Number 2: Goth Boy
Goth Boy was my second ever serious boyfriend, and I met him at my first ever job. Back then I thought it was love at first sight, but now I know differently, and better: it was simply lust at first sight.
I can still remember seeing his beaming smile for the first time. Dressed in the least flattering uniform in the world, my hair full of grease, smelling like a hamburger, I smiled right back at him.
“Hi, I’m NotSo,” I said, stuttering a little. I honestly thought he was the hottest man in the world.
“Hi, NotSo,” he said back. “I’m Goth Boy.”
I was obsessed with him from that moment onwards, idolised him almost. He had a fast car, hung out in the coolest metal bars, rocked an eyebrow piercing, and wore the very widest Criminal Damage baggies – everything my parents would’ve hated. That just made him all the more attractive to me.
It didn’t take long for me to start picking up his ways.
“What the hell are you wearing down there,” my Pops said once, when I had the audacity to wear hugely flared pink corduroys during a visit.
“Fashion, Pops,” I huffed back. What did he know?
I wore those things everywhere; those or matching Criminal Damage baggies of my own. Goth Boy had taken me to Camden to “overhaul” my squeaky-clean look. Before I knew it, I’d started dying my hair, getting multiple piercings, and even getting my first tattoo.
I guess you could call that my Goth Girl era.
I’d like to say that we were inseparable from day one, but Goth Boy had a friends-with-benefits situation that he needed to sort out first – and she was a right bitch. Let’s call her Horseface, HF for short.
I guess HF could sense that we were flirting, fucking, whatever, because she then decided that she wanted Goth Boy for good.
My Goth Boy.
Except he wasn’t mine… yet.
HF gave GB the ultimatum: NotSo or me.
He chose… me.
To be honest, I don’t think either of us saw that coming.
HF made my life hell at work from that moment onwards, not helped by the fact that GB left to join the military.
“He’s probably fucking someone else now,” she’d say to me, or some variation of it.
I tried really hard to ignore it. Really, really hard. And I managed it for a while.
I saw GB at weekends. We’d inevitably get drunk, head to the local metal bar, and rock out until the early hours of the morning, at which point we’d walk home, fucking all the way. Literally.
“I’ll drive you to work in the morning,” he’d always tell me, but he was never sober enough to do it.
We argued sometimes, sure, but my relationship with GB was actually pretty easy going. He never seemed to get jealous, start fights, or act out in other ways. In fact, he was always the perfect gentleman, going out of his way to make sure I was happy. (Aside from those morning drives to work, obviously.)
Everything was just perfect.
That’s what I thought, anyway…
This comes next in the dating timeline: The First Time I Did Anal.
Thank you so much for reading my little blog today! 🖤
You can read the entire Goth Boy story, from start to finish, right here.
If you fancy reading something else, here are a few places you could start:
