I always liked tall boys. Luckily, I’m 5”3 which means finding a tall guy isn’t as hard for me. Finding one who is 7” tall however is a whole different story.
I was always into photography. All my life. When I was a little girl I was begging my mum to allow me to take a picture with her proper canon camera that you had to buy films for. When I got my first decent camera there was no one stopping me from taking pictures anymore. I taught myself how to use photoshop (at least for what I wanted to do) and I arranged photoshoots for myself with myself and then edited the pictures after. Pretty much the same thing I do know. I had my camera (no DSLR but it was good), my photoshop and toycamera analogcolour (still use that today) and I had a pretty good collection of pictures on my facebook. Guys seemed to like them too which wasn’t even close to one of the reasons why I did them and they made quite a few men write me on facebook. Some were creeps older than my dad and very few I actually replied to. One I had a great conversation from the beginning with was a guy who will be called the tall from now on. There will be a few chapters involving him. Maybe that really does show that I like tall guys and that some are just great dudes.
We just got along from the very beginning. I was probably at the peak of my after breakup high and I was a pretty damn cool girl. I tried my best to bury my running mind and sensitive character somewhere deep, somewhere where no one could get to so no one could ever take advantage of me again. I wasn’t aware how hard it would be to dig this all out again once I was ready. At the peak of my high, I was reckless, almost heartless and cold but I would say but I had a great time. I was doing really well in school, had amazing friends and partied like no other. This was also my peak clubbing phase and I wasn’t even 18. Good connections and a fake ID were my entry into nights out with fluttery lashes and high heels, new dresses. The ones that made a night fly by and tasted like cheap liquor. Good times. Looking back I would say the tall felt my cold but he still went for it or maybe he was just as cold back then as he also got out of a relationship.
It was getting closer towards winter and the evenings got way colder. We decided to meet up in my neighbourhood. I’m pretty sure one of his relatives lived I the area I grew up and he was from the area too but went to boarding school as he was very good in sports. He rolled around in his parents’ car (how cool) and we sat by the river as the cold night rolled over us. At some point between a very good conversation and probably way too many cigarettes, we decided to warm up in a bar just to make it back to my neighbourhood. We sat in my street for hours, almost freezing to death, spying shooting stars and our conversation never ended until he agreed to walk m to my door, to make sure I get at least some sleep. It was the first time a guy walked me to my door and kissed me goodbye and thinking about it he was the only one who ever did it.
Despite having always a good time when we saw each other I was cold, oh so cold. He was one of the few guys who actually got to see my room at my parents home which means a lot. Thinking about it again whilst writing this column which makes me feel all nostalgic and in fact old, nothing really bad happened. Nothing at all but all of the sudden the conversation stopped and I didn’t even realize. Maybe it was my cold, maybe it was his, maybe I will never know. What I didn’t know weeks after he last parked one fancy ass car (they weren’t his but he always drove pretty fancy schmanzy cars) in my street to pick me up that he wasn’t out of my life completely.
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