Harry’s arm, by this point I was only drunkenly aware of my jealously and Dan’s shoulder hooked under my arm, keeping me upright.

If I’m honest, how I ended up in one of the boys dorms with Blondie, Dan and Harry, I do not know. Blondie and Harry were for some reason, making out in the shower cubicle in the dorm. Dan and I were on the bed, drunken snogging a-go-go. If it was good, bad or hideous, I don’t remember, I just know it seemed to last forever! Out teenage romps came to an abrupt halt as David (The Adult in Charge!) burst through the door. Turns out, every dorm had to be searched and boys and girls, separated and sent back to correct dorms. The girls decided that in the name of girl power, we’d all sleep in the same dorm. Soon everyone had a bed, we’d dragged some mattresses in as well and Blondie took the last one we managed to cram in. Chivalry meant that I was going without. For the time being, the conversations were getting rowdy…and confessions were pouring out. Who’d snogged who that night….levels of regret….remorse….wanting to do it again…?

I was sat against one of the walls, the dorm was in an attic room and had a sloping roof, as the subject changed from boys to girls, I started to get up to make my excuses and leg it to the loo….but when someone asked “Is anyone Bi?” I just had to answer. (Thanks again Dan!) As I put my hand in the air to confess I was, I smacked my head right into the ceiling….in my concussion…the tension diffused and a few people also confessed they might be…the conversation drifted on and slowly lights started to go off. Everyone had found their spot and the dorm filled with the hush of whispers. I look round for a space to get some kip. I caught Blondie’s eye as I scanned the room. Wasn’t hard too, she was lying on her front, elbows on the bed, chin supported on her hands, staring me down. She looked almost angelic and if it hadn’t been for the killer cleavage I could see, I might have mustered a pure thought. As it was, when Blondie looked up and uttered “Top & Tail with me?” not a single thought in my mind could have been described as angelic. I grinned at my fortune and climbed in.

In the darkness, over the next couple of hours, we talked. I told you she was an Essex girl and boy, could she talk. It was all flirting. Play fighting regularly broke out and as the night took hold, the talking got serious. I realised the room was asleep, slumbering soundly. 3:30 am, the dead of night. We started the night top to tail but the various altercations, wrestles and contortions to show our scars, meant we’d come to rest level. Face to face, inches between our bodies. I could feel the heat of her. Propped up on my elbow, leaning, looking at her. My body balanced on its side, teetering. Wanting to close the space. The covers drawn at our waists. Her simple cotton nightshirt was so thin, sheer almost. I can’t speak for her but I don’t know how it happened but one moment we were talking and the next…

My fingers had started to trace the lines of her stomach, feeling the way her body curved. No strength, the lightest of fingertip touches. I’d fallen silent, mesmerised by her beneath my hand. Limbs heavy with lust. Then she stopped talking…The hush crept upon me and made me bold. Teasing my way up to her breasts, lying on my side…her on her back, my right hand trailing over her left breast, hypnotised by my own actions.

Suddenly she spoke, huskily… “I can’t do this…” but she didn’t move away. Not the words I expected to her, I froze and started to apologise as I withdrew my hand. She reached for me. “I didn’t mean it like that.” My confusion was written all over my face, she continued “I mean, I can’t just lie here and do nothing, while you do that. Kiss me.”

She guided my hand back to where it had been happily playing moments before. I was faltering. I laugh now to think that I had the courage to tease her nipples but not to lean down and take her with my kiss. She became impatient beneath my hand. She took control, her grip on my neck, eyes locked on mine, a daring stare. Pulling me to her, I sank into her kiss. Started so gently, so soft, caressing. Hands taking their time, fumbling around. The rising of the heat between made me brave…working my way under the cotton, skin on skin. The inner of her thighs, a new playground for me. Plus being down here….teasing….gave me time to panic about what the hell I was doing!! During the talking and flirting that had passed earlier, I *may* have insinuated I had more experience than you or I know I posses at this point…

Thankfully, women come naturally to me (and for me, if I’m good!). The wetness between her legs told me and gave me, the reassurance I needed. For an hour or more we continued to kiss, tasting her skin, nipples in my mouth, all the time my fingers weren’t idle, though never slipping inside the lace of her knickers. My own aching became impossible to ignore, winding her up was having the same effect on me.

Frustration got the better of me and aside went her knickers, our desires muffled by the covers, trying not to disturb the girls sleeping around us. I covered her body in kisses, while I took her in my hand. She threw her arms around me, gripped me close, pushed against me, writhed and wriggled and over and over again, my fingers, my touch, my kiss made her come.

I trembled under her touch, as she took her turns with me, I ached so hard for her, was so wet…embarrassed and ashamed, she ignored that and made me too forget, exhausted, we finally fell asleep and woke with her still in my arms and still smiling at me. And amazingly not a word or question from any of the girls!

Breakfast was an interesting affair; neither Harry nor Dan could fathom what was amusing us so much, the final day began to fly past. We stole moments wherever and whenever we got the chance, kissing as we packed. The minibuses arrived and we snuck into the empty hallway to say goodbye. I slid my arms around her waist, like I’d been doing it all my life. Her mouth so soft, gentle on mine. I thought for a last kiss, it was perfect…

However Blondie was a love affair just beginning…

With my new perspective, life simultaneously got harder but easier to understand. I knew what I was but I knew not everyone else would be. The following two years I hit denial, full tilt. Indulged myself in my intense friendships and when the time came to move on, I was glad of the change to sixth form. The freedom of town and more anonymity. Slowly, throughout my first year I began to shed the attempts I’d made to fit it. By the October half-term, my hair was short back and sides but I still ignored the “gay” whispers in my head.

At the end of my 1st year, I felt I needed to give boys one more chance. Before I started facing up to things. Now I had to look for a willing victim. Now I know that sounds bad, but I do not attract men. I have finally realised that is not because of the way I look. It’s simply that they know I’m a train to nowhere. My pheromones could be bottled and sold as man-repellent. Side effects are known to attract some of the nicest guys you can ever meet and you never go short of a man hug or someone to move heavy objects!

It transpired that there was indeed a boy who was willing to date me, keen even. Brave soul! Now all this was well and good but from the get go it was never going to work. And not even because I wasn’t straight. He towered above me…6’ 4” to my 5’ 3”…his spiky (GINGER) hair made him look like he never ended. Neck strain was going to be an issue. And then you add that to the fact that if he turned sideways he’d disappear. Now, I may not want to have sex with a man but I can appreciate one that is pleasing to the eye, like in those days, David Boranez or Keanu in his Speed phase. Lanky and ginger was not setting my pulse racing, I must confess.

As I was getting ready, my Dad popped his head into my room. News of my evening’s activities had reached him and unlike most fathers, mine was very pleased to know it included a date with a boy. Money was handed over without the slightest of wheedling required. He may have been relieved but same couldn’t be said of me.

In the spirit of fairness and being open-minded, I heaped on the positive thought and headed out. We’d settled on a drink and a movie. 35 minutes of horrendously uncomfortable small talk endured, we finally took our seats. I was very much glad of the moment I could sink back into the darkness and enjoy Clooney-Walberg in Three Kings. It wasn’t to be. He held off for 15 minutes before he reached across and began what I can only describe as “heavy petting”.

He was also the worst washing machine kisser I had encountered thus far. At points, I felt like I was drowning. His stiff, heavy hands roamed my body, unsure where to settle and never settling anywhere I wanted him too. If he happened across an area of sensitivity, his force overrode any pleasure I might have derived. I kept him at bay, best I could. Digging deep into my denial, I told myself it was his haste that offended me.

As I drove him home (that should have been a sign!) I made one final effort, tried to relax and enjoy his advances. I couldn’t. I felt uncomfortable, hollow and most crucially, dry.

He continued on, regardless. I stopped him dead in his tracks. Pulled his hand away. Turned from his face and cruelly dismissed him from my car with the words “For future reference, it really should be wet if you want to do that.”

In the following months, I carried on as normal, ignoring all forms of dating. I was hideously in love with a girl in my media studies class and the more my denial crumbled, the more I realised it.

A brief encounter on the concourse at college set my coming out in motion. There was a group of lesbians in the second year, everyone knew about them and this was mainly because they congregated outside the library during every free moment. One day as I left the library, one of them jumped to her feet and followed me. Once we were far enough away from her friends, she reached out and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and was surprised to see her. She was beautiful in a way other girls weren’t. The short pixie hair, eye liner galore and the classic leather jacket and plenty of piercings. She got right to the point…

“Can I ask you something? Are you gay?”

Clearly, at this moment I looked shell-shocked. She continued…

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, and it’s just…I was so sure….I mean…not that you….Oh god I’m sorry….”

At this, I managed to regain some power of speech.

“Do I look gay?” I uttered, amazingly with some righteous indignation, all bluster.

To her credit, she actually managed to say what all of us would want to say and what she clearly really wanted to say and for that I have to thank her! She carried on, trying to make amends…

“I’m so sorry, it’s just got a vibe and I wondered…because you see, I wondered; if maybe…well you’d like to get a drink….you know? With me?”

Dumb founded, I found my voice…barely…

“Ahhh right, umm thanks and everything, but I’m not, you know…gay.”

With that I turned and fled. The following “Oh My God…Do I look like a lesbian???” mini-drama confirmed many things, most importantly…

A) My friends totally ruled for being able to not just burst out laughing and scream “YES!”

If other people can see it, then maybe its time to just be honest?

And so I started to slowly sneak out of the closet, declaring myself as a bi-sexual, you know to ease folks in to the whole gay thing, whilst still giving hope that I might end up with a man. So I’m now 17, I’ve been hopelessly in love with media studies girl for 13 months and people kinda know I like girls. Me thinks its time for some fun.

*Grins*

Cast your mind back, if you will, to your days as an innocent and easily impressed…Come with me to a cold night in 1996. I’m a couple of months shy of my 16th birthday as are most of my friends, but we’re out on the town having heard a rumour that the bar at the end of the high street NEVER id’s anyone!

Our sources were good and true and we spent 4 noisy, raucous hours getting absolutely smashed. At this point of drunkenness, most people are selfish, add being a teenager into the mix and everyone had started to disperse…wandering off…

According to the clock in front of me, if I squint really hard, I think its 20 minutes before closing time. Propping up the bar I sway gently looking at the £1.80 I have in my hand, bus fare home. Or…£1.50 for another shot and a sobering hours walk home…That kind of decision is hard to make after far too much archers and sambucca. Though swaying helps! The barman is thankfully patient and attends to the person next to me. My lazy eyes take in the slender hands and exquisitely manicured nails wrapped around a purse that appeared to be stuffed, chock full of 20’s. And then she spoke…

“Can I buy you a drink?”

I hesitated for all of a nanosecond before placing my order for a double archers and lemonade.

Now I have never looked my age or older than it. Even now there is a moment’s pause at the cash desk when I try to purchase tobacco, lotto, knives, lighter fluid or alcohol. So she knew I wasn’t 18 (though for a while I allowed myself to think that she thought that!) but I’m not sure she realised I was 15. She could have been anywhere between 21 and 28.

We took a seat and as I sat down and leaned back, my focus widened enough for me to take her in. I’m betting my face matched that cartoon hound, whose mouth and tongue hang loose and roll across the floor….mounting the table and stamped my foot, hollering “Hubba, Hubba”.

She was beauty itself, high defined cheekbones, delicately tanned skin, rich, fierce hazel eyes and a long luscious mane. Femininity personified. She’d not been home since her working day had ended, the blouse buttons had been loosened and I was mesmerised by the sight of lace upon the curve of her breast. And she talked to me, was interested in me. Laughed so hard at my jokes and of course, kept buying the drinks. Officially flattery and drunken naivety was getting her everywhere.

By the time the barman hustled us off his doorstep, I was happily basking in her spotlight of affections and didn’t think twice about getting into her cab and going home with her! Alcohol does make us brave. Next thing I know, I’m in a swanky flat, minimalist in design in a time when the d.i.y. craze hadn’t swept the nation. I was in awe. She poured some wine and I pretended I drank wine and I loved it. I was just glad of the drink. From my seat on the sofa, I could see a huge bed; covered in soft cream sheets…I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

Finally she sat next to me, her scent made my pulse race, my mouth got drier the closer she edged, she was talking but I couldn’t hear a word over the din of the penny slowing dropping in my mind. Goosebumps on my arm beneath her touch shocked me back into the moment. Back to her, inches away from me, achingly close.

I’d love to say at this point, I played it cool and we got it on…I didn’t. I freaked. Jumped to my feet and started to pace and mutter and look for my shoes. “I just need to get home” I mumbled, “Do you have a phone? In fact better still could you order me a taxi as I don’t know where I am?” I stuttered and stammered and couldn’t look at her.

She took my panic in her stride, warm, soft yet strong arms around me, she steered me back to the sofa. Reassuring me that everything was ok, handing me a glass and taking the phone, she wandered off to call me a cab.

She’d slipped out of her jacket and heels as we’d stumbled through the door, sighing out loud at the relief. In a simple pencil skirt and white blouse, loose and untucked, she padded the hallway on the phone. My gaze lingered, my wine was disappearing fast. My fear ebbed and my desires emboldened me. I wanted her back on the sofa…

As she sank back down next to me, I turned to look at her. For a moment I sobered and took her in and I didn’t know what I was seeing dancing in her eyes but I knew that I wanted it, I wanted her to kiss me. Not for the fuss. Not because everyone else was doing it. Because that was all I could think of, all I could see. Every movement of her mouth, her tongue casually brushing over her lips, was watched by me.

Finally she took me. Soft, gentle and inviting at first, letting me find my feet. I felt the click and my hunger started to build rapidly and when it came, she was ready for my onslaught. She lit the touch paper. As I was led to the bed I had curiously eyed earlier on, I’d stopped thinking. For the first time I was completely in tune with my body and unable to refuse it.

She sat me on the bed, pried my eager hands away and quickly shed the skirt and blouse. Again, I was rendered slack jawed. She stood strong, this beautiful woman, wrapped in white lacy lingerie. Tanned and toned. Looking at me, wanting me. Performance anxiety kicked in and sensing my fear rise she stripped me efficiently and lay me back.

What followed was a blissful education of the Sapphic variety. She taught by showing and encouraged me to learn by doing. Not always patient with my fumbling but vocal in encouragement when I got it right. Once she’d used me up and had me satisfy her on command, she let me sleep. Waking me before sunrise, having listened the night before about needing to be home. She saw me off at the door with a lingering kiss and a wicked grin and my cab fare home. More than that, she left me with a sense of knowing, my secret. A sense of peace and relief.

The world was suddenly a very different place.

I had two best friends during my last couple of years at school. To say they didn’t like each other would be a masterpiece of understatement. Lynzi was my age. The popular girl, soon to be head girl and lead in the school play girl. She had the gorgeous older boyfriend and A’s all the way. Ellie was 2 years younger and lived 5 doors away from me and was incredibly pretty and great to be around.

Turned out they had history. Squabbles that had survived primary school and the early years of secondary. And I took my place between them.

Clearly, even now, I am only just learning to understand what is actually being said when two women confront each other. To the untrained eye, it’s polite, civil, cordial and nothing to worry about. To those in the know, claws are being displayed and fangs bared. Needless to say, I was ignorant of this between Ellie and Lynzi. As I said, sex wasn’t really on the agenda for me; I played sports and distracted myself with other things. But then came a moment when I knew that it was girls that made me blush.

A few people had suggested I might want to get myself over to Lynzi’s form room as it was “all kicking off”. I arrived to find the room empty except for Lynzi in the far corner and Ellie blocking the door. A Mexican stand off was taking place and I was being thoroughly ignored. They snarled and hissed and circled each other and then in an instant words and chairs and slaps and hair went flying. Even once the dust had settled I never knew what started it and was so confused. But eventually, each girl had her set nights that I could see her, Lynzi took Tuesday, Thursday & Saturday and Ellie the rest. Looking back, it’s a memory that makes me smile and my ego puffs its chest out a little bit.

Despite the intensity of these friendships, none of us acknowledged the physical desires that were stirring. There was teasing and punching and slapping and of course, any excuse to wrestle or play fight. Those awkward moments when the desires started to boil and everyone catches themselves and backs away uncomfortably. I started to catch myself gazing admiringly as they removed layers.

Realising that maybe I am that freak? Maybe I do like girls? Thankfully at this point, I’d joined a hockey team and the football team and suddenly my world was flooded with new information about girls who liked girls. Lesbians. And so there it was. The word. Gay. Lesbian. Homosexual. I had a label, a definition but I also knew that the people I knew thought it was a bad thing, something that happened to other people. I breathed a sigh of relief, after all, nothing had really happened, maybe it would just be a phase…

The first question generally asked is "When did you know you were gay?” I don’t know if this is just a badly phrased question or how they actually think it happens. Like I woke up one morning and went “Hmm pussy”.

Well, anyway, I’m one of those who has kind of always known. Bare in mind, I did not go to school in a time when sex education occurred prior to being 14/15. When we didn’t tell our kids about ALL of the ins and outs. I just twigged that I looked at things a little differently. I’m the tomboy that was in your class, always with the short hair, playing sports, class clown, roughing and tumbling with the boys and often mistaken as one.

Primary school was very uneventful, especially from the perspective of this Blog. Sex didn’t exist for me. I was still up a tree. Of course, I “married” one or two boys as is primary school tradition but then most likely I kicked him in the shins and ran away.

Secondary school began in the same way, everyone was a friend. I had no idea how quickly things would change. By the time year 8 rolled around, (’94) puberty has started to wreak its havoc on our skin, hormones and friendships. Girls kissed boys; boys kissed girls, people graffitied surfaces with declarations of undying love. I knew I had to know what all the fuss was about. So I got in on the act.

Enter Chris. (Now clearly I’m going to be keeping this vague in details and names are just names plucked from whichever programmes I happen to be watching as I right.) Chris was technically my first boyfriend. It wasn’t too last. From day one, I have been a floozy. After a week of serious hand holding and pecks on the cheek, I dumped Chris and promptly took up with his best friend, Matt.

Cue more serious hand holding. And then some double dating! So, of course, now we’re “going out” with each other, the pressure is on. I’m going to have to kiss Matt. I’m going to find out the fuss.

So I raced home from school, got changed and was so nervous, I trudged up the hill to meet my best mate, Rach. Rach was way ahead of me in the boy stakes, apple pie all the way for her. We strolled over to the school (never understood that, moan about being there all day and then as soon as it’s closed and chained up, we’re climbing back in) to meet the boys. Just as we spot the boys, Rach slips some white Wrigley’s in my pocket and gives me a hug. Off we went, up to the playing fields, which were massive and are probably now houses! (Thanks Labour!) As I said, massive playing fields, making it perfect for the boys to show us girls how to play golf…and of course, our ineptitude providing the excuse for close physical contact.

We worked our way down the field in our foursome and soon we’d lost Rach and boyfriend to the gully of trees…the golf pretence dropped, Matt and I walked hand in hand and if I was a bag of nerves, he was a truckload of nerves. Like the blind leading the blind. Eventually we ran out of words and ran out of places to walk; we were in the gardens, by the pond. The sun was waning, dipping away. Everything looked so perfect. Scene set and there I was stood face to face, toe to toe with a boy.

I couldn’t feel anything other than nerves. It didn’t feel wrong, it just didn’t feel right. It wasn’t making sense. I was waiting for the good stuff to arrive and as I leaned into to kiss him, there was a fear in my heart that it wouldn’t be there, that I’d be a freak for my entire life. We kissed; I recall the taste of prawn cocktail crisps, massive overuse of tongue and wiping my mouth (discreetly) afterwards. He, however, promptly turned away, punched the air and stepped in the pond. As we walked home, him with his one footed squelch, I waited and waited and waited for the warm and fuzzy to happen. Wondering when I’d get those feelings of excitement that everyone else seemed to have.

Matt and I ended up going out for quite a while, there were valentines presents and double dates galore and far too much getting off with each other. Matt was such a great guy and no doubt about it, I really liked him. But when his lips touched mine, he stopped being Matt; he was just a mass of flesh pressed against me.

Of course, there were other boys in time. A moment with Mark at the gates, Jake in the art supply cupboard, Steven at the park and Ben in town. But nothing. Never anything at all. It was so hollow and empty. I gave up. Stopped pushing for it to click. The simplest course of action came to me; I picked the most unattainable boy in my world and told everyone I was hopelessly in love with him.

This takes us to year 10 of school (‘96) and I’m 15. Other than some decidedly average kisses, how did I know I was gay? Honestly, I didn’t. I knew I was different, I didn’t know gay was the word for it or that it was the reason why girls held far more attention and appeal for me.

Over the next two years things would be become slightly clearer but without a boy in sight….there are a couple of other encounters with the boykind to come….but join me next time to find out how I finally knew that it was the ladies I was meant to love.

It gets everyone going. Guys want to watch it, girls want to do it. It's apparently the most popular thing to do on earth right now.

For some of us though, it just is the way things are and I want to tell you my stories. For no other reason than to put something out there that isn't Hollywood contrived, or imagined by a man. Just the simple love life of a Gold Star lesbian. In case you've managed to avoid the L word, that just means I've never slept with a man. Technically a virgin.

At this point I beg you not to send me your messages explaining that I just need some "seriously good deep dicking". I do not doubt your abilities. I just like girls, you understand.

If you do decide to come on this journey with me, you'll know more about me than anyone in my life does.

Ok, so let's help you get started and get me a label to put on your box. I'm a lesbian; I look like one in fact. Short hair, masculine dress sense, nerdy and a tendency towards ties. You've seen many of me...we're everywhere these days...mainstream fare...

I'm actually nothing special to look at, as is often the case, but I have my luck.

Other than that, our journey will make you think many things of me. I have been many things. Many I'm not proud of, some I am.

All of these things have no bearing on who I sleep with. Contrary to some opinions I don't believe that your behaviour is dictated by your sexuality. People are people and whether you sleep with the same sex or the opposite or something else, you're still like the rest of us.

I have plenty of theories on how being a big gay affects some of my choices and no doubt I will be throwing these in from time to time, but mostly I just want to remember. I want to chronicle the moments in my life and I want to share them.

So if your taste in lesbianism is more intellectual than 2 Swedish looking au pairs trying to kiss each other by waggling their tongues, I hope you'll join me on my casanovian type memoirs.

Until we begin...

Gold*Star