Hooked on Your First Love
Thank you to everyone who entered Hooked on Your First Love.
It was a fun way to celebrate the launch of Hooked on a Feeling by re-running a competition run by the Australian Woman’s Weekly in 1974 that features in the story.
Thank you to AusRomToday for hosting and promoting the competition and to J’aimee Brooker for letting us have our fun.
Thank you also to the Hard Hearted Hannas who formed the judging panel and had to duke it out at the end to agree on the placings.
If you ever need competition judges I’d avoid Rhian Cahill, Cate Ellink, Sandra Antonelli and Rebekah Turner – like Ebola.
For our clever winners – your cash prize will be winging it’s way to you via the carrier pigeon of a Nigerian Prince. No seriously, I think he’ll ask to skim your account.
Anyway…let’s have a look at the winning entries:
It Began With The Shoes…
It was the shoes I noticed first. I remember distinctly. He had on black, pointy shoes which were totally cool for the early nineties. I fancied myself the artistic type, not quite Goth but definitely on the more awkward side. I’d just finished my HSC and was out celebrating with some girlfriends at a local club. I looked up and saw the shoes belonged to a blond guy no older than me. He wasn’t particularly tall, his cheeks were ruddy and he reminded me of the actor Chris Atkins (my teen crush), except maybe for the mullet hairdo. Mr Blond asked me to dance and I said yes (I am pretty sure it was because of the shoes).
After the dance he asked me if I wanted a drink. I declined. I wasn’t sure I wanted to encourage him at this stage. Later I was to find out how relieved he was as he had little money on him. We were teens, none of us had money.
Later that night I met him again and he invited my friends and me to sit at his table with his friends. They were a lively bunch and we all got on well. I started talking to Mr Blond about movies and bands we liked. He liked Cold Chisel and I liked Depeche Mode. He liked action films and I liked Period dramas. We were total opposites but he was funny and I liked him. At the end of the night I gave him my number. I didn’t expect to hear from him.
He did ring me and although I was going on my schoolies week and he was going to his the week after we decided to meet again at the club a few weeks later. He sent me a funny post card from Queensland reciting how he burnt the top of his feet while sun baking and had to shadow skip to the nearest chemist for some cream. I loved that he made me laugh. When we met again it was if we had known each other for years. I don’t know how it happened but we were smitten and it showed. We were inseparable from that time on. Twenty years later and I am still married to him. He’s not blond any more but he’s still funny. I guess opposites do attract. If only he still had those cool pointy shoes.
The Car That Pulled Chicks
The mauve, metallic duco on the Holden Monaro sparkled in the sun. A wide black stripe stretched from bonnet to boot, and the V8 rumbled through twin chrome tail pipes. She dragged her gaze back to his eager face, which looked as though it had been thrown together by a three-year-old – all lumpy and lopsided. She glanced down at his bony shoulders and puny arms.
He took a deep breath. “Wanna go for a ride?”
His hand shook as he lifted the door latch and reefed it open for her.
She slid in. The soft black leather of the seat caressed the backs of her legs as her mini skirt slid up. He passed her the seatbelt. She pulled it and fastened it with a loud click.
He ran around the car, tugged his door open, and hopped in.
She stared at the sexy dashboard, backlit in green. “What’ll she do?”
He turned to look at her before replying. “A hundred in four seconds.” He ran his tongue over his dry lips. “Wanna see?”
A wave of desire flowed through her. She held his gaze and smiled slowly, seductively, at the thought of being thrust back into the soft leather bucket seat as the G force took effect.
She saw him depress the clutch, flick the gear lever, and then heard a primeval roar a second before the car propelled forward with such force that she was sure the skin on her cheeks was pushed back towards her ears. A throaty growl bubbled from the engine, causing her insides to throb with raw desire. Her breath came in gasps, and droplets of perspiration formed on her forehead.
She glanced across at him, seeing his face transformed into that of a handsome man, a gladiator guiding his chariot in a race to the death. His biceps bulged as he gripped the steering wheel, his strong hands flicking the gear stick through the gears at lightning speed.
She heard the tyres squeal as he did a doughnut, using the handbrake to spin the car around. They came to a halt on the grassy verge near the river.
Her heart beat loudly.
He looked across at her. “Wanna do it?”
He leaned over and kissed her. She threaded her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. She knew she was in love.
I Couldn’t Make This Up If I Tried!
My first love bought me a happy meal on our first date. Surprisingly, that wasn’t a deal breaker because years later I married the tight arse. You see, big spender let me keep the toy. That’s true love right there.
Those plastic Hamburglar binoculars still hold pride of place in the pool room.
He’s a true romantic my first love. I mean, the bloke waited until after we made epic soul shattering sweet love for the first time before he broke wind in front of me. That’s classy, right? Although when I say he waited until after, I mean it was literally, just after. As in he hopped off the bed and baked an air biscuit en route to the bathroom.
That’s when I knew he was a keeper. You know, that Mills and Boon moment when you can just tell from the smell that he’s ‘The One’.
This same first love proposed to me years later buck naked, post coitus on bended knee whilst the dog tried to lick his balls. I could hardly refuse in the face of such a grand romantic gesture.
That’s the kind of love story you just can’t wait to tell your grandkids.
Our wedding was the stuff of fairy tales. I rocked the classic princess frock. I know this because my first love told me. In fact his first words to me at the altar were “Nice fucking dress”, and later in the Limo he told me I was “the prettiest bride in Wollongong today”.
The city of Wollongong has a population of only 290,000 and 50 churches so chances are the number of brides hitching their wagons to their own Prince Charmings that day was barely double digits but still, I was overwhelmed by his heartfelt epithet of my beauty.
The crescendo of romance built to tidal proportions on our honeymoon. Could there be anything more enchanting than a tour of Europe? Especially when that tour is a Contiki Tour. The honeymoon was shared with a bus full of single desperate 18-35 year olds. I’m certain the foundations of our formidable union began on that vehicle amongst a two week ambience of morning breath, discarded condom wrappers and chlamydia.
Memories to cherish forever.
For fifteen years I’ve been the lucky gal who snagged this man, my first and only love.
And no, I couldn’t make this stuff up even if I tried…