And the years go by.

I haven't participated in on of Mama Kat's World Famous Writing Prompts in a while now, but that's not to say I don't read them all the time. Something about this one caught my eye: "Dig out your high school yearbook and share a message a friend wrote that stands out to you." 

Uuuhhff.

Call me masochistic but I thought it would be interesting to dust off the old book and take a quick nostalgic trip down that tumultuous high school lane, but it turned out to be much more than that. It was full of love. Or rather, memories of love once felt by a special person in my past, and for a brief moment in my life, I reciprocated his love. I had forgotten that he wrote this - it's been so long. But even now, after all these years, I feel warmth, affection and love when I read it... and that's a wonderful thing.

Dear Steph, Well here I am writing and where shall I start, because is has been such a fun time knowing you. We started out not knowing each other's names and we ended up having such a good time - for example that fantastic Halloween to that exceptional Christmas, with many things said, which I might add were meant then and now nothing. Who knows, in another time and place there might be two people just like us that end up together. As the time has gone we have both changed - it could only be expected. With everything said and done, I've had a great time and I wouldn't change my time knowing you for anything. In that time I have changed for the better and because of you, I view things in a different light. It is not easy remembering all the good times we had together and writing about them because they make me feel so happy but equally sad. And you know why because all the things we love come to an end eventually, which is the hardest thing to face but it will slowly get easier in time, but never forgotten. One other thing is that you frustrate me at fuckING times and don't forget to drag out the "ING" when you say it. You drive my insane, woman! But all joking aside, no matter what we do, or how far away we travel, or how old we get, my memories of you shall always be with me. I could have written forever. All my love, L

The PYT that would never be

During my fourth year of University, I had to do the unthinkable -- I had to go backtrack and do a first year course. And not just any first year course, it was Introduction to Art. Fuck me. I didn't take it even in my first year because I was too much of a cocky bitch to take it, and since it wasn't a prerequisite for anything, I skipped it. Then, the graduation forms come 'round and SURPRISE, as it turns out, I did need it.

(To my guidance counselor, I give a huge retrospective middle finger! )

Anyway, I had to go to this soul sucking class for an entire year (at the same time as completing my honors for fine art, so... yeah). On the first day, I walked in to the massive lecture hall and I quickly noticed a Pretty Young Thing that was sitting with some friends, but the seat to his left was vacant.

Jackpot!

My initial intuition was fairly good. He was charming, friendly, a natural smart ass, and had a wholesome, Victorian country town accent that worked like panty remover to me.

The only problem was that he was a little on the young side. OK, when I was 23 and he was 17 -- that is A LOT on the young side. I was just wrapping up my “crazy University years” while he was barely 48 hours into the beginning of his. Ugh. But once I decided I wanted that ass, I powered though it. I dedicated much time and effort pretending to be interested in his first year issues and how “fucking cool” it was being away from his parents for the first time. 

(Yeah, OK kiddo… just shut up and take off those pants.)

The worst was going out to celebrate his 18th birthday (the legal drinking age and a huge deal in Australia). Aside from him and myself, there was his twin brother (to whom he also shared a dorm room with) and a bunch of girls from his boarding house – most of which were under age. There were some girls that had JUST turned 17 and were giddy just by being at the bar and claiming to be tipsy from a pot of beer (1/2 pint), like I was living through the made-for-TV-movie nightmare of Hannah Montana coming of age -- without the cock cake.

All the while, I was imagining how much it would hurt if I stabbed my thigh with a fork… because it was THAT much fun listening to their conversations. Christ, I felt really fucking old, but apart from a couple brief lip-on-lip pecks, I hadn’t sealed the deal… so I endured. 

The next weekend was so fucking on – enough of this bullshit, it was time to bring in the closer. Just the two of us went out for some drinks, which was MUCH better. I didn’t notice quite an age/maturity difference when we were alone, since we did have a very similar sense of humor. The drunken kisses began late into the night and I thought, “Sweet fuck, here’s my chance!”, so I took charge and suggested we go to his dorm (my flat was a lot further away, but in hindsight probably would have been the smarter option). He agreed and off we went. Clothes were quickly removed and foreplay was underway when his brother walked in on us! 

I popped my head up from under the sheets, pleasantly sarcastic: “Hi Mark, bye Mark!” He did a bit of a flustered ‘oops shrug’ and off he went. As I turned back to Dave under the covers, one thing was painfully obvious… he was soft and had retreated so high up into his cave that only one of the fucking Seven Dwarfs could locate his cock at that point. 

Hi ho.

Hi ho. 

It’s off to work I go… 

And work I did for a short and awkward while, but he was done for the night. 

And so was I – for good. 

Fun sex shouldn’t have had to be THAT much effort… so we still sat together during that God forsaken class, but that was it. We never spoke about it again. I decided it would be much better if I pursued an older guy that wouldn’t take four months to decide whether or not he wanted to fuck me until I walked wrong.

And so I did.

Footy Porn

As I am sitting here getting a rare opportunity to watch Aussie Rules Footy, it has occurred to me that in 3 years I have not yet mentioned my, ummm, let's go with "enthusiasm" for the game.

I had always been interested in sports, and I had a favorite team in most professional leagues (sometimes I switched teams... ba dum bum bum) but it was never more than a strong liking. It wasn't until I was taken to my first footy match that I truly understood what LOVE for a sport meant. The entire crowd was completely submerged in the game - and never came up for air.

Every kick.
Every mark.
Every goal.

Every second of every quarter, the roar of 98,000 people rumbled in the pit of my stomach.

And I fucking loved it.

The first game I ever saw (on TV or in person) was Collingwood V Geelong in 1994 and since I was there with Jim, who was a Collingwood supporter, and because I didn't know what the hell was going on, I assimilated his allegiance. And then they won... and the crowd went totally fucking berserk. Well, hell yeah! That's my kind of people - for the most part.

I quickly learned that Collingwood supporters are THEE most obnoxious fans in the entire league and if you don't follow them, then you HATE them; they are the most hated team in the league. They would be likened to that of the Oakland Raiders -- when anyone actually cared about American Football, that is.

If you love the Magpies, you REALLY love them, like this guy...

Yeah, that.

OKAY. So, I might not be THAT insane, but I absolutely love wearing my Magpies' scarf/hat/jacket in Toronto - especially on public transit. It draws out Australians like a magnet of hatred. I cannot even count the number of times a complete stranger has come up to me, just to tell me that Collingwood sucks! 

And I fucking loved it.

I learned the sport quickly, and I tried out for the high school team and made it. It was great times! But I must admit, I rather preferred sitting on the side lines to watch my boyfriend (Oops. Every time that is said, a feminist shaves her pits!) while he ran his cute, tight ass up and down the oval.

After I had moved back to Canada, he would mail me photos of him playing - it was like my porn, my footy porn, and those photos may or may not have gotten a little sticky. Ahem.

The typical guy that plays Aussie Rules has all these wonderful features:
1. Big arms
2. Big thighs
3. Tight, small ass
Oooh yes, and...
4. If they moaned my name, it would have an aussie droll.

My knees? Weak.

It's the only thing that's ever successfully hypnotized me. True story.

And being an exchange student did have its perks - because after writing a cheesy letter to their club, they invited me to come after a game and MEET ALL THE PLAYERS.

And I died.

Then later that night (possibly not thinking entirely about him), I rode my boyfriend like a wild stallion.

Holy hell, I sure do love Australian football.

Go Pies!