The Girlfriend Experience

by Rebecca Dakin

  At primary school we were very much the odd ones out, as nearly everyone came from rich families. I dreaded ‘Own Clothes Day’, when I would have to rummage through bin bags of second-hand clothes passed down from my mum’s good friend’s daughter, Helen. I hated most of them, but there’d be the odd wearable thing. None of it was fashionable so I wouldn’t say they were gratefully received by me. Struggling to clothe four children, my mum was always thankful for them, though.

  I do remember being very sexually aware from an early age. I was fascinated with boobs and when I went to Helen’s I used to suggest that we go round to her neighbour’s and pinch Page 3 from his newspaper. It used to excite me, looking at the boobs. I’ve since found out that Helen is a lesbian.

  I would also fantasise about my parents’ friends in an inappropriate way. I don’t know where this came from – Mum and Dad are not openly affectionate and I never caught them in any compromising positions. We weren’t even allowed to watch anything unsuitable on TV and my parents were very strict about the ratings on films. Dad didn’t even sell top-shelf magazines in his newsagent’s, and neither of them spoke to any of us kids about sex.

  I recall teaching numerous friends how to masturbate; of course at the time I didn’t realise what I was doing. When Mum put our socks into pairs she would tuck one into the other and this would make a long sausage shape. I’d put it down my trousers, or up my skirt, and lie on my front and then writhe about. I just knew it made me warm and tingly down below, so I told friends and showed them how to do it. I’d meaningfully snog a pillow too, and fantasise about being with a man, usually Shakin’ Stevens behind the Green Door! I’m not sure what prompted me to do this, as I know I was the opposite of my well-behaved sister as she was growing up – she never did anything similar.

  Once I was told off and sent home for teaching one of my parents’ friends’ daughters how to play husband and wife. I was maybe 11 or so, and she was a few years younger than me. Her parents came in and she was writhing about on her top bunk, pretending to be with a man. We were simulating sex, but at the time I didn’t know what sex actually involved.

  Although I was very sexually aware, I was insecure about my looks and I believe this stems from being made to have short hair as a child. It was only about two inches long all over, so no boys ever fancied me. Often I would be asked if I was a boy or a girl and I hated this, as I’m sure you can imagine. When I was still in primary school I remember saying that I was going to have plastic surgery on my face when I grew up. Even though I now know that I was a pretty child, my short hair made me feel ugly. Being so young, I thought that plastic surgery involved having my face bandaged up for a few weeks, and then when the bandages were removed, I would be beautiful. If I’d known they actually cut you open, I wouldn’t have said that! I used to have a recurring dream that I was looking in the mirror; I had long hair and I was beautiful. I constantly told my mum I hated myself and was ugly. Unfortunately, she never took these comments seriously.

  I was a handful for my parents as a child. Because of my insecurities I constantly wanted attention and reassurance. I am embarrassed to say that I used to feel very hard done by because I suffered with hay fever (which was extremely inconvenient when we spent time on the farms as I often missed out on fun with my siblings during the hay making season) and various allergies. I often had bloody patches on my skin, where I had scratched my eczema, and I have also had various problems with arthritis throughout my life. All my siblings seemed to be perfect – everything I wasn’t. They didn’t suffer from any of the conditions I had, and in my eyes they were all attractive and I was the ugly one. Being the eldest I got the blame for everything my siblings did, whether I was with them or not, and if I fell out with friends at school, Mum would always ask what I’d done to them. Everything seemed to be my fault and this contributed to my lack of confidence. My school reports consistently said I lacked confidence in my ability, and people still tell me this now, so writing this book has been a big positive step. My dad was always considered the soft touch in our family and my mum was the disciplinarian, an old-fashioned one too. I didn’t feel like my parents cared about how I felt because I was never taken seriously – I still feel this to a certain extent even now.

  I had various ideas of what I wanted to be when I grew up. Had I known such a thing as stage school existed and that maybe I could become a singer or an actress, I believe I would have found my vocation. As a young child I thought that famous singers were just born that way; I wasn’t aware that I could have been anything I wanted to be. I wouldn’t say I was particularly good at singing or acting, but being a natural show-off and entertainer, I believe I could have worked at it and it would have fed me the attention I craved. As far as acting went, I was never given a chance to shine as I was always put in the chorus, both at school and in the local drama group.

  I have an early memory of having friends round and miming to Madonna with a hairbrush (like so many of us did), but then I’d get my friends to sit on the floor and pretend to be my fans, shouting, ‘I love you!’ and screaming, trying to grab me. OK, I know it sounds very weird, but looking back it was clear I wanted to entertain and also to be admired.

  As I didn’t believe it was possible to be a singer, I would always say I wanted to be a fashion designer. My mum said I was always very conscious of fashion and beauty from a very early age. I’m not sure why, when as a family we couldn’t afford new clothes and my mum wasn’t at all like that.

  By the time I got to secondary school I was allowed to grow my hair into a bowl cut, which accentuated my round, fat face. This was the start of the verbal bullying I suffered, which carried on for years. I was made to think that my round face was ugly; I know now that it isn’t, but I am still self-conscious. I would cry at the hairdresser’s and tell my mum how much I hated it, how ugly I was, but she wouldn’t listen to me; she just kept telling me I was beautiful.

  For years, I was bullied by the boys at school in Chesterfield and in Matlock to the point where I considered myself so repulsive that I thought I would never, ever have a boyfriend. I never told anyone about the bullying, I just accepted it because I didn’t think anyone would do anything, and I’m ashamed to say my friend and I actually verbally bullied other girls because to me it seemed to be the norm.

  Despite this, I was well liked by the girls at school and loved to make people laugh, so I became a bit of an entertainer. I did this ridiculous impression of a chicken (I have no idea how it came about or what my inspiration was). About fifteen girls would all be sitting on the school field, asking me to lay an egg on them! I would walk in between them all and randomly pick girls to ‘lay an egg’ on. Then I would squawk and do these funny faces and a silly walk; people would howl with laughter.

  The bullying at school, with lads calling me ‘Football Face’ among other things, made me feel extremely self-conscious. Out of school I would plaster my face with heavy make-up. It took me about forty minutes to apply it all, and for me it was a mask to hide my hideous face. I would also hide my face in my hands at any opportunity. When I laughed, I put my hand in front of my face because I thought laughing made my face look fatter and rounder. Even now I still feel uncomfortable with my hair up.

  I didn’t French-kiss anyone until I was 14. At that age I became totally obsessed with my friend’s brother, Sheldon, who was 16. He was one of the few guys I had met who didn’t bully me and for this reason, I believed him to be very mature. He made me feel normal and not self conscious. I was dreading him ever finding out that I was known as ‘Football Face’. I loved his sense of humour – he had me in stitches constantly, and he was the first guy to actually flirt with me. I thought I was in love.

  One night I went round to their house and we snuck out and climbed on some hay bales, where we sat for hours, having a laugh and drinking beer. Hoping he would make a move if he thought I was drunk, after a couple of sips I began wobbling and rambling on. It was a poor act and he must have known I was p
utting it on, but he ended up carrying me back to bed (I remember being really chuffed that my plan worked), and it was a like a dream… I felt like Anne of Green Gables, the ugly duckling ending up with the handsome husband. It was one of my favourite films because I related to her character. It made me feel I had hope of finding love, as Anne was bullied for how she looked and the most popular guy at school who used to bully her ultimately ended up romancing her. I was fantasising about spending the rest of my life with Sheldon and I hadn’t even kissed him!

  After a few months of flirting, we took the next step. One day, we were playing hide and seek; Sheldon and I were hiding in the same spot outside, under some ferns. As we were lying down, he commented that he could see my pink knickers! For some reason I thought this was a compliment and I began to blush (my face and down below). I remember it clearly: there we were among the ferns, me blushing and feeling all tingly, and he started to kiss me. I was terrified that I’d do something wrong, but I was so excited that finally someone thought I was attractive enough to kiss! Next thing I knew, my friend shouted that she could see us. Damn her! Luckily she didn’t see what we were up to.

  The next time I saw my best friend at school, I excitedly recalled every detail. Each time I saw Sheldon after that I’d get so excited, thinking it might go further. I was crazy about him, and he and his whole family knew. I was so obvious! I kissed him one more time after that amazing moment, and then my world fell apart.

  I was getting on the bus back to Matlock one day, with my best friend Katie, and Sheldon was at the back. As usual, I blushed at the sight of him, especially as I was wearing my school uniform. Then, as I sat down, I heard the usual chants of ‘Football Face’. To my horror, Sheldon started chanting along with them. My ‘best’ friend asked, with a smirk, ‘Isn’t Sheldon shouting “Football Face”?’ I was mortified.

  My friend Katie and I loved Twin Peaks when we were 13 or 14, and followed the American cult TV series obsessively. One episode showed the beautiful Sherilyn Fenn trying to get a job at a brothel. She was given the once-over: a quick look up and down by the Madam, before being told there weren’t any vacancies. On the side of the Madam’s desk was a bowl of cherries. Sherilyn plucked one, ate it and removed the stalk from her plump lips tied in a knot; she was given a job there and then. Katie and I immediately went to the supermarket, bought a carton of cherries and spent the afternoon perfecting the trick. A few years ago, I had an escort job visiting a couple and impressed them with this party piece!

  Anyhow, I tried to accept that I was never going to have a ‘normal’ life. I believed that wherever I went, everyone would find out my nickname and I would be stuck with it for the rest of my life. I would never get married or settle down because I was repulsive to men.

  I was thrilled when a guy I fancied in Matlock wanted to go out with me. We went out for three months and I lost my virginity to him. I was 15. We planned to have sex one night after a couple of months together, when his mum and dad were out. I remember being in absolute agony as he tried to penetrate me. Of course there was no real foreplay, so I was probably dry as a bone. It’s no wonder it hurt like hell! I just remember wanting it to be over as quickly as possible. We did it a few times after that, but it was still really painful for me, so I didn’t enjoy it. Just as I’d started to get used to having sex and was actually on my way to discovering how enjoyable it could be, he dumped me for no apparent reason. He said he hated me.

  Distraught, I thought I’d never find a boyfriend again. I’d waited 15 years to find one guy, and he’d dumped me. I never found out why. As far as I was aware, there was no one else, so I was left feeling hurt and angry.

  I went out with a very good-looking guy called Keith for three months, but I thought he was too attractive, and being insecure I didn’t trust him. I remember being really surprised that someone so good-looking fancied me. It fizzled out after a few months because once I left school I spent three years studying in various places. We saw each other occasionally for a few years until I met James, my first real boyfriend. I’m still in touch with Keith now and he’s one of my very best friends.

  When I was 15 I started sleeping around with older guys because I thought that if people wanted to have sex with me, it meant I was attractive. I was mature for my age and people always assumed I was older than I was. Most guys I met said they found me intriguing – they could never tell how I felt, or what I was thinking. It’s for this reason that I believe I didn’t fit into the standard teenage mould. I didn’t need or expect anything from men and was always in control of my feelings; I never let anyone get close. Something in me switched after the rejection of my first boyfriend and I guess I just put barriers up to avoid being hurt again. If I was in control, seeing lots of guys and never caring for any of them, then I wouldn’t get hurt again.

  I used to get a buzz out of being this sexual woman – well, girl – that intrigued men. Though I never had an orgasm, I used to love to perform and entertain men. The more I didn’t care, the more they seemed to crave my attention. After so much negativity from the opposite sex, I made the most of it.

  Although in some ways I was mature, deep down I was young and naïve. I know now that there are many men who will go with anyone, especially a young girl, if they are looking for an easy lay. It did improve my confidence, but it certainly wasn’t the best way to do it!

  By the time I left school, I knew people were staring all the time and mocking me because of how I looked, so I decided I would really give them something to talk about. Matlock is a very small town, so I used to get a kick out of being different and became an exhibitionist. I loved that people talked about me and knew who I was.

  I had a 1960s see-through lace dress that I would wear with a push-up bra and a thong. It doesn’t sound all that outrageous now, but at the time it was (unless you were part of the Rock or Fetish scene). I used to go out in Nottingham, Chesterfield and Derby, and people didn’t dress like that in the dance clubs or cheesy nightclubs. I wore suspenders and hot pants, and once travelled all the way down to London to buy some clear plastic trousers, which I wore with a silver thong bikini. My favourite was a black rubber dress that was £20 from the Condom Shop in Leeds, and a chain-mail bra. I began to actually get off on all the attention.

  At this point, I was hanging around with people much older than me. My mum wanted me to invite them round for tea, but they were all in their twenties, with their own homes, and it just would not have been cool! She couldn’t understand because she knew all of my siblings’ friends. I was always the least close to my family because I felt that they never really understood me; the times I did invite people of my own age round, Mum would embarrass me by shouting at me for one reason or another, so I had no intention of taking my older friends home.

  With them, I went to all-night raves at the weekend, and I started taking drugs. I never got hooked, it was just when I went clubbing – drugs like Ecstasy, amphetamines, cocaine, acid and ketamine were everywhere on the rave scene. I loved going to the clubs because people accepted me and I always got lots of positive attention, especially from men; I felt accepted and normal. Nobody ever bullied me or made fun of me, and I was seen as being sexy. The Ecstasy people took made everyone feel ‘loved-up’, and people were so friendly. I would wish the week away at school and look forward to the weekend, when I would take my earnings from working at Dad’s shop and spend it on getting into a club, usually Shelley’s in Stoke or the Warehouse in Doncaster.

  At the time, I’d never demand anything emotionally from men. When I was 16, I was seeing a 35-year-old man, which in retrospect is quite disturbing. He worked as an MC in one of the clubs; women threw themselves at him, and I had his phone number. I never threw myself at him and didn’t care if he went off with someone else – I was never jealous. I always let him come to me, and he would call me if he wanted to see me; I never called him once. Even girls much older than me were obsessed with him, and called and pestered him all the time. I was seeing
other men too, so the attention he got didn’t bother me, and because I was so chilled, we stayed friends for about eight years.

  I was 17 when one of my older friends suggested he should pimp me out. He showed me contact magazines and said that he could arrange for me to get paid for sex; he said he’d drive me to see these guys and sit outside the room while I went in and had sex for money. He’d take a cut, and knowing him it would probably have been a big one, which is why I didn’t want to do it. Because of my promiscuity the idea didn’t shock me – I slept with guys I didn’t care about anyway, so why not get paid for it? Thankfully, though, I never accepted his offer.

  My parents despaired and didn’t know what to do for the best. I didn’t want to have anything to do with my family; I’d rather go raving than spend a quiet evening at the weekend in the pub with them, mainly because I felt unhappy around them, so it was a constant battle. I had no connection with them whatsoever, which was partly my fault for being ‘different’ and not fitting in; I wanted to spend time with people who made me feel good about myself – my friends. It wasn’t intentional, I’m sure, but my family hindered rather than helped my confidence. My parents knew about the drugs, but I think they were in denial. I’d look awful when I got home from a rave – after dancing non-stop for 17 hours I would literally have lost half a stone in weight. My mum would try to get me to sit down and have Sunday dinner, and I’d just want to go to my room and play rave music. Because of my age, I suppose it must have been difficult for them to spot what was normal unsociable teenage behaviour and what was down to drug use – being the eldest, they didn’t really know how to deal with me. Mum tried grounding me, but when I was allowed out again, I’d lie and pretend I’d gone to a friend’s when in fact I would go raving. I told my dad that I was going through a ‘phase’ and that the best thing to do would be to let it run its course. That ‘phase’ lasted about ten years!