Even thirty -odd years on… having not really thought about it for many years… I’d still kinda like to hope that maybe I was a special one. That maybe she didn’t show it to every guy she met. But I would just be kidding myself.
Here I am now in a damp Scottish Glen. Nearly halfway into my 50’s. Alone in the West Wing of my hovel and thinking back over the years. Munching Dunsyre Blue Cheese on Scottish Oatcakes and sipping an Islay Single Malt as I watch the last log of the night settle in the fireplace. And I’m actually seriously trying to imagine that over three decades ago I was “special” enough that she would never show another guy her shitting yo-yo trick. Who knows… after me perhaps on a first date, the yo-yoing was merely the appetiser which would half an hour later descend into Blumpkins, Anal Sex, a Cleveland Steamer and a Chipping-Norton Hot-Pocket.
I would be kidding myself of course! Though we were very sweet on each other when we first met and had a real love for one another. The turd yo-yoing thing was done in a very sweet and kind of endearing way. Which I now (on reflection) find utterly weird and slightly fetishistic (when at the time I think she was seriously trying to show me her skills at keeping in a shit when out running).
I shall now go to bed and read some Scottish Poetry until the darkness draws me into the deep sea of sleep and there I’ll flounder, helplessly storm-tossed on an ocean of wet dreams.