If I counted up the amount of time I waste on Twitter, I’d probably hang my head in shame. But occasionally it comes up trumps in making me use my time well. Having seen a tweet going round this week asking about your five ‘foundational’ crushes I spent the afternoon trying to remember who any of my crushes were.
Luckily Twitter had a prompt when I saw a friend post her top five and I was reminded that I knew my type early on. I had a huge crush back in the early Nineties on the guitar player Nuno Bettencourt from the band Extreme back in the days when all men seemed to have long hair.
Over time I’d mistaken the long hair and his pretty pouty look for not being my type and rather cute and feminine as if I’d been playing it safe back then. Then my friend posted an image and not only did I very clearly remember buying the magazine it was in, but I realised that pout was in fact all about pure filthiness.
In hindsight a poster like this on my bedroom wall was pinning my colours to the mast early on. While my peers were kissing pictures of Take That goodnight and publicly discussing wanting to meet them, I was sleeping under a photo of a man I knew I wanted to be alone with and having some very private thoughts about.
Years later I was at a party with my then flatmate and feeling slightly awkward when I realised there were ten men in the room and I’d fucked them all. My flatmate chuckled when she realised it too and commented that you’d never guess what they all had in common because they all looked so different to each other so I clearly don’t have a type.
While she was right in that none of the men that night realised the extent of my slutty ways, she was also wrong in that I definitely have a type. Aesthetically I’m a sucker for good cheekbones even now even if I never find long hair attractive on men these days but my type is the sort with that filthy twinkle in their eye.
Put me in a room of twenty men with only one who’d throw you down on the bed rather ask nicely and I will sniff them out like a trained slut hound. I clearly started this game young so I’m well practised and my strike rate is so good I could count the accidental vanilla men on one hand.
I wondered if I’d had to hone this skill and after rediscovering just how dirty Senhor Bettencourt was I tried to think who my other foundational crushes had been. There was David Bowie, particularly in Labyrinth of course. More cheekbones and filthy looks. And something stirred deep inside me when I first saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show and encountered Frank n’ Furter.
I don’t know if the other men I dreamed of in those days of youth count as foundational but my thoughts were filthy all the same. I pictured myself running off to the big city and sucking the cocks of unsuitable but attractive men when I got there. It took me years to realise I actually did fulfil that aspiration in many ways but it wasn’t quite as glamorous as I expected at the time.
So it was good to be reminded I knew my tastes early on. And even better to discover my original foundational crush actually looks filthier now twenty five years later…