First crush ...

... I remember my first “real” crush.
He had aquamarine eyes. Up close they looked like a tiny patchwork of blue & green tiles, just like butterfly wings.
And he trembled *ehem* on occasion. Vibrated, a sort of thrumming, rather like a cat’s purring, only silent. It freaked me out, ever so slightly, the first time.
I recall that once, during a (totally justified at the time) man-hating stage, I raged to a particularly patronising aunt that cats were better than men, “men don’t purr” I raged. “Sometimes they do” she smirked.
It turns out she was right.
His inappropriately possessive step-mother didn’t approve of me at all (I lived in an unsalubrious suburb, went to a Catholic school and my mother worked, outside the home), and he went to boarding school, so the summer holiday romance didn’t last. But all that kissing led me to believe boys may not be so very bad afterall, and of that I am glad.
I heard he ended up joining the army, marrying a woman 10 or so years younger than himself and producing quite a few children.
I’m glad I waited for Mr Brown.