Call Me IsobelMature

I am 17, going on 18, and I am in love with a married man.


            Just call me “Isobel” – obviously not my real name, (to protect the innocent and even those who are not so)…and this is my blog. Don’t expect it to be perfect, I’m only a budding writer and I’ll admit I have a lot to learn. Also, I tend to ramble, which I understand is not a preferred element in any written work – but then this is meant as a venting piece for myself and maybe a contribution as a learning tool to other girls (and guys) my age who find themselves in this insane and impossible situation.


            Where to start? First off, I am in grade 12 in one of 5 high schools in my city of 80,000 peeps. A west-ender, we are neither rich nor poor, neither luxuriating in one of those huge 5000 sq ft executive homes with pools, saunas and gardeners in the North end, nor existing in the small war time houses with postage stamp front lawns and decrepit bicycles lying in overgrown squalor by the front steps in the South end. Our house is a nice 3 bedroom bungalow type affair, paved drive, medium sized trees, and a bird bath with a bird feeder and a small weeping tree nestled in-between, in which the birds like to flit to and from – like an avarian amusement park. We wallow in middle class urbanity.


            I have a dad and a mom and a younger brother whom I not-so-affectionately have named PIA – pain in the ass – for future reference. And I may as well reassure you now that as a writer, I insist on complete honesty and reliable quotes and am able to back up my facts…so you can believe that when I call my brother a PIA, it’s the truth! In all, life is not bad, but then again, it could be better. In the immortal words of the old rock band ‘Nazareth’ “Love Stinks”.



October 16, 2007



            I’ve been listening to the tunes of the 70s and 80s, classic rock it’s called, mainly because of my folks – it’s their era – but I’m finding there is a lot of merit in those bastions of bad boy bands. The real deal, all hoarse voices and hard living, long leonine hair, sultry lips and tight jeans – so tight every thigh muscle is defined and even the ‘packages’ can be estimated…not like today’s jeans all baggy with boxers bulging up with air at the backs so as guys walk they have to sway like an ape to keep them from falling down – most unattractive.  The married man I’m in love with wears regular boot cut denim and looks really hot. I bet his legs are hairy, but only slightly so, not like a bear but more like silky down.

Shit its supper time. Better be something good.




October 17, 2007


            Let’s call the married man ‘B’ so I don’t have to continually be reminding myself that he is unavailable to me by reiterating over and over ‘married man’. My g/f Fahmida thinks I’m crazy to be so smitten by B, but I tell her it can’t be helped – true love is uncontrollable. She says it’s not true love but childish infatuation, so I told her to fuck off and didn’t talk to her for the morning. (Can I say fuck in a public blog? Oh well, I’ll guess I’ll soon find out! Have to be me, though)  However at lunch time, I ended up sitting all by myself as she and Thom (Thompson Dwight Dunwoodie IV) our other best friend went to Pizza Hut for the personal pan and even brought me back a piece, so how could I stay mad? The Supreme rules.


            Thom said he was in love with an older man once and it was devastating for him, so he totally understands. We asked him what happened but he refused to discuss it, so either he is just making it up to commiserate with me or it really was devastating. You never know with Thom, he is just too gay to deal with sometimes. Fahmida’s father is always trying to convert Thom, if you can imagine a devout muslim trying to make Thom un-gay. Her father hasn’t banned her from hanging with him because he believes everyone is salvageable, but he feels because Thom is her friend, that he has been directed into their family for a reason, and that reason could only be for Abu to fix him.


“I will find you a nice girl, Thom, I know of many - good families too. You will see.”


“It’s ok, Mr. Ali, I don’t need a g/f.”


“Oh dear, this is very bad, the boy doesn’t even know what he needs…oh dear..” Abu laments on a regular basis. Thom is very patient and since Abu is really nice, we don’t even make fun of him … much.


Tomorrow night is School Newspaper Elective Night….I will see B again after a whole week. I can’t wait!



October 18, 2007


I had a helluva time picking my outfit for today, after all - I’m going to see B only for a few hours and then it’ll be another whole week wait! I have to make this good if I ever want him to fall into passionate love with me.  Thom and Fahmida texted me fashion suggestions but Thom’s sense of fashion is just too girly for me and Fahmida has really big boobs so her ideas didn’t suit me at all, as my body shape can best be described as tooth-pick like. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not without allure – I am slim but nicely shaped and firm, my legs are my best feature – hence I settled on jean shorts frayed at the edges. I have rich dark brown hair which I wear long with heavy bangs so my green eyes are framed nicely. I also have beautiful long lashes, which it’s my understanding girls almost never have – that particular trait usually belonging to boys so that girls are always envious. My nose is not too big, not too small, and my lips are full without looking like a suction cup and my teeth are perfectly straight and square.  All in all, pretty attractive, and I’m not blowing my own horn here, I’m just trying to report everything as accurately as possible.


In any case, I suspect B  is more interested in the intellectual side of me, being as he is an editor for a small community paper. Our discussions always range from community current events to world politics and I can tell by his enthusiasm that he finds me intelligent and doesn’t consider me the typical teenager.  But as a safety measure – looks are a good thing too!




I don’t think he likes me.


The End

2 comments about this story Feed