I can’t be alone in having experienced pre-teen years fraught with a naïve and burgeoning sexuality.

Too embarrassed to discuss my confused and ever-mutating feelings with anyone, I internalised the shit out of them, occasionally becoming over-familiar with soft furnishings. Eventually, I found an outlet by projecting the desires I didn’t know I had onto pop culture protagonists, letting TV romance narratives do the sense making for me. I guess that’s how some people get addicted to porn.

So, in the manner of a far too personal Buzzfeed list, here are the top four late nineties love stories that shaped my understanding of sexual love:

1. Fox & Vixen – The Animals of Farthing Wood

Fox ignited my passion for ginger men.

I was pretty jealous when Vixen was first introduced, but she won me over with her sleek bod, cunning eyes and straight-talking feist. The nuzzling, the licking, the burrow (cave) – Fox got there first, Jon Snow.

Hated weasel, little shit-stirrer.

2. Billy Kennedy + Anne Wilkinson – Neighbours 

Mouth hanging open, still in my school shirt, the heady scent of skips on my breath and Blue Riband crumbs in my lap, this moment seemed the height of sensuality.

On reflection, it’s actually pretty creepy: cheap twangy jazz, the way he has to strain to get far enough over the sofa to touch her face with his lips, and a special shout out to the awkward reverse waddle from the scene of the crime.

3. Jessie Spano & Zack Morris – Saved by the Bell

This shit was illicit! What about Kelly? What about Slater?! Watching people succumb to desires against their better judgement blew my tiny prepubescent mind.

Incidentally, in my search for this nugget of SBTB glory, I came across this:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6047595/1/Just-love-me-That-s-all-I-want

Read only if you want to ruin your childhood.

4. Me + Zac Hanson – in my mind

In 1997, Zac was a drumming evangelical Christian babe. The Zac era crush was a game changer for me, no longer was I to be fulfilled by the romances of TV shows, I had learnt to day-dream my own convoluted narratives, this time with ME as the heroine.

My nightly fantasy ran thus:

Hanson make an impromptu visit to my primary school (a state school with a maroon uniform in the suburbs of a provincial British town). Their main objective in coming? To discover once and for all the identity of their number one fan. Upon Hanson’s arrival, my peers feign love for the golden-haired trio (having been picked on for my fanaticism, the injustice of this part of my invented narrative still makes my blood boil). But, just as Cinderella’s slipper fits her dainty foot alone, I am the only student able to faithfully recreate this with scented gel pens:

Hanson give me their nod of approval, and perform mmm-bop in my honour at our school assembly.

Zac gets chatting to me, and realises pretty quickly that I’m fucking cool.

I invite him around to my house for a chicken kiev and some potato smiles. It’s a hot day, and Zac confesses “Back home in Tulsa it’s always pretty cold, I aint used to the heat!” Ever the opportunist, I suggest a refreshing water fight – also a chance for me to showcase my rad hosepipe spray technique.

One thing leads to another, and Zac, laughing at my exotic sense of humour, puts his hands into my wet hair, and pulls me closer. The laughter stops – for this is a sexy love moment, and we snog.

My adoration of Mr. Hanson (who, by the way, now has three children, did someone say VIRILE!) faded in tandem with my penchant for hair mascara, but the trick of constructing in-head stories that feature me in a starring role lives on. How have they changed with age? Barring the occasional morbid “What I would say at X’s funeral & what they would say at mine” bonanza, not much tbh. And if you tell me you don’t do some variation of the same, I’m not sure I’ll believe you.