This is my attempt to exorcize a sexy demon who has lingered in the back of my mind for more than ten years, creating an impossible benchmark against which all others would be measured. I can’t guarantee that my recollections are accurate, but this is how I remember things…

It was a bright and sunny day in late ‘96, and there, framed in the doorway of my home and wearing a loose fitting cotton dress, was the most gorgeous girl I have ever met. The morning sunlight silhouetted her figure perfectly through the thin fabric, practically burning the image into my soul, and all at once I knew that I totally desired this person while never standing a chance in hell with her. Not least because I was living with my partner at the time, as well as a friend of hers from university.

The girl in question is the sister of said friend, so she would drop in from time to time. Once or twice I even saw her in pyjamas when she stayed over and slept on the couch. She would of course look even more attractive when she got up in the morning, just like sexy girls in movies with expensively rumpled hair pretending like people can look that good as they roll out of bed after a big night out. Now at this point my memory may be just filling in the gaps… but I’m pretty sure she even did that thing where she would sit at the breakfast table munching toast with her feet pulled up on the chair and her knees tucked under her chin.

Not only was she blessed with stunning good looks, she also had a voice and accent that could turn me to jelly. So on top of occupying the spot in my mind reserved for girl most hottest, she also holds the honour for sexiest phone conversation I ever had.

She called late one night to talk to her sister, who was out, and so we made idle chit-chat for a while, as was the custom in the olden days when people often had to answer phone calls that weren’t for them. I have absolutely zero recollection of the actual content of that conversation, but I recall that there was at least an element of playfulness about it, since after hanging up I felt incredibly good, with my neck tingling like I’d just had a great massage. I was and still am jealous of her ability to do that magic (she has since done professional voice-over work, not surprisingly).

Oh, and she was smart. Very smart I believe, although it’s not like I ever sat down to evaluate her IQ, but it’s pretty easy to tell these things (well okay maybe the fact that she was utterly desirable in every way made it slightly easier to notice her towering intellect). At the very least she had a quick, razor wit. In conversation she would frequently break into a evil manic grin, and her amazing electric smiley eyes would just nail me to the wall. She could ask ANY favour of me and I would bend over backwards to accomodate. To merely serve would have suited me just fine, as long as I could sleep at her feet (well ok I probably would have pushed for a slightly better deal over time).

The thing is, as I stated previously, I didn’t stand a chance with her. I had nothing with which to impress her, because I was just a nerd with a computer who never did anything even slightly reckless or exciting, and she was interested in something else, though exactly what I cannot say. I supposed that she was drawn to dark, brooding, self-destructive types, but I really don’t know, because to seek out such information would of course reveal my interest— which now that I think of it would probably not have been such a big deal, because anyone in their right mind when pressed would have had to acknowledge that they wanted to shag her; I wouldn’t have trusted anyone who said they didn’t, be they male or female. Maybe my feelings were obvious anyway from my conspicuous lack of interest in conversations about her. I really don’t know, and would be embarrassed to ask.

So anyway, I did what any normal person would do in that situation. I sought out tiny opportunities to be near her while completely ignoring the very real needs of my own relationship at the time. I listened intently to any conversation in which her name was mentioned. I either tarried or hurried if I thought it might increase my chances of bumping into her. And to what end? Did I think something was going to happen? No. What if something had happened? Well it wouldn’t have, but even if somehow hypothetically it had… the guilt would have destroyed me.

Seriously, I run on guilt, it drives me, but I need to keep it within safe levels otherwise I will explode in a babbling fury of apology and self-recrimination. Ultimately this crush did contribute in part to the break up of my own relationship some months later, although of course I could not admit it at the time (just admitting this now has my guilt levels elevated to unpleasant heights).

And so, for my sake and the sake of those who would be unfairly compared to you… blow out your candles, sexy demon, blow out your candles— and so, goodbye…

Or call me. Either is fine.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 12th, 2008 at 12:19 am and is filed under Romance. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.