Alone in love

Schoolgirls in bikinis

Thursday 25th August , 2017

I'm sitting here on this  lonely day, reminiscing in my thoughts on unhappiness and emptiness. It's near the end of the summer, my friends are out doing stuff probably. I'm inside writing a diary. Why has my life seemed shit recently?

The conclusion I came up with was hardly revolutionary, or game-changing, but the difficult truth was that I had never had a girlfriend, I had barely even spoken to them. Why? Shyness possibly, or maybe my fear at approaching them, eager to steer away from the 'creepy and weird' category. But as I think about it, my mind flicks back to a few dates in May. Prom.

The reason I'm writing this now instead of an earlier entry, was because I just wasn't thinking about it back then. Instead I was thinking about school and the long holiday, not girls. I mean why would I?

Only a few days before, I had been looking through my phone, flicking past selfie after selfie of the pricks that were confident and self-obsessed enough to post them. For the record, I do not have a problem with people having photos of themselves online, family pictures, holiday ones of the middle-class twats that have managed to book a holiday in the Bahamas, profile pictures, and so on. But something I cannot bring myself to like or admire, is when some fucker takes a photo of themselves in some shitty bathroom, pouting as if they were to kiss a walrus shortly afterwards. The whole idea of uploading a photo of just themselves must take the balls of about ten men, which is why it frustrates me so much. It's as if through their sparkling eyes and innocent smile, they are gloating, bragging. They may as well put as a caption, 'Look at how gorgeous I am you hideous cunt!'. To this day, I have not met many people like this who I respect.

On my phone popped up a dozen or so photos of a group of girls. I knew them from school, engaged in brief conversation during lessons, but I'm pretty sure talking about the Quadratic formula and discussing the origin of amphibious creatures hardly counts as flirting. They were all quite pretty, in a different league of some of the girls in the year. They may have been a Bristol City to their Chelsea, but I fucking love Bristol, and south London's full of posh pricks anyway. The point was, they were in my league (at least I thought anyway, by this time I had made an estimate on how attractive I was, before rating myself as a Derby. Boring, decent history, but reliable once you got to know them)  and that made them at least twice as attractive, knowing that if I was successful in talking to them, a sneaky shag may come at the end of it. They all seemed quite mature, and sensible, in fact I had never seen them in anything other than their school clothes. So it was to my surprise that when I opened the post online, it showed all of them, grinning happily into the camera, with nothing but bikinis on. My heart had literally skipped. If I didn't already have a crush on a couple of them, I definitely did now. Only a few days ago I had finished school, thinking that I would never see them again, and there they show up, as if they are trying to ruin my life by dangling a carrot in front of me.

West Brom scoring against Boro to achieve promotion to the premiership was one of my most favourite moments, something I couldn't get out of my head at the time, and something I still remember to this day. But this small photo was just mesmerising. For a few days I couldn't go an hour without looking at my phone. The photo was just so happy, and so perfect. I genuinely had heart ache. I had barely spoken to the girls, yet I was obsessing over them.

I'm not a creep. Or a pervert, and I genuinely think many boys go through the same things as me, even if they don't say it. The reason I was so turned on by the photo was probably because of my lack of human interaction with a human girl, so much that the photo seemed to act as an invitation. They would never know I saw it, I doubt they even considered me when they hit the 'post' button, but I was in awe.

It was this point I realised that girls are just a massive, unavoidable fucking problem. And especially one in particular.

Shit! What if I've fallen in love?

Her name was Eliza, and it all started in year 8, when she came and sat on our table in science. I'm not sure she had a choice, she was new and there were no seats left, but it felt as if it was a calling, a message, 'this could be it!' She had just joined from Perthwood school from 'ap narth' - something which I had only found out via the wonder that is the internet, namely Facebook-. She was beautiful though, I noticed that from the first day, with her long browny hair, reaching down and beyond her elegant shoulders. Her face must have been shaped in no less than heaven! Well not quite, but that didn't occur to me back then. Even for a schoolgirl, she seemed to have rather appreciative breasts, which I now dare think about how much I stared at them back then in my puberty induced sexual trance. We seemed to be in many of the same classes throughout year 8, then year 9, then 10, and then in year 11 my friend and I were sat on the same table as her, even if we were in rows, and I couldn't even see her our the corner of my eye. I was shy, I never talked to her. I never had the balls really. I gave up by the end of the year, convincing myself that I had probably creeped her out from looking her too much (although I'm sure I never stared at her that much). She was probably going to a different college anyway, it was time to move on. And then the photo pops up, as if it was forcing me to stare and stare at it. She was pretty though.

Fuck.