Hello! Apologies for not regularly updating the site, but things have been very busy in a good way.
I am currently finishing up the final touches to the third chapter of the book to be released this weekend and also working on building a new website with a close friend of mine. LB made this one and I love him for it, but it’s time for a bit of a revamp and I am so excited to show everyone the new layout.
In the meantime I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who has supported me on GoFundMe and everyone who has bought the book so far. What’s been even more invaluable than the kind donations has been the fantastic feedback as well as the assistance of everyone in helping me copy edit the book. From pointing out simple typos to full on paragraph by paragraph sub-editing, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate everything that everyone is doing to help me make this book a reality.
The reviews thus far have been overwhelmingly positive, but a close friend of mine said, “I had no idea you were going to write it like this and I love it,” which made me realise that I hadn’t explicitly outlined how this book would differ from the blog – because it does quite significantly. While it’s based on the blog, it is in a more coherent narrative and since I started writing in my second year at university the first book, which is based on my first year, is entirely new and a relatively untold story.
I have been releasing the book chapter by chapter every fortnight in order to give myself time to edit and add to the previous chapters and to give everyone who hasn’t bought the book an idea of the style I thought I would publish the prologue here. If you like it and would wish to receive the rest of the book you may purchase the book via the big button on the top right hand of this page that says “BUY THE BOOK” …alternatively if you cannot afford the £5 donation for the book but still wish to read it you may send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org and I will happily add you to the mailing list for free (so long as you promise to tell me what you think about it). There is also an option to donate when you purchase the book, something I set up as I am self-publishing this book as well as incurring costs to update the website in order to be able to make it a platform for other people’s work and art as well.
I have also set up a GoFundMe page if you wish to donate that way. As a thank you for donations I have outlined the following:
£1+ Personal thank you on my website and in the book.
£50+ Hand-written thank you card sent to your address…unless you don’t want to give me your address in which case I can just hand write a note and send you a photo of it.
£1000+ I’ll take you out to dinner as a thank you, but you must sign an NDA to ensure you won’t tell anyone who I actually am. Otherwise we can hang out for a couple hours and drinks are on me. Not literally on me because body shots are messy, but you know what I mean.
The last one was kind of a joke as I didn’t expect anyone would want to meet me that badly but I have had two very kind and generous donors take me up on the offer of having dinner and the one person who I’ve met of the two thus far has said 10/10 would definitely sign an NDA and do it all over again.
Honestly every little bit helps. I have decided to make a career out of writing (I am also doing non-anonymous projects) and am happier than ever. If it weren’t for the support of everyone over the past six years I may still be sitting at a desk in Canary Wharf wondering what I’m doing with my life, so honestly thank you for every comment and message from everyone. I can’t tell you how influential you’ve been in my life.
Enough of the sappy bits! Here is the prologue…I hope you enjoy it! And if you do I hope you decide to buy the book, and like I said I will happily gift the book to anyone who cannot afford it. Also, I’ve changed the boys’ names from dog breeds and tube stops but it will become pretty clear who is who throughout the books.
Thank you again, you guys have truly changed my life.
All the Love,
“Are you sure?” Benedict’s brow furrowed. His blue eyes bore into mine as I lay there on my back, the soles of my feet pressed to his chest.
I nodded as he circled his thumb around my anklebone. “Just the tip, right?”
“Just for a second–“
“Just to see how it feels,” we recited together, finishing the quote from Wedding Crashers that got us into this situation in the first place.
“Maybe afterwards we can play ‘ouch, ouch you’re on my hair,’” I joked.
He laughed softly and leaned down to press his lips to mine as my legs slipped around his waist. His hands were permanently calloused from years of rowing, and my focus was momentarily drawn to the slight scratching from the hardened blisters on his palm where it slid up my calf. I breathed through my nose – my mouth being otherwise occupied by his – and the only thing I could think about was the fact that he always smelled like biscuits, as if he’d lived his life in a bakery and slept on a bed of ginger snaps. No matter how many pints of snakebite he’d had in the college bar the night before, he’d always wake up smelling like a mixture of bread and honey.
Benedict pulled back slightly and braced his hands on either side of my head to support his weight. I crossed my eyes to stare into his, which were mere centimetres from mine. His body looked as if it had been carved from marble, and he would later go on to be a model as well as an international rower, yet the only part of him I ever wanted to look at was his eyes. Every single cliché about the colour blue whizzed through my mind whenever I looked at him and if his eyes were an ocean I would’ve happily drowned myself in them like Ophelia. Just as mental in love and lust as she had been.
Everything about Benedict was slow: his speech, his blinking, even his brain at times. Some say that his family’s legacy at the university was the reason for his place in our college. His mouth permanently hung open slightly in a way that infuriated some but endeared me to no end and his eyes slowly traced my face as he murmured out, “Are you ready?”
Truth be told, I had been ready for quite some time. I think that most things in life come down to preparation meeting opportunity, and me spending my last year of sixth form in love with a guy who turned out to be gay (and later tried to steal every single one of my boyfriends that he met) meant that the opportunity I was waiting for never presented itself.
All the spare time in my youth spent not having sex allowed me to observe the experiences of my peers, and honestly, most sexual encounters of fourteen to eighteen year-olds are aggressively underwhelming. I didn’t particularly feel like I was missing out based on the stories I’d heard about parents walking in, condoms breaking, and premature ejaculation. I didn’t really know anyone my age that was finding much fulfilment from sex. Mostly it just seemed like a major distraction from my other priorities in life, which up until actually going to university, had been almost exclusively centred on getting into Oxford or Cambridge.
Determined not to be distracted by dick, I announced to my mother that I wanted to wait until I was married to have sex.
“Oh God, don’t do that. Sexual compatibility is very important in a marriage,” she replied, flicking her fag out the window as she drove me to my rowing session.
“Well…then I want to lose my virginity to another virgin,” I tried again.
“Sweetheart…no,” she said, gripping the steering wheel and looking over at me with a concerned expression. “They’ll be terrible at it.”
As I paddled myself down the tideway that afternoon, I thought more about what my mum had said. The problem was that most of the boys I knew were virgins and the ones who said they weren’t were either lying or already had girlfriends with whom they were having sex. Even then, the reviews of the sex-having boys I knew weren’t exactly great. A girlfriend of mine said that she found more pleasure in experimenting with a shower-head than she did with having actual sex with her boyfriend, so I wasn’t particularly excited about my prospects.
Not long after beginning the very short list of criteria for losing my virginity, which included the fact that whomever it was had to be a non-virgin that I wasn’t already married to, I spent the night at a friend’s house. Six of us brought as much wine as we could discreetly steal from our parents and watched films that were rated way above our age range due to their gratuitous sexual nature. On this particular occasion, we decided to watch The Rules of Attraction, and I mark that as a watershed moment in my sexual education and the main reason that I remained a virgin for as long as I did.
In case you haven’t seen the film, the opening scene begins with a girl – who is a virgin and drunk at a party – lying on her stomach as a guy has sex with her from behind, and then she says, “I always knew it would be like this,” before said guy chunders all over her. Terrifying for sixteen year-old me, let me tell you. After watching that film, I added “must be sober” and “must be in a relationship” to my list of criteria for losing my virginity. Easy enough, right?
Wrong. Which is why, almost three years later, I was lying in my room in college with a boy I had been dating for four months waiting for him to put just the tip of his penis into me.
“Are you ready?” Benedict asked.