bath which felt like laying on a marble mortuary slab covered in bubbles, then sliding around like a wet fish.
~
The holiday (vacation) also contained its fair share of “naughty” Porkie Pie moments. One of the most memorable, which I mentioned earlier, was when my sister Shelly and I told Mum and Dad we were tired and going to retire a bit early. I sensed Dad thought it was a bit strange since we hadn’t done much all day besides lunch and sunbathe on the beach. But he said nothing.
I was all in because I wanted to see Aaron again—a cool guy with floppy hair and muscular build who, a day earlier, had chatted me up at the bar. He picked me over Shelly, who was two years older (the same age as Aaron) and looked a lot sexier.
I liked the plans but had reservations. Lying and betrayal sat heavily on my chest, but I also wanted to be daring. “Mum and Dad are right next door. How are we ever going to get past them because our door creaks like crazy?”
“Out the window, of course!”
Minutes later, my butt was sticking out of the window, as Shelly waited so that we could head up the path.
We didn’t know Mum and Dad had decided to go for a romantic walk in the moonlight.
“Where do you think you’re going?” boomed my father’s familiar voice. Red-faced, stomach knotted, with no excuse for dangling half in, half out, we were marched straight back to bed.
Despite that little setback, Aaron and I did manage to meet up a night or two later. He walked me down to the beach, and we kissed beneath the stars. He was a delightful kisser. He also convinced me to puff on my first cigarette afterwards. I didn’t like the taste of cigarettes and never smoked again. But kissing was another matter!
It was also super-cool showing my friends photos of my “older” holiday romance hunk. That first kiss with an ‘older guy’ did wonders for my confidence. I wasn’t undesirable after all. I could be admired by gorgeous boys and the feeling was both exciting and terrifying.
5.
NICE TUSH
“You should be kissed often and by someone who knows how.”
― Margaret Mitchell
1996…
As a teenager, with newfound confidence, I grew up fast. Although some people—like Mum, Dad, and Shelly—would argue I was growing up too quickly.
After returning from the Turkish summer holiday, I sneaked a bottle of a heavy-duty 80-proof mint liquor into my suitcase. I took it to my friend Liz’s house party and got drunk for the first time. As naïve kids, we didn’t realize the strength of the liquor and drank it in coffee mugs. First, I had a fun buzz; then, people started to look fuzzy, then I had no idea what I was doing.
Next thing I knew, my best friend Lily said, “Your dad is at the front door to pick you up. We giggled like two silly kids—which we were.
Lily then passed out on the kitchen floor!
I tried to act sober as I headed to Dad, but I fell straight through the front door.
Dad, smirking, didn’t let on. He caught me in his loving arms, and asked, “Where’s Lily?
“Asleep on the kitchen floor,” I answered calmly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to sleep on the floor tiles.
“Is she okay?” he asked, looking rather worried.
“She’s fine. Just messing around!”
“Okay,” nodded Dad.
The ride home was eerily silent. I assumed the worst was to come when Dad told Mum. But, to my surprise, there was not a word. The next morning Dad woke me up with a gentle tug. “Time for work.” (Lily and I had jobs as ice cream sellers in beach huts in the school holidays, for £15 a day, a huge sum for us). So, I dragged myself down to the Weston seafront boardwalk with my first hangover. I noticed Dad laughing out of the corner of his face as I struggled to the door; I think he rather enjoyed my first hangover. That first day after my first hangover still lingers: schmoozing customers and selling Mr. Whippy ice creams and candy floss in the hot sun.
~
During my early teen years, Lily and I realized we liked boys, loved to dance, and were not shy about drinking alcopops, like all our friends.
One day, two handsome new boys arrived at school, a Brit named Ian and a Canadian named Jeff. Jeff had this unusual international accent, which made him super cool. My girlfriends drooled. Everyone wanted to hang out with them. All the girls fancied him and tried to let him know. Jeff split time between his parents in the UK and Canada.
By contrast, Ian and his family had moved down from Manchester and spoke with a northern accent. His mum was lovely and let him have cool parties where booze was allowed! I made sure to get myself invited, and we all drank bottles of alcopops, Hooch, and Smirnoff Ice. Those parties were a blast.
At those social gatherings, Jeff introduced us to Thug Bones N Harmony’s, Crossroads. The song became a party anthem, as did Tupac’s Changes, Montell Jordan’s, This is How We Do It, and Puff Daddy’s, I’ll be Missing You.
~
One of Ian’s parties did get me into trouble.
I had my first fondle with the then boy of my dreams, David. He was gorgeous, with intoxicating dimples, a charming smile, and perfect pearly-white teeth. Before that night, he’d been dating another good friend, Katherine. But at Ian’s party he decided he wanted to get close to me instead. I guess it wasn’t the right thing to do, sloppy seconds and all that, but it wasn’t the first—or the last time—I would make a foolish choice.
David and I slipped into the night when no one was looking. We kissed under a full moon, and he tenderly caressed me over my clothes. The incident was kind of exciting for a young teenager, so I decided to put all the details in my diary. Mum accidentally discovered the darn thing under the bed whilst she was cleaning. She was appalled at the revelation. “I can’t believe you would write this!”
I responded, “I can’t believe you would spy on my personal life.” Not the best retort. Mum grounded me immediately and indefinitely!
~
I’m now 15, hanging out with the cool kids and going to Ian’s awesome parties. There was no romance between Ian and me—we were just good friends and still are to this day.
Suddenly, Ricky, the school’s “bad boy,” started chasing me.
Ricky was one tough lad. He was the self-proclaimed leader of the “naughty gang,” smoked like a chimney under the subway, and skipped classes whenever he wanted. But nobody said anything to anybody.
For some random reason I’d caught his eye, despite my bad perm and braces.
“We should go out together,” he said in the school playground.
“Sorry, I’m not interested,” I replied. I found Ricky intimidating and not the least bit attractive. He could have gone out with
