Soundtrack: Plug In Baby by Muse.
I met The Postman through The Fireman’s mum, long before he became a fixture in my love-slash-dating life. They’d worked together, and he’d come along to some of her and The Fireman’s many social events. P had always reminded me of Matt Bellamy from Muse, in his red hair, fishnet vest, Origin of Symmetry era. It was an instant attraction… which, of course, went down like a lead balloon since I had a boyfriend and all. I wasn’t going to do anything about it, obviously; I’d already cheated on The Fireman once (ish,) and I had zero intention of going through that again.
Time went on. I lost contact with Postman and parted ways with Fireman. I’d basically forgotten that The Postman even existed.
(Re)Enter The Postman
Then, one day, Postman walked into The Admiral while I was working behind the bar.
“NotSo!” he said, with that beaming smile that had knocked me for six the first time. Sans lip ring this time. He had lost the dyed red hair and emo-esque clothes, too. Barely a year had passed since I’d last seen him, but he’d gotten so much hotter in that time. He’d added muscles and gotten braces, wore clothes that flattered the shit out of his body, and had clearly gained some confidence.
Like many of the other men that feature in my Admiral stories, Postman sat at the end of the bar and made conversation with me as I worked. He actively chased me for days. It was like no time had passed. We picked up old conversations like they weren’t old at all, still both loved Muse, and still fancied the shit out of each other. He also lived just around the corner from me, in his Dad’s house. It seemed meant to be. Numbers were exchanged, and that was that. Two weeks later, we were officially dating.
Groupie
The Postman was a guitarist in a band. It didn’t take long for me to turn into a groupie. I didn’t much like his music, but I was every inch the faux-rock star’s girlfriend. I wore clothes that he liked, turned up and hollered for every gig, and didn’t mind too much when he flashed that winning smile to practically every girl in the audience.
“It’s what we’re meant to do up there,” he said, and how was I to know any better? He was my first faux-rock star. I thought that’s what they all did. Plus, The Postman wasn’t like other boys; he didn’t treat me like shit, lie to me, or appear disinterested in everything I did. He was the exact opposite of that. The perfect boyfriend, I thought.
Plus, he was so much fun – in bed and out of it, but mostly in it. I had a wrought iron bed frame back then, all shaped like ivy leaves. Put it this way: the handcuffs were permanently left hanging on that bedframe. There was very little point in taking them down.
The only bad thing about him was the position that he slept in. It was weird. Ass all up in the air like a baby. Weirrrrrd. I’ve never met a single other person who did that.
Actually, that’s a bit of a lie, because there was one other bad-ish thing about him: he seemed really unavailable sometimes for a boyfriend that literally lived around the corner from me.
Still, everything else was practically perfect in every day, so why would I worry…?
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Valentine’s Day.
Thank you so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Would you like to read all about The Postman’s story, right from the very beginning? You’ll find that right here.
You can also read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here: