Which suitor did I choose?

It was Valentine’s Day 1976 and I received two anonymous Valentine’s cards.  I can still remember my excitement.  The cards and envelopes were scrutinized as deeply as a Forensic Files crime.  If it was in 2022, I would have extracted the DNA from the saliva on the envelope…  Shortly after I received the cards, two boys in our ‘Glee Club’ asked me out and then I was convinced who sent which one.  But was I correct in my analysis?

I was so mortified by the Dragon card and the pink ‘tail’.  At 15 years old, I understood the implication but I was horribly naïve despite a clinical Roman Catholic health education which, as intended, put me off everything sexual.  Thank goodness Nana had passed away the previous year.  She would have declared it vulgar and made me wear a Burka to school.  Our uniform, which included regulation American tan tights with white knee socks on top, should have been enough to tamp down the boys’ lust!  My mum laughed out loud but I could see that she was thinking, “who sent that?”

The Tiger card was so different – sweet, beguiling and innocent.  The sentiment was delightful and the sender knew I loved all kinds of kitty cats.  The true love of my life was Tibby, my first cat.  I talked about her so much in school, that at our 25-year school reunion, old school mates asked me how she was?  She crossed to the rainbow bridge many years before. 

Kerry, idyllically happy with textbook and sleepy Tibby

Of the two suitors, only one appealed to me. V was an exotic half breed like me.  He was half Italian/half Scottish with black hair and pale blue eyes.  At the time I thought I was half Spanish/half Irish but I turned out to be a Heinz variety.  The other boy, W, was averagely handsome with a vague resemblance to Starsky of Starsky and Hutch fame but there was zero attraction from my end.  With that in mind, I determined that V. had sent the tiger card as he was a soft spoken, kind natured boy (liked by all mothers).  By process of elimination, that meant W. had sent the ribald Dragon card.  I turned him down and went out with V.

My short courtship with V. started so well.  He smelled so good and seemed interested in going further than first base but we didn’t.  We sat for hours listening to Tangerine Dream. His mother did not like me.  I can’t think of any reason for her to feel like that but I suspect she felt very uncomfortable with her oldest son, aged 16, having lustful thoughts for the pretty senorita.  She was lucky that Nana is always in my head or we might have got to second base…

After a few weeks, I was bored and dumped poor V. by kissing another Glee Club member in front of him.  My girl friends castigated me and I remember them comforting V. who was crying in the kitchen.  I didn’t even feel an ounce of regret – hormones make you behave terribly and I was only 15.  Later I went out with another Glee Club Member, M.  I dumped him on a boat halfway to an island on a school trip.  He spent the rest of the trip miserable.  What a heartless floozy I was… 😊

Much later I discovered there were some other boys who had a wee crush on me, so perhaps the senders are still anonymous.  Maybe sweet V. send the rude one – I could still extract the DNA… I hope you have a HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!!!

Sexual Fluidity

Kerry with her first older man…

I was going to entitle this blog – sexuality is a wavy line – but then someone mentioned that fluidity is the new terminology for bisexuality. When I googled the term, I discovered it was more about the possibility of sexuality being malleable throughout life. In my personal experience, I was more conflicted about orientation, when I was a child and teenager, but quite certain now, at the age of 55. I am pretty sure that is a relief to my husband…

As I child, I lived in public housing in Glasgow in a predominately Irish Catholic neighborhood. I knew no other only children with single parents. Although sex was rarely talked about, the very large families with thin bedroom walls must have had a very good idea what their parents were doing. Their siblings also tried to gross them out with specifics which they, in turn, passed onto me. What! ‘My mum never did that’, thought I. In the summer months, it was very common to borrow a bedcover from the house and play tents over a washing line. This was also one of the few places you could have complete privacy. On various occasions, I would be in a tent with all girls or a mixture of boys and girls. I guess we ranged in age from 9 to 12, maybe? The dare was to take your underwear off and expose your girl or boy parts. Further dares involved some touching which would produce an interesting sensation, a precursor to real sexual desire, perhaps.

At this stage, I want to stress that there was no element of sexual abuse or molestation and the groups would be around the same age at the same time. It was natural curiosity. For someone, like me, who had rarely seen a boy’s parts (all female household), it was especially intriguing. One female friend was particularly interested in playing with me alone. That seemed innocent enough but we went a little further than was usual. On one occasion, I was sexually molested by an older boy at school and that was an entirely different situation. It was against my will and very frightening.

So, cut to my teenage years. I went to a Catholic high school – male and female students were separated from each other, in different annexes, until we turned 14. As soon as we entered that year, I was like a cat in heat. Zing! The sexual button switched on and I was fascinated by the boys in our class. I was very shy and believed I was unattractive. That was clearly untrue and I had one boyfriend after another. I was just like my slutty cats however (and I am only talking about first base here) and skipped from one to the other. The first object of my desire was a handsome lad and one of my girlfriends decided it would be fun to write on the chalkboard that
Kerry fancies Frank (that really was his name).

I blushed furiously, desperately wiping it off the board, and in my anxiety to stop her, banged her head into the wall and gave her a black eye!!! I don’t know who was more astonished, her or I. It backfired on the perpetrator, however, (you know who you are, Ms. K. 🙂 ) and the boy asked me out, to everyone else’s dismay. Then we went into English class and our teacher asked my friend, who sat next to me, what happened. She told him the truth and she got a row for telling lies. Of course innocent little Kerry wouldn’t do such a thing. Just don’t get in between me and a boy when I am in heat; nothing has changed. Slutty Miss Kerry…

Tune in for more tomorrow.