Inhibitions

They erected a barricade between themselves, all the while each blaming the other for it, each knowing that really they were the one responsible.  ‘If only he ...’, ‘If only she ...’ and so on and so forth, neither able, or willing to say what they really meant, really, truly wanted.

Upbringing, of course, parental ‘advice’, heavy handed, red-faced, oblique, couched in such formal twisty words, with averted eyes, that it was almost meaningless.

Peer pressure another thing that made them tongue-tied. 

How could she really be sure that what Jacky said was the best way really was, when she was such a ... well, not really someone you wanted to be copying, taking advice from.   Especially when it was couched in such a sly manner, eyes sliding to older friends, who sniggered as if they knew she was lying while you had no way of telling, because of your ignorance.
He ... well he’d claimed to have, already.   Not to her, (don’t be so effing stupid!)  but to the others.   Wasn’t sure that they’d believed him.   Part hadn’t wanted to, part had.   But he suspected they could tell it had been cobbled together from magazines and the film he’d found at the bottom of his parents’ wardrobe.

[This a Thinking Ten piece from a week or so ago. ]