I've got a problem that half my world, the internet, and my family [cousins, honestly, bastards with big mouths] has managed to pick up on. Let me say from the outset that I do not believe myself to be in love with anyone. I have some fairly well established crushes that are not and will not go anywhere largely because I am a fuckwit and am generally unattractive, unappealing, and a total pain in the arse. Granted, this doesn't stop some people but the people I am interested always seem to have mightily good taste and the sense to run rather than deal with me. (Cunts.) However, I can deal. Also, I quite realise that my chances of turning into a sad old spinster with way too many cats and a penchant for inappropriately fondling young men is extremely high. I suppose I'll cope with that too, sooner or later.
My problem is a young man. A very young man. And a case of overwhelming physical attraction that, well, defies all my logic. It’s actually quite difficult to admit this as he ticks absolutely none of my usual boxes being, as he is, kind of the anti-Jarvis. He is completely unread (his main reading material being pr0n-lite) and knows so little about anything that all conversation includes prolonged explanation and frequent recourse to a dictionary. In short, I have a seriously disturbing physical attraction for a boy who really oughtn’t do anything for me.
At least it’s reciprocated, right? Well no actually. I mean, it is reciprocated but this causes more problems that it should and although I’m almost certain that a quick fuck behind the bike sheds would solve the problem there are some really irritating barriers. (If any one can find me a good reason for having a conscience I would very much like them now. This is doing my head in far more than I would like to admit.) The barriers are his being a colleague and his teenage girlfriend. (Fuck I hate teenagers; I didn’t even particularly like being one.) Seriously, though, me vs nubile teenager – just who do you think is winning here? Given the frequency with which he utters the painfully irritating phrase, ‘I would never cheat on ---.’ I am not entirely sure. It’s not like I’ve propositioned him either. I am not the one doing the asking of the very leading and very sexual questions or most of the borderline inappropriate touching.
Of course I can’t win against the teenaged girl. She’s everything a disturbingly young man is supposed to want in life. Well, so he says anyway. A paragon of fuckable virtue. And me? Oh really, I’m nothing. The font of all knowledge, the one he spends his days with and his time trying to please, the one whose space he invades because oh because he can. The positions feel locked and I just don’t know what to do. I know what I ought to do. I should be the grown up, I should diffuse the situation, I should sacrifice my desire to a) common sense [colleague – very bad form indeed] and b) maturity. But I don’t want to. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted anyone so much and he’s there all the time and I can just reach out…
* Kisses on the cheek and a chocolate digestive to anyone who makes it through this mishmash horror of a post.