Posts Tagged ‘firsts’

I saw you come into the bar and give the bouncer the hugest hug. I love it when men are affectionate with each other, so I noticed you instantly. You had scruff and a flannel shirt and the best dance moves. I was watching you, but we never spoke or danced together.

Apparently you noticed me noticing you. You told me later that’s why you asked for my number.

We texted a bunch here and there but never got around to hanging out until months later.

We finally went out for an epically long date, though I wasn’t sure it was a date the entire time. You are witty and fun and we got along, despite the fact you are super religious.

We awkwardly half kissed goodbye in a pretty non-sexual way. I’ve been told so many times that I come on too strong, so I was sort of letting you take the lead in this situation. I assumed you wouldn’t contact me ever again.

But two weeks later, we hung out again. I went to your house and we had relatively awkward sex. Certainly not the worst, but not the best either.

And that was it. I think if I texted you, you would politely invite me to go out dancing. But I think if I didn’t text you, I’d never hear from you again.

I cannot figure out what just happened, even a little.

Maybe you just aren’t that into me.

But we seemed to get along, and you kept pursuing me. The next day you told me it was fun and we vaguely referred to future hang out times. I feel like if you just wanted to hook up, you would have approached it differently.

It makes me inclined to think that maybe you just aren’t that into ladies.

But maybe that’s just because I’m used to boys who are feminists.

Maybe you think I’m too fat.

You are really into working out.

Maybe it’s that we became facebook friends and now you think I’m whorish.

But probably you just aren’t that into me.

For what it’s worth, I’d totally hang out with you more if you wanted to figure it out.

Or we could just become dance buddies, which I suspect is what you wanted all along.

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Dear J.

We met when I was in the seventh grade, and you were an eighth-grader. That was twenty years ago. There was always something between us; we were intense, you a Pisces, me a Scorpio. Ain’t it the truth. We talked, we laughed, we flirted, and I was scared. I didn’t know what to do with my body there in its wheelchair, didn’t know how to feel or be pretty in your eyes. But you were a kind high school boy, and said truly meaningful things like, “I really like when you wear that sweater, it makes your boobs look really good.” I am pretty sure we loved each other, in the sweetest, most longing kind of way. Time went by; we went on one date, to the movies to see Claire and Leo kill themselves for love, and you held my hand for the first time on the way home. It took another whole year for our first kiss, even after everything. I have never felt more special.

More time went by, we decided we were not for each other, met, dated, and screwed other people. But it was always there, that chance we had never taken, the secret refuge and promise of nostalgia. You always said you wanted to be married and a dad by the time you were 26, and you were. You are a great dad, even though you and his mom got divorced. Through it all we would touch base sometimes. We always knew the other one was out there, something good, something sweet, somehow ours. You used to call me long distance from overseas when you were in the service and you hated it.

More years went by, and I would hear about you, or see you on Facebook, and there was still that old pull. I asked you, out of the blue, to go out of town with me, and you wanted to, but had just started a new job, and couldn’t get away. But you wanted to, you said so, and I believed you.

You got a new phone this summer and texted me from your new number. We had maybe not really talked in ten years or so. You finally admitted that you had unresolved feelings for me, how much you wished we had taken bigger steps in our relationship, and how you thought of me so much. You said if we had gone out of town you would have taken your chance to make love,with me, and love and love and love with me. I asked you if you realized you are the person that other than my family has been in my personal interior life the longest, and wasn’t it great to know we still had each other in some way? You said you did, and yes, it was, and like me, you were glad and thankful.

We made plans to see each other shortly after that, when you were going to be in ____, an hour away, for a week-long work conference. We were going to meet here, at my house, alone and finally adults, on a Friday night. I cleaned the house from top to bottom and put on makeup. And all that day, you did not answer my calls or my texts. You did not come. You did not call or text, or make any contact with me. No excuses, no stories, nothing. I was sure it was because something happened with your son, or to you. You would never do that to me. Not the boy I knew, with those beautiful deep brown eyes. The one I had known for so long, and who maybe loved previous teenage me. I preferred to imagine you in some emergency, and was prepared to give you enough time to get in touch.

Weeks went by. No word. Casually, I saw a comment you posted on someone’s FB. With a sense of disbelief, I clicked on your name, because it meant that clearly you were right there where you had always been, and not forgivably run off the road, in a ditch and then in traction. And I saw your status, saying how happy and in love you were, and I saw your new girlfriend.

I just don’t understand. Did you decide it wasn’t worth it, that the chemistry was not enough, that out twenty-year history was not worth a returned phone call, or a straight answer? I will never know for sure, because I will never ask you, and because it doesn’t really matter. You aren’t who I thought you were. You are not the man you say you strive to be.

You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, but I’m not really angry anymore. I’m not hurt that you treated me the way you did this summer. I am very hurt, though (and you deserve to know and hear this) that you did not respect me or everything that had been between us. I am sad that I feel now that I never really knew you at all, and that when I look back on all those sweet, fond, innocent, exciting, charged, tender, funny, laughing, sexy, patient, stolen moments, they are tarnished now, and kind of empty. You have stolen away the brightness and warmth that you yourself gave me, and that I had made a part of myself for so long.

Goodbye. You made this choice. I don’t need to know why. But I hope you stay gone. I won’t try to find you.


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I am an adult. The time when you are awkwardly squirming to see if you can get your knee to brush against someone has long passed. A good 15 years passed. That’s why it was so odd that I found someone recently trying to do that to me. And they were even older than I was – farther from their teenhood. Farther from years where it may have been an acceptable means of displaying sexual tension. At first I was kind of grossed out by this awkward display of teen-like affection.

But as I was walking home alone, I had to appreciate it for the memories it brought up. When you are a teenager, these moments are thrilling. Even if you aren’t into the person, there is a least a story to tell your friends. “omigod they were totally trying to touch me when they passed me in the bleachers!”

You were one of the best examples of this awkward inches-from-each-other-really-wanting-to-touch-each-other thing.

I have a heart around your picture in my 8th grade yearbook. You were the grade below me, but you probably stayed back, so I bet you were older. You were super skinny and really really tall. I was short so it probably was amplified by my shortness, but you seemed like a total beanpole. You would pass in the hallway and my friend and I would whisper to each other “so cute!”

You had a blonde bowl haircut. That described everyone in my town though, so it didn’t make you stand out. I just still picture you like that now. An adult with a 7th grader in the 90’s haircut.

Somehow I took you to my semi formal. I actually don’t know how I arranged that.

I was thrilled to be dancing with you. Holding you close. Hoping my hair was in place. Hoping my bobby pins weren’t poking your chest. Hoping I smelled good to you. Hoping my dress was short enough, but not too short.

After the dance we “watched a movie” at my best friend’s house. That basically means you put a movie on and spend the next hour and forty five minutes trying to discern what every millisecond of movement means. Trying to inch closer with an exhale? Trying to move away with a stretch?

I don’t think we took it anywhere from there but even that one evening of crazy tension and eventual hand-holding-under-the-blanket was exhilarating.

Even though you are kind of gross and old fashioned now, I’m glad that you were a young crush. Back when innocence made a simple brush of flesh more thrilling than anything you can imagine now. Back when it wasn’t some odd creepy thing an older man does when your skirt is too short for them to contain themselves.

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We used to sit in band rehearsal and draw on each others sneakers.
We used to swim in your neighbors pool, yearning for the moments our skin would accidentally touch underwater.
Someone told me you looked a little bit like you should have been my brother, not my boyfriend. But I thought that would turn out okay for how cute and blonde our babies would be. Creepy!

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I lost the only love note you ever gave me. It was the best love note I ever got. Most emotional. Most intense. Most real. Most true. I put it in the blue cup on my windowsill. At some point, I must have gotten worried it would fade in the sun, so I moved it to my box of notes. Under the bed. That must be what happened because the only other terrifying possibility is that my mom found it. Read it. And threw it away?

I had a confidence in our love that I have never been able to replicate. I was so sure that it was forever that I wasn’t jealous when you told me about girls you had crushes on. I wasn’t jealous when you went away to college and were surrounded by other women. Older women. More experienced women. I wasn’t jealous when you dated other women. Women you really liked a whole lot and had a lot of feelings for. It didn’t matter to me, because I knew we would ultimately be together. We had to be.

I almost feel like I wasn’t even jealous when you married her. I still didn’t think it was real.

Now I’m not sure if it was the best love note ever because I can’t reread it repeatedly. We didn’t have electronic archives of every emotion back then. We only had rereading the note until the corners were bent and the creases started permanently fading the ink. Maybe it was a horrible love note and you weren’t even that into me. It’s lost forever though now, so I’ll just never know. I guess getting jealous wouldn’t have helped, but perhaps it was foolish of me to not see. I sometimes feel more mournful about the lost note than the lost love. However brief, that emotion was real and spoken. Not lost forever.

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I met you at the beach. Of course. Like a movie. That’s what teenagers are supposed to do. All my years of beach going with my family, I hoped I would meet some tan lifeguard or something. But we always went to beaches that were way too secluded – no other teens in sight. But I was dead set of some Sweet Valley High-esque moment sometime in my life.

So it happened when I was vacationing with a friend’s family. They knew the sort of beach a tanned teen would be at.

We spotted you on the first day of our week there. We pretended to play catch near you and miss catching the ball so that it would roll towards where you played paddle ball with your little brother. We crept closer and closer to you using this well-known teen stalking method. We pretended to take pictures of each other with you in the background so we could capture the moment – you without your shirt on in the sand.

It’s really quite embarrassing looking back. But somehow our antics worked and we ended up hanging out with you on the beach. Until your parents dragged you away.

Your last night there, you invited us to a party. But my dad came to town that night and decided 15 was too young for such shenanigans.

I was devastated. I got your address and we became pen-pals. You would send me pictures. You in your football uniform. Our town was too tiny to have a football team, so this added to the allure.

I can’t believe we actually wrote letters back and forth.

What did I think was going to happen? What did my parents think? You had sloppy handwriting and poor grammar. I guess we flirted in a way, and then it just faded. I wonder if it would have if we had gone to that party. Had a proper summer boy on the beach kiss. I would have really thought you’d be my husband someday then. Alas. I’ll just have to wait year after year after year for a new beach boyfriend.

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Even though it has been many years since we last talked and things didn’t exactly end well, not a day has passed that I have not thought about you. You were the first person I can honestly say I pictured spending my life with and I have so many wonderful memories of our time together. I wish I could go back and change things. I wish things I had worked out differently. And while I knew the time would come that you would find someone else and progress through the relationship stages with them, it doesn’t make it any easier. I sincerely wish you the best. I wish you knew how much I cared, how much you still mean to me, and how much you will always mean to me- it is a love that will never fade.


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You always wanted me to write you a letter, but I couldn’t do it.

You are the friend of a dear childhood friend. But I didn’t meet you that way. It was a coincidence. You came to my boyfriends house to for the first round of interviews for a job I was applying for. You were tall and thin and excitable. I could tell even then that despite your exhaustion in that moment, you were filled with electricity. When I found out you were friends with someone I trusted so well, I implicitly trusted you more easily. You napped on my boyfriends couch after our interview. I gave you a snack of carrots and hummus. I took the job eventually and you and I became friends.

Our work situation was super intense, and it created a storm of intensity between us that I can still honestly say I have never felt with anyone else. I wanted to remain friends and you wanted more, but I was terrified of losing you as someone I could lean on (which of course ended up being true). You say you fell in love with me when we painted our rooms together. Mine bright orange. Yours bright blue. We got lazy towards the end of yours. Soon after, you stuck a piece of chewed gum to the wall next to my bed and pulled off a chunk of paint. I realized how I felt about you when I spent two days away from you. I couldn’t believe our friendship was so close that I noticed you were gone after such a short separation.

You were loud and exciting and loving. You feel things with such a bigness that it spills over into everything and everyone around you. In a lot of ways, it was exactly what I needed in that moment.

We traveled, we laughed, we sang, we danced. I trusted you. And you were only the third boy I ever had sex with. I think I learned a lot from you, but mostly in the abstract how I relate to my sexuality way, not in the way your first boyfriend teaches you about sex.

For reasons unrelated to you or our relationship, I got depressed and it soon became too much to handle, completely tearing our relationship apart.

I realized yesterday that years have gone by since we broke up. It seems so far away, yet not that long ago. I am glad that you are happy now and not under pressure to deal with me. I reread an email you sent me when we were breaking up and it amazes me that while you hated me so much you also loved me beyond logical measure. Things are calmer now that you aren’t in my life, but there is something to be said for the untethered emotion you live your life with.

I hope that even if you feel negative things about me you know that I only reflect mostly on the love and goodness we shared, not the things that were so damaging. You truly are a good one, despite my overusage of that phrase. I hope all the goodness in the world for you buddy.

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I remember laying in the back of your dad’s minivan making out really quietly while he drove us home. Somehow the seats must have been removed because it was dark enough that he couldn’t see us laying flat back there. He had just picked us up at the bowling alley. Of course he knew we were making out. Parents always know more than kids give them credit for. He probably thought it was adorable and amazing and he was right.

Your kisses were soft and inexperienced, but every single touch was an absolute thrill. We never made out until after we broke up, and for some reason, I was fine with that. I think the pressure of a “relationship” was all too much for me and this “casual kissing” seemed much more my pace. I was sad about the break up though, so I’m curious how I reconciled it all in my head. I wonder if I cried again when that stopped happening. How does a teenager mourn the loss of an already over relationship? I can’t remember how it finally ended. You probably just found someone who can handle everything you wanted.

I think you were the last boy I dated who acknowledged Valentine’s Day existed while we were dating. You sent me flowers. To my locker? Or delivered to me at lunch. I was so overwhelmed, yet simultaneously thrilled. Did I bring them home? What did my parent’s think? You probably were a really good boyfriend. Especially as high school boyfriends go. I wonder how it would have been different if dating didn’t scare me so much. Not that I think we would be together now or anything. Just that maybe we would have had some good innocent high school make out sessions. That maybe could have prepared me more for what was coming next.


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I think of you often, but not as much as I used to. I really hope you are well out there in the emptiness of the desert, if that is where you are now. There were so many rules about what we couldn’t talk about, because of your job or your ex-wife, or whatever. I tried to follow them all, and be as good to you as you were to me. And I tried to tell myself that I could have sex with you without being emotionally involved, even though I knew it was impossible. I loved you in the way a young girl loves a man, a man who was so careful and patient and sexy. That is to say, I loved you too much. I wanted to love you with my heart and soul and I could only love you with my shy stiff damaged body. And I did and it was awesome. You let me please you and tease you and kiss you (never enough;I love kissing you).

We talked, we laughed, we teased, we flirted, and then we would go to bed. I only ever saw you in my dorm apartment on campus, but it was okay. You wanted me, and I didn’t understand why, but I wanted you too. You were an absolute gentleman every time, always so careful of me, but never afraid to put your hands on me, to move me around when I couldn’t do it myself. You had magic hands, everywhere at once. The first orgasm i ever had, I couldn’t even breathe.

You taught me, patiently, how to please you. I love giving you head, and I love giving head because of you. If I saw you tomorrow I would give you head without question. One time, you touched your beautiful big dick all over my face. It was the most erotic thing, I think, that I ever experienced.

You were always being deployed; I was always terrified you wouldn’t come back. You did. Then you were very sick and I feared you would die. You didn’t. We haven´t spoken in years, but I wish I could tell you…You made me feel so beautiful, so whole, so enough for you. I never thought a man would want me. You couldn’t keep your hands off me. I’m so glad that you were my first. Even though I hardly knew you, I trusted you, and you are an amazing man. I hope you have someone with you who appreciates all the things you do and who you are. I do.

Much love and many thanks.

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