Goth Boy didn’t just introduce me to new music, modified cars, and flares wide enough to soak up the Thames: he also introduced to a whole range of brand-new worlds… including The Rock Club. My sheltered (ish) head almost blew right off.
Soundtrack: She Hates Me by Puddle Of Mudd.
Boozy Background
I was actually a little late to join the alcohol party (excusing the drink-spiking-Bacardi incident,) because I discovered pot first. That’s all thanks to Stewie, a same-aged lad from my rival school, who could fit his entire fist in his mouth and had no problems showing you at any given moment.
There had also been one boozy incident on the school field, on the last ever day, but I traded my bottle of White Lightning for… as you might have guessed… a lump of solid. (Resin, hard, whatever you kids call it these days.) Totally irrelevant but back then, you could get a packet of ten Red Band cigarettes for the grand total of £1.99. Oh, those were the good ol’ days!
Boozy Realisation
The day I started my first job was the day I realised, everybody drinks. Literally everybody. I didn’t know a single non-boozy person. Not one. Not yet. We got paid every two weeks, on a Thursday; and every Thursday, like clockwork, we’d take our hard-earned cash and pour it into the local pre-Wetherspoons on two-for-one bottles of Reef. I joined that tradition from my first ever pay-check onwards, and it was how Goth Boy and I grew closer, right at the beginning.
Friday payday nights soon turned into pop club night, too. Let’s call that club… Mozart. The club has now been transformed into something else now, but I had some *times* in Mozart, let me tell you.
And then, Goth Boy took me to The Rock Club, one Saturday night – and that became our new ritual. Since he and literally everybody else were drinkers and not pot smokers, I stopped smoking pot and started binge drinking enough alcohol on the weekends to kill a large man.
The Rock Club
The bullied girl with no real friends had suddenly found her people in The Rock Club; and she, with all of her quirks and weirdness, slipped right in with the greasy-haired lads in Korn hoodies in the middle of the mosh pit. (Until she hurt her finger that one time, then was a bit scared of diving back in. Mosh pits and short, clumsy people don’t make for a great mix, apparently.)
We’d drink and dance and mosh and snog all night, then Goth Boy and I would stumble home in the early hours of the morning before shagging until dawn. When we were so drunk that we did nothing but fall asleep, I’d get annoyed that that we didn’t fuck. What a waste! I’d gone from seeing Goth Boy almost every day when we worked together, to only at weekends with his Very Serious RAF job, and it had started to dent our previously joyful (and fuck-full) relationship. I wanted to spend all of our time together fucking… when we weren’t also drinking, dancing, moshing, and snogging, obviously. I’d started to ENJOY sex. Real sex. Not The Very First One sex with no oral, fingering, or full nudity.
He was too tired, though.
If I could do it, with full-time further education AND a job, why couldn’t he?
Side note: I have no idea HOW I did all of that + drinking + hangovers + endless fucking. Absolutely NO IDEA. Ya girl was indestructible back then, I guess.
The drinking, of course, started to widen cracks in our relationship that we didn’t even know we had – and it widened those cracks to crevices and canyons the size of the Grand Canyon. I got attention… obviously, because I was dressed in outfits that were designed to attract it. I relished in the attention a little bit at the start, if I’m being honest. I had started dressing really ‘provocatively,’ exploring my style and my body, you could say. One night, I went to The Rock Club in nothing but a black bikini top covered by a red string vest, the tiniest tartan mini skirt I could find, plus a pair of fishnets that didn’t conceal my pink and fluffy princess G-string. Knee-high black platform boots, too.
Goth Boy loved the outfit at home. The theory was nice. In reality, though, he couldn’t stand the attention it brought me. Nor could I, really. Men got too handsy, and I haven’t really dressed ‘provocatively’ since. But he’d get jealous and moody when I danced too closely to another guy, then I’d get jealous and moody when he spent too long chit-chatting to another girl. And if we weren’t fucking (because we were both drunkenly asleep,) who were we each fucking?! (Probably no one… as we were both drunkenly asleep.)
Heated words soon turned into full-blown shouting matches on the way home from the club. Little misunderstandings transformed into two-day-long tiffs. We started not talking/texting to each other for a week at a time, which made things worse. Obviously.
My oh, so perfect relationship had started to go oh, so quickly downhill.
And I was in no way prepared for it.
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: For I Have Sinned.
If you’d like to skip the smut, head straight for this one instead: My First Heartbreak.
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Want to read all about Goth Boy’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:
