This Happened to Me

Staring at My Step Cousin Fed My Hungry Heart

Cement dust in his hair and across his cheeks. Light caramel skin that looked as sweet…

When I was fifteen, I finally discovered something that I liked about my stepfather. The Beatles. He was a scouser — born and bred in an extremely working class part of Liverpool, and to a certain extent had made good. He’d worked hard all his life.

But being from scouse-land of course he was a Beatles fan. In our home we had all their records and biographies. With my hormones raging and a need for something edgy, I cleaved towards this band. Obviously, they had disbanded and John had died a few years before. But listening to their songs, and reading about their lives, they felt alive and kicking to me.

When my stepfather announced my Mum and him were going to visit his sister in Liverpool, I jumped at the chance to get a look at the streets the Beatles had walked. However, I got a little more than I bargained for.

I was a late developer, so at this age I was like a flower whose petals were just starting to bloom. The promise of summer was there if you searched, but was by no means obvious.

I knew I had four step-cousins — so for those of you who get a little confused about these matters, they were about as blood related to me as the King.

I’d heard about them all. The youngest at twelve, was an A-star student. The oldest was at medical school. The one girl was training to be a Nurse, and then there was Ray — known as the oddball. At nineteen, he chose to do labouring work. He lived… to live!

It was bound to happen.

At dinner time on that first evening, we were sitting and eating when he walked in — and I saw him for the first time.

I have never forgotten that moment…

Cement dust in his hair and across his cheeks.

Rolled up sleeves.

Light caramel skin that looked as sweet.

And sun bleached hair — the texture of candyfloss.

As soon as he glanced around the table, his warm brown eyes rested on me. My heart leapt. He was gorgeous. A lovely open face.

Trying not to let anyone see my reaction, I busied myself with the food on my plate. But we’d noticed each other and I wanted to capitalise on that.

A few days later, I’d gathered Ray had a routine. He’d return from work. Grab a bite to eat, shower, change and go out to thrill the girls at the local nightclubs. I wanted him to take me there — thrill me — have me… Oh yes, in every sense!

I yearned for excitement. At that age I was so impressionable and looking back I could easily have been led astray. Because that is precisely what I desired.

One afternoon everyone went out to the shopping centre and I calculated that if I stayed behind I could be in the house alone when he returned that day. My plan worked, and seeing me in the living room, he said he wouldn’t be long. He was just going to grab a shower. And off he went with a sandwich in hand.

I sat there. Pulse racing. Waiting. Hoping. Anticipating.

About ten minutes later he returned and started making small talk whilst putting up the ironing board. He took an LP out of a sleeve and put it on the record player. Yes — pre-CD — so much better too.

I recognised Hotel California by the Eagles immediately. The first few chords of the music sounded like an old friend and relaxed me a little.

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air…

Then…

“This shert needs an iron, wuddun yous say?” He looked over at me while sliding his hands over the shirt he was wearing.

His Liverpudlian accent was very broad and I had to really listen hard to decipher his words. But the meaning became clear when he began to unbutton the slightly creased but freshly laundered shirt he was wearing.

I knew it was rude to stare, but my heart was young and hungry.

The garment fell open, and I became privy to the vision of his ripped torso, he worked hard. His beautiful skin was tanned and smooth. But then, what was that? As he threw the cotton over the ironing board and turned, I caught sight of a massive scar covering almost the whole right side of his body. It must have only happened a few years before as the skin still appeared red and angry.

He glanced over.

“Ah, May, yous noticed my skin. Could ov been werse I suppose. An accident wi’ a boiling kettle when I wus younger than yous. Dreadful scar. Wus in hossie for some time.”

I muttered something useless in reply about how long skin took to heal. Though what I knew about that was negligible. But as an eczema sufferer, I attempted to sound knowledgeable.

“Am going ter ‘av a beer. Want one?”

Of course I did. Underage, but I had been drinking alcohol for a few years.

Still naked from the waist up, the scar on show, he returned with two cold beers. Putting one down, he reached out to me with a bottle. When I went to take it, he took hold of my hand, bent his head and rested his lips gently against my knuckles. Our eyes were aligned, and I wondered if I was about to shake.

In the background, the Eagles still played…Welcome to the Hotel California…

Pulling away, he rested a finger under my chin, causing me to lift my head very slightly.

Then he said, “Yous the Beauty, an’ I’m the Beast.”

Such a lovely place (such a lovely place) Such a lovely face.

I began to perspire as he returned to the ironing.

You can check out any time you like, But you can never leave!

I didn’t want to leave later that week, but I had to.

Nothing ever happened between us. I had a crush on him, for a long time, yet we never met again after that trip — but he certainly remained in my nighttime fantasies for a long time to come.

Another story about a crush of mine:

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