The first post is always the worst. Especially because I'm aware that this is relatively public. Yet not. The people that might read this are at the very least of a like mind, and will not be judgemental... I hope. Even if they are, does it matter? It's true that what people say about what you do or write always matters. But not from the RL point of view of outing me. That is one great joy of the internet. Anonymity.

I'd say I'm probably bisexual with a strong leaning towards men. Not that I'm out about it. Definitely not. Actually I'm probably more non sexual at present... Sex drive is a strange thing. I have it by the bucket load, but never seem to act on it with anyone. I seem to be liked at work, know gay people, fancy gay people, but never take the step that might end in disaster.

Wow this is cathartic!

I'm here for the stories. I think I found the place through Dabeagles site, but then that was a while ago. I used to drop by and never became a member until recently. It makes me wonder why I felt like risking the tiny bit of exposure it needs to sign up. Why not just stay a visitor, read the stories, dream, drool and leave? Perhaps I really am wanting to become myself.

I live in England and went, from the age of twelve to a single sex boarding school with five highly competitive Houses. Later, in my sixth year they introduced girls. Not many, just a few in the upper school. An experiment that didn't affect me at all as they weren't in my house. When I started however it was just boys. Lots of boys.

I'm from an upper middle class family and used to live in London. A really nice part of London. My father was an inventor, and my mother... f**K. So now what do I do. I'm actually shaking. Do I carry on in which case 'someone' might possibly read this that shouldn't. Or do I just use this blog as a muse tool for present thoughts...

I suppose I should create a ficticious background, and people it with the dream family and kick ass friends. This needs some thought. f**K it.

I'm from an upper middle class family and used to live in London. A really nice part of London, in a big Victorian detached house. My father was an inventor, and my mother was good at spending money. I was a late edition to two children, my sister being fourteen years older than me. I guess that really makes me an only child.

I never knew my Grandmother was my Grandmother until I was ten or eleven. Before then she was just my Mothers best friend. I never thought this was odd at the time, and I can't actually remember how I found out. I think I just eventually guessed right. My sister got married and moved into a flat in the basement. At times I hated her, now we get on really well.

I had a few close friends, but oddly, my best friend to begin with was Pie. A girl. Our parents were friends and we used to spend every avilable minute together. Pie was a tom boy in the true sense of the word, and though I know she had dolls, she never played with them. It was all about climbing trees, short hair, jeans and never, ever skirts! We used to have fearful rows, and once... She got me cornered in a shed and was so angry she put an axe through the window. Now she works in health services. I haven't seen her in an age.

Then, when I was thirteen, Page moved in. His Mother was an actress, and he was gorgeous. A year younger than me but much more worldly and mature. He introduced me to what had been, until then, only a fantasy.

So here I am. In the here and now. Jaded, complicated, and wanting... What I guess we all want. A soul mate of a like mind. I have two soul mates. One a girl I live with, the other close by. But that thing is missing.