Thursday, 13 November 2014


"It's strange," said the girl I was sort of friends with, "how much I tell people."
"It's not strange, really," I pointed out. "You've only ever physically met me once, and you tell me almost everything."

Almost. That was kind of true. This girl - and I can't remember exactly how I initially got talking to her, but I ended up doing so almost every day - certainly told me a lot. She was, to put it bluntly, a free spirit, to the point of being rather random. She even went so far as to sign onto MSN with the username "Whips n' chains" at one point. At the age of 16, that was certainly daring.

"Yeah, but someone I hardly know...?"

To be honest, that didn't surprise me.

"To be honest, that doesn't surprise me."

She went on to relate to me the saga. Through the years, my memory appears to have stripped out bits, but knowing this girl as I do, it probably involved several pints of something which looks as if it could kill you, three or so Nokia mobile phones, networking via several people, mistyped names and numbers, MSN, ICQ, Skype, Scott Raynor the original drummer from Blink182, and beavers (as in the semi-aquatic rodent, allegedly her favourite mammal). The end result was that somebody she didn't know had gotten hold of her number, and was texting her at a rate of knots.

"He's been asking me things that I shouldn't be answering, like, you know... if I prefer speed or depth..."

I blanched at my computer screen. I didn't even know she'd ever actually had sex. It was still an unknown quantity at that age - something everyone wanted to do, but wasn't actually doing. A few seconds to realign by thoughts and it made sense. She'd certainly been hinting at it, and here she was, openly talking about it. So I kept reading.

"...and if I've ever taken it up the arse."
"And you're answering him?"
"...and how many fingers I use when I touch myself."
"And you're answering him?"

I wasn't sure what to say, really. Here was my sort of friend, who I'd only met once but really liked beavers, certainly told me everything, and she was texting some guy she didn't know at all but had still probably met once, telling him all sorts of things about her sexually. And, furthermore, why was she telling me? Did she want an intervention? Or did she just have a moment of finding herself curious and somehow chance upon telling ILB as a good idea?

So I said the only thing I could think of.

"So... uhm..."
"LOL," she LOLd. "Speed."


"And, no, I've never taken it up the arse."
"And... erm..."



Always nice to know. Still, at that point, the conversation ended. I went on with my incredibly dull teenage life, and - I'm assuming - so did she. Although later on that night, my own Nokia lit up with green LCD light and filled my room with the text alert sound. I struggled out of bed, grabbed the phone and checked the screen. It was her.

"Beaver," read the text.

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