Tuesday, February 05, 2013
- How old were you the first time you fell in love?
The first time I fell in love was a heady, intoxicating and head – or heart – first experience when I was fourteen – well I was really close to fifteen. I’d gotten my first job at McDonald’s in April of the year I turned fifteen in July.
I had recently begun breaking out of my shy, good-girl shell and was running at a break neck speed towards the secretly-insecure-very-confident-on-the-outside and reckless person I would become by grade eleven. High school was a weird time for me. I turned my back on the group I hung out with – or who tolerated me might be more accurate – and tried to make new friends in grade ten but a few disastrous results later I ended up back with those friends that had tolerated me since grade school. In a small town high school that is a mightily hard thing to do. Interestingly, none of these girls are in my life anymore, although they all stuck to each other in their own lives. I guess this is a bit of a thorn for me because I always felt like the outsider. But I digress, this isn’t about those girls, it’s about BadBoy, my first love.
Anyway, when I got my job I was in that weird girl-woman stage with zero real life experience, I don’t think I had ever been kissed! There I met BadBoy – I use this term with endearment, I would have found trouble regardless of BadBoy and he was by no means the worst bad boy I would date either, but he was the first boy to show me the fun things that were taboo. He opened my eyes to my attraction to bad boys, sex and excitement and was a couple of years older, which is always an attractive quality. He had worked there well before me, but I hadn’t noticed him until all of a sudden one day a few weeks into my job we locked eyes over the burger bin and… well I wish I could say the rest is history in that romantic way other stories have but unfortunately ours is a long, sordid and broken history.
BadBoy and I spent the better part of three summers together. This first summer we would flirt at work, steal kisses in the cooler and find outdoor places to rev up our bodily desires. It was my first real experience with love – although the words weren’t uttered that summer the sentiments were there. The weekend of the town fair was to be the first time we spent more than an hour or two together and I remember our encounter like it was yesterday instead of years ago.
On that day I had chosen the perfect outfit, done my hair and makeup to show my best features and I was practically trembling with excitement. We were supposed to meet up around five and head over to the town’s annual fair. It was early August, still blisteringly warm during the day but, unlike the scorching July days and nights, the evenings and nights managed to cool to the perfect balmy temperatures.
At this point we hadn’t talked about everything in our worlds. In classic bad boy style, BadBoy was the silent, intense type. He told me more with his body and face than he could with his words whenever we were together. At this point my sexual knowledge started and ended with BadBoy. Before the fair there were quite a few heated make out sessions and heavy petting under the stars. He was the first guy I went down on and the one who made me love doing it for receptive partners. And the night of the fair, he was also the first boy I slept with.
I have to say, I consider myself rather lucky in my choice of a first time partner. BadBoy tried harder than any man since to make me enjoy myself and find what I liked. But I’m getting ahead of myself as all that happened in the summers after the night of the fair. That night we were both novices fumbling our way to something extraordinary. Luckily, the night I had sex for the first time was the same night I learned what it meant to make love.
On that day, as afternoon turned to evening, we met at McDonald’s before walking to the fair. While eating there our conversation had turned to outdoor places I had never been in our small town. He told me about a forest path he knew about and I asked if we could go see it instead of going to the fair. I love the outdoors, and he knew I loved exploring new and unknown places, so it was a perfectly romantic idea in my mind, and he was ever so excited that I suggested it. I still remember how his face lit up at my suggestion. I have never been a fan of huge crowds, and I don’t think he has ever liked to be amongst the masses either, one-on-one was – and for me still is, but I can’t speak for him as we haven’t spoken in ten years or more – more our style.
The sun was low in the sky when we arrived at the entrance to the path we were going to take and about fifteen minutes later we found a perfect little grassy riverbank bordered on all sides, save the river side, with woods. It was off the beaten path and invisible from anyone who passed by – not that anyone did – because of the thick still-green foliage of late summer. It smelt wonderful, both earthy and woody with overtones of some flowers blooming nearby. The rest of the world, including the faint music coming from the fair we were supposed to be at, dropped away. Almost immediately we found a comfortable spot to lay together with me in his arms. I smoked my first joint, feeling very grown up as I rested my head against his shoulder and inhaled. However, coughing until I was blue in the face took that sentiment away rather quickly. Then just as quickly, as every first time stoner should, I laughed my into tears at the whole situation.
As we finished and he smoked a cigarette, we talked about our life experience. Albeit, I had little in the ways of worldliness so it was more me asking him questions but either way, I had always been curious about sex so naturally our conversation made it’s leisurely way to that blushing subject. He was very open with me, telling me that he had had a girlfriend the previous year and how she was a couple of years older and ‘showed him the female ropes’.
I distinctly remember furrowing my brow and naively asking, “What ropes?” and him replying gently, “It may be better if I showed you rather than explained.” Then he kissed me. As his hands slid over my flat stomach I thought, ‘Oh, those ropes!’
We kissed and explored and touched and licked. As the sun was setting, my first time, the ultimate expression of my first love, unfolded with as much naturalness as sex between two fumbling teenagers can.
That night was the night I discovered the togetherness and partnership resulting from sex, he showed me that magical time when all I had to do was breathe while I made him smile. He helped me find that place that stayed hidden to many others in the years following. He was alternatively gentle and powerful, letting me lead then taking control, telling me I’m beautiful then sexy as things progressed. He thanked me for the gift I had given him and made sure I felt not only satisfied but loved.
When it was all over, we lay there kissing and watching the stars. I was to be picked up back at the McDonald’s at eleven so slowly and reluctantly we extricated our limbs, found and put on our scattered clothing, all the while stealing minutes here and there to kiss and just be generally joyous. When we were ready I walked hand in hand with BadBoy, tripping and laughing our way back out of the woods. I had stars in my eyes and my whole body blushing and buzzing. I felt so… alive?
Anyway, as I said, ours is not a happy ending. In fact every one of our three endings are worse and more tragic than the last. However, this summer there were no hard feelings, maybe some sadness because we had shared something special – for both of us, not just because it was my ‘first time’ – that night on the riverbank and the few times after.
Back to the story… A few weeks after the fair, he got fired – for being late because he was kissing me – and we only saw each other a few more times. When we went back to school in September we just drifted. We had different groups of friends and so we let things lie.
Until the next summer… But that is another post. But the third summer is the juiciest and most emotional of all, and to be honest I am not sure I will or even can write about it. There are four – actually I’ve just recently admitted there’s a fifth – men, although I’ve dated more, who have made a huge impact on my view of relationships and men but BadBoy was the first boy to get and return my love. Some days, a lot of the time actually, I think he was the most bittersweet of them all.
When was the first time you fell in love?
Next up: Do you remain friends with your boyfriends after you’ve broken up?
As always, thanks for taking a minute with me!