Needless to say I wasn’t killed in a satanic ritual. (read pt 2 here)
Instead, Black Hair and I were kissing on the stairwell outside his grandparent’s flat.
Each kiss left me dizzy and I was waiting for it to get boring but it never did, so I reached for his belt to unbuckle but he swatted me away.
At 6am, as I was leaving, he remarked:
“I have blue balls.”
On the Uber ride home I wondered if he was gay, or if he wanted to take things “slow” which is pretty much the same thing.
The truth is never pure, rarely Simple. So with all our content, we seek this truth in London and Paris. We go behind closed doors. We give you the best of times and, the worst of times. Do YOU have a story to tell? EMAIL US: email@example.com
Even though I’m not a model/activist, I know a thing or two about depression. I mean, I’m sure everyone has experienced it at some point, and if you haven’t, no matter how many times you’ve read ‘The Secret”, you will. (spoiler alert)
I graduated from Chelsea College of Art this year and I clocked halfway through the course that I didn’t want to be a painter. It wasn’t an epiphanic thing, more that I became increasingly terrified of becoming like Rufus Humphrey (not really having a job but just being around a lot of exposed brick). I’m not slandering artists or saying that they’re all destined to be poor, I just wasn’t loved up enough on painting to pursue it against the odds.