Diary of a Reluctant Virgin: Week 8

You know that feeling when you are talking to a friend, or someone you don’t know that well, and you look into their eyes as they’re saying something, and they’re smiling, and the sun catches their hair, and their eyes suddenly look really beautiful, and you think ‘How did I never notice this before?’ Well that feeling signals doom. Your doom. Because whilst they may have just leaped out of the friendzone, you are still firmly cemented in theirs. This can only lead to bad things.

Once I had begun to appreciate his finer features, I couldn’t stop noticing them. He, in turn, continued to treat me as a completely platonic acquaintance. I had to get over him.

The obvious place to try this fell into my lap – Churchill Ball. If I couldn’t find a desperate male here, then there was no hope for me. I’ve never really made the first move, so I was expecting this to take a while. On the dancefloor I apprehensively put myself into action, and pretended to bump into the person next to me. When they turned around, I apologised, blushing, and smiled. To my amazement, it worked! It was shockingly easy. I went home triumphant.

Almost as good as Pav

Less than a week later and I was bopping away in Lolas, and I decided to try my luck again. There were heart-shaped balloons floating in the air, and I stepped forward to take one of them. Just as my hands touched the balloon, someone else also reached for it. Our eyes met. He gave me the balloon, and I hugged it. More balloons floated near us, and we started to exchange them, like it was some kind of ritual. Eventually, we kissed.

Little could I have predicted that it would be the best kiss of my life. He was really good looking, he seemed friendly too. I couldn’t understand why he was interested in me when he was so blatantly out of my league! I carefully tried to gauge what was wrong with him. It emerged that he was a Mathmo at Churchill. He probably didn’t have many women to compare me to.

I tried to subtly find out whether he had read my articles. When I mentioned ‘The Reluctant Virgin’, he perked up. ‘I love her articles!’ he exclaimed.

‘Really?’ I said, puffing up with smugness.

‘You know, it’s the funniest story,’ he continued, ‘last week, a friend of mine got with her at Churchill Ball.’

‘What?’ I said, my face frozen with horror, ‘How… did… he know?’

‘That’s the thing, he didn’t. While they were pulling, her friend told one of my friends, so it was only afterwards that he found out. He was mortified. It’s just one of the worst things that could happen to you – I mean, imagine thinking that you are just getting with a random girl, and then she turns out to be the Reluctant Virgin! And then you find that you are in The Tab! How embarrassing!’

‘That’s so funny,’ I croaked, ‘Yeah, the worst thing. Lol.’

Before I slunk into the night, I got his number.

We texted for a few days, and he was surprisingly funny. I was keen to see him again, and we agreed to meet up in Cindies.

Cindies: where love goes to die

But this is where everything went desperately wrong. Yep, you guessed it, the guy I mentioned at the beginning who had shown no interest before was also at Cindies, and now he was interested. Churchill Mathmo was nowhere to be seen. I started panicking. It was easier to let someone else make a decision for me than make one myself, so I waited to see what happened. The first guy went in for the kiss. Decision made. At one point I saw Churchill Mathmo out of the corner of my eye, so I shoved my partner away and tried to look innocent. We briefly spoke, but he claimed that he was looking for his friends and said that he would return in a few minutes. I didn’t believe him – he had almost definitely seen me kissing someone else.

On the way back, the first guy kept on apologising. ‘I’m so sorry. Like, so so sorry. This was such a mistake. I’m so sorry.’

Once again I had no romantic prospects on the horizon. I had completely cocked things up.

I wanted to end my articles with something radical, with an account of mind-blowing, or soul-crushing, sex, or by revealing that I have became a lesbian, or devoted to religion. But the truth isn’t radical at all. I want romance. I want love. I want to be swept away. I want to be excited, and nervous, and a bit panicky, and a bit surprised, and just overwhelmingly happy.

Is that so much to ask for Cambridge? Is it really?