We took to sneaking looks into the boys changing room after sports. It smelt of sweat and old trainers. It hummed with chat and laughter to the timing of dirty jokes. He was good at sport. That impressed Sasha who was so rubbish at it she used to pay me to come last in races.
He was muscular and tanned and what with the blonde hair he certainly got Sasha excited. It was the time of the band Bros, that look was what girls were supposed to desire. Sasha was a big Bros fan. She was going to marry one of them she told me.
Sasha was a plumb talkative girl with mouse blonde hair and big breasts that I greatly envied. A couple of years later I would date an evil bastard of the muscular blonde type, not because I liked him or even fancied him, but just to make Sasha jealous.
However, I was NOT into Bros. For me it was Micheal Jackson ever since me and my brother snuck out of bed to watch an illegal copy of Thriller my Dad’s dodgy friend brought round. Its an even more thrilling (sorry) video when its illegal and you’re supposed to be in bed.
More recently Sasha had shown me her copy of the Labyrinth and we were both madly in love with David Bowie (every word of every song he’s ever written is written for me! Not that I listen to his songs anymore).
I’ve always liked the mysterious and unknown. ‘Bed time stories that keep the curtains closed’, and way back then it seems I was also in to skinny, slightly effeminate, men in tight trousers.
Excitement, thats what we needed. We were bored teenage girls living in a South London suburb as the 80’s turned into the 90’s. Stalking was a means of having fun. We also held seances in graveyards.
Soon sneaking looks through into the boy’s changing room just wasn’t enough. We pinched one of his exercise books. It was disappointing. All he’d done was write his name in blunt pencil. No that wasn’t enough to satisfy our needs. We wanted detail. We wanted dirt!
To be continued…