A VIKING IN MY DUSTBIN. (30) Train to no-where.

I was a lot more fun as a traffic accident then I was a lover.
I think if the sex had been any good with the lady with the mini, we might have had a longer and more meaningful relationship. Instead it wasn’t long before I started feeling guilty about “Dearest Sue,” and packed it in and , just after she’d invited me down to meet her parents farm on the Isle of White for the weekend. Damn it!

My third and final romantic interlude whilst on my first year of college happened up in London.
I’d been amazed one morning to find a note in my desk in the Gate House. It was from my first serious girlfriend, from Barnsley, who I’d briefly dated after meeting her at a disco in Barnsley when I was sixteen.

Linda was an absolute stunner her looks were matched by a wonderful personality and shining intelligence. But she was further on in school than me and we parted when it was time for her to go off to University in London.
How she tracked me down at Corsham I ‘ve no idea. One day I opened up my desk to find an envelope with my name wrtten on it in blue ink, it had been hand-delivered by person or persons mysterious, right to my desk. It was from the lovely Linda, from Barnsley and now London. She said hello again in the note and invited me up for a weekend visit and said I could stay in her dorm room.
“Bloody hell.” I thought, better buy some more oats. Somehow I managed to scrape the money together for a cheap weekend return train ticket to London.
I spent two days with her in the city and around the Students’ Union bar. The first night, pretty wasted, we stumbled into someone’s place after a party where the dark floor was covered with lots of moaning moving bodies. We joined them but in separate sleeping bags.
Next night looked more promising, I stayed in her dorm room, and thought I had cracked it. Seeing her again and now more ‘mature’ I fancied her like mad, she was so gorgeous.
When we got to her dorm room, I was panting, only to find we weren’t alone as she had a roommate, and she was in the other bed. I found myself on the floor again, between the twoo of them in the narrow space.

About an hour later, a bare arm floated down to me and without a word I found myself being drawn up and under Lindas’ covers. This was then followed by what could only be described as a cross between silent wrestling and circus act.
Being an athletic kind of girl, very pretty and feminine but strong like a tri-athelete, after the wrestling she lifted me bodily on her knees and dangled me up on legs like a circus midget. Needless to say we both came out of the match intact. Why she wanted me in bed with her I’ve never worked out- maybe she was indeed planning on joining a circus.
Anyway being suspended in the air like that is just as effective as any condom, more I would think. Contraception I am sad to say was something else I hadn’t much idea about. All I did know was that it usually meant having to have your hair cut at the barbers’ to get a pack. As I say I had a lot to learn, and I didn’t want my hair cut.
Then as discretely as she’d drawn me up into her bed she less discretely dropped me out of it. I returned to the floor with a dull thump slightly dizzy from my tumbling, a yet more confused and frustrated shell of a young-man.And for the rest of the night I listened to a duo of snoring and mumbling.
Actually that wasn’t the most demoralizing part of the weekend. The coup de gras came at Paddington Station the following evening. She came with me to see me off on the train and to say goodbye. We exchanged a less than passionate kiss. More like relatives really.
Then I was onboard and hanging out the window as the whistle blew. She’d not mentioned anything about getting together again and I was about to depart, and though frustrated to hell I was dead keen to get together again. I’d now had my interest re-kindled and hoped we could pick up where we’d almost been as younger teenagers so I said, “Shall I come up again soon, how about next weekend?”
She looked at me flatly and said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea John. I’m afraid we’re not on the same mental plane. Goodbye.” And that was that.
My jaw dragged along the platform as the train pulled away.

A VIKING IN MY DUSTBIN. (30) Train to no-where.

John Sunderland

New York, United States

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Artist's Description

another un-screwed attempt at romance as a first year student.

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