An admirer?
Tuesday, 14 July 2026
At primary school, boys were to be avoided, indeed our playgrounds were separate – except in the summer. Whenever we had a series of hot dry days though, we were all allowed onto the school playing field which – I think – was a full-sized football pitch.
I have no idea who initiated the mixed sex games but often we ended up playing Kiss Chase. The idea was that the boys chased the girls and when they caught any of us they kissed us: a revolting experience.
I was fast and exceptionally good at dodging so I was never caught, except by Charles. He was a twin: his brother Nigel was lumpish and slow-moving. Charles too was less-than-speedy, but he was determined, very determined. Both boys were supremely unattractive, unfragrant, unathletic, stupid, but their names are pretty much the only ones I recall from those days.
Charles would always set his sights on me and jog after me, slow but steady, so slow and steady that, after the first dodge, I’d forget about him, because there were others to avoid too.
Several times, he managed to approach from behind, grab me and aim his slobbery lips at mine. Then only by struggling would I get away with a slimy hit on the cheek. All credit to the boys, they were only allowed one kiss and astonishingly they stuck to that rule.
I don’t know why Charles targeted me but often he’d be at the far end of the field doggedly jogging towards me and, whenever I checked where he was, I’d see him – sometimes a distant figure – but always heading my way.
He was scrawny, with unruly curls, and faded, ill-fitting shorts. I can’t remember him ever talking to me and now wonder whether he was shy or, for some reason, vindictive.
Perhaps, as he developed and learned to wash, he did manage to capture another heart. Maybe he became more attractive as he grew – most boys did, or was that my perception?
In those days, few girls aspired to having a boyfriend but when, much later, those hormones started to kick in and girls were rolling their skirts around the waistbands to show more leg, I was deeply immersed in studying pond life, witnessing life-and-death battles between dragonfly larvae and minnows, or otherwise working on various life-saving certificates. The boys at my swimming club were more muscled, more fragrant and seemed far cleverer and appealing than skinny, slow-moving Charlles. And we got to practice – hands on – resuscitation.
This piece of writing emerged at Write Club with a six-minute sprint-write with the prompt "I always wondered how they'd turned out" then a longer piece on "Imaginative Revenge"
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14/07/2026 16:29:49 by
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