I have always known that I have a weak spot for young, baby-faced Romeos. The posters from my childhood bedroom are testament to that (and yes, some of those posters are still possibly on display inside wardrobe doors).
What I didn't know was that I might start kissing some of these pretty young things. And certainly not ones considerably younger than me…
At an Old Boys and Girls annual alumni event at my former University last weekend, I kissed an incredibly pretty male student. And I mean really pretty. Blue eyes, long dark eyelashes, cute freckles, boyish smile and dark floppy wavy hair a la Hugh Grant in the good old days. He also has the most incredible name: his christian name is utterly manly, and his surname is double-barrelled - delightful.
Moreover, I actually knew him from last year's alumni event because the cheeky little chap tried to kiss me then - at the time I recoiled in horror due to him only being 19 years old. Obviously, one year on, there remains no change in the age gap, but with him technically not being a teenager anymore and me being clearly less of a prude than I used to be, I confess I offered zero resistance when he went for the lunge this year. I was in fact ridiculously excited by the fact that this, frankly delectable, young thing wanted to try and kiss me in my aged state.
And, even more gratifying, he was wonderfully enthusiastic as well - must be the age - he naughtily tried to seduce me further by suggesting a midnight cuddle back at his, but I drew the line there (and, possibly slightly cruelly, laughed at him for his absurd notion).
Why did I refuse the midnight cuddle offer…? Well, to be honest with you, I have a feeling I may once have babysat for him as we hail from the same home town. It would just be wrong.
All in all though, kissing Pretty Young Boy pretty much made my entire weekend – hurrah!
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