CONFESSIONS OF A COMPULSIVE OVEREATER
I was 18 when I went to my first gay club. I was promised fun and fabulousness – and a boyfriend too, with a bit of luck. By now I was nearly 18 stone, and, having left school, my best friend Tommy and I hung out most days in HMV, trawling for imported Madonna vinyl and limited edition Take That CDs. Every other Friday night we went to our local gay youth group to meet other teens like us. There wasn’t really much else to do, but Tommy met his first boyfriend there. James was a sweet guy, but I often felt jealous. Tommy had someone. I didn’t. In my mind, that meant he was better than me.