What is the name of your first love?
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kotori
Fool of Fortune
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First crush: Donna, about the 6th or 7th grade. Never got past talking to her.
First tongue kiss: Beth, 10th grade, on the floor of the gym, at a school dance. The band was playing "Paint it Black."
First full-blown romance, going steady and sex partner: Linda, right after high school and for over three years after that.
First "room mate": another Donna--we didn't stay together long, but it was sweet while it lasted.
First wife: I'd better wait until the papers are signed, whenever that might be.
First tongue kiss: Beth, 10th grade, on the floor of the gym, at a school dance. The band was playing "Paint it Black."
First full-blown romance, going steady and sex partner: Linda, right after high school and for over three years after that.
First "room mate": another Donna--we didn't stay together long, but it was sweet while it lasted.
First wife: I'd better wait until the papers are signed, whenever that might be.
bad kitty
naughty feline
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Andrew C. He still has a place in my heart. We became friends when I was 12 and he was 15 or 16. He was my friend's boyfriend, but it was long distance for him to call her, so he would call he and talk to me and relay messages. Eventually we fell in love. He and the other girl were never serious to begin with. I loved him all throughout High School. He finally asked me to officially be his girlfriend my freshman year. We never officially broke it off. He would fool around with other girls but always came back to me. My archrival always said that he had her in his arms and me on a pedistal in his heart. I gave up on his games and went ahead and got married when I was 19. within the month he married the archrival. I still wonder if it was because he could no longer have me. The one thing I regret the most is that we never had sex. I regret that more than I ever dreamed.
HeavyStick
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My first "love" was when I was drunk at a party. I got ripped off of some Jim Beam, next thing I remember was a tall blonde (about 6'3) riding me like a merry go round.
I woke up with her number in my pocket, she also wrote it on my chest in lipstick. We continued to be fuck buddies for some time.
I woke up with her number in my pocket, she also wrote it on my chest in lipstick. We continued to be fuck buddies for some time.
MercyMia
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First Love
My first love (after myriad crushes) was Greg, a classmate in college math. There was something extremely cool and unflappable about him. Nothing fazed him. I loved that still quality. He had the sexiest eyes and the way he looked at people, it seemed like he saw who they really were. He was tall, lanky, a bean pole with limbs carelessly screwed on. We got to be good friends. We spent a lot of time on campus at the library, at the canteen, sitting on benches, talking, talking, talking. Friends would see us and laughingly shake their heads because we spent so much time together. We also talked on the phone for hours. He'd come over to my house and hang out. He'd play the guitar and sing to me. Melt, melt, melted Mia. He sang at folkhouses and sometimes I'd take him to his auditions and sit at a front table, eating free food (as his companion) and in the dark smoky room, I would fall in love with him again and again. His voice was just okay, but it was the way he sang, the way he put the song out there and made people listen, that was what was really cool.
We drifted apart after a couple of years--different majors, different political stances. On the surface, nothing romantic had developed beyond a nice solid friendship. But I had written several love poems about him. My best friend was crazy for him, too, but since I knew him first, she was honorable enough to leave him to me. I don't think he ever knew how much I was in love with him.
Some years later, after I was married and very pregnant, I was standing in a crowded lobby, about to attend a concert. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and then wrapped me in a tight embrace. It was Greg. He stepped back and held me at arm's length and gave me that careful studied look and took in my protruding belly...a funny expression came over his face, as if a door was closing. But he smiled and in his usual cool manner, asked how I was and where I was sitting. I was with my husband (who at that time was a possessive, jealous, insecure person) so I told Greg it would be better if we just sat in our own places. That was the last time I saw him.
Since then, I've heard a couple of things about him from different friends--they both add up to the probability that he is gay or at least bisexual. It's been a puzzlement to me all these years, how he spent so much time with me in college, and didn't ever let on about his leanings. Perhaps he didn't know enough of himself then. I think the cool exterior was a good mask for inner turmoil.
No, I wouldn't want to revive anything with him. I learned a lot from that relationship. I loved deep, hard and long (sounds like an erect penis...maybe that's a good analogy for crazy love) and gave everything I had at that time to the moment. I have good feelings and memories about that.
My first love (after myriad crushes) was Greg, a classmate in college math. There was something extremely cool and unflappable about him. Nothing fazed him. I loved that still quality. He had the sexiest eyes and the way he looked at people, it seemed like he saw who they really were. He was tall, lanky, a bean pole with limbs carelessly screwed on. We got to be good friends. We spent a lot of time on campus at the library, at the canteen, sitting on benches, talking, talking, talking. Friends would see us and laughingly shake their heads because we spent so much time together. We also talked on the phone for hours. He'd come over to my house and hang out. He'd play the guitar and sing to me. Melt, melt, melted Mia. He sang at folkhouses and sometimes I'd take him to his auditions and sit at a front table, eating free food (as his companion) and in the dark smoky room, I would fall in love with him again and again. His voice was just okay, but it was the way he sang, the way he put the song out there and made people listen, that was what was really cool.
We drifted apart after a couple of years--different majors, different political stances. On the surface, nothing romantic had developed beyond a nice solid friendship. But I had written several love poems about him. My best friend was crazy for him, too, but since I knew him first, she was honorable enough to leave him to me. I don't think he ever knew how much I was in love with him.
Some years later, after I was married and very pregnant, I was standing in a crowded lobby, about to attend a concert. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and then wrapped me in a tight embrace. It was Greg. He stepped back and held me at arm's length and gave me that careful studied look and took in my protruding belly...a funny expression came over his face, as if a door was closing. But he smiled and in his usual cool manner, asked how I was and where I was sitting. I was with my husband (who at that time was a possessive, jealous, insecure person) so I told Greg it would be better if we just sat in our own places. That was the last time I saw him.
Since then, I've heard a couple of things about him from different friends--they both add up to the probability that he is gay or at least bisexual. It's been a puzzlement to me all these years, how he spent so much time with me in college, and didn't ever let on about his leanings. Perhaps he didn't know enough of himself then. I think the cool exterior was a good mask for inner turmoil.
No, I wouldn't want to revive anything with him. I learned a lot from that relationship. I loved deep, hard and long (sounds like an erect penis...maybe that's a good analogy for crazy love) and gave everything I had at that time to the moment. I have good feelings and memories about that.
