I'm currently 33 years old, which means at some point between June and August it will be the 21st anniversary of my first teenage love affair. His name was Joshua C. and he had ginger coloured hair and loads of freckles. He was a peer counselor at the summer camp I went to for a couple weeks during the summer of my 12th birthday and I liked him so much that during the camp talent show I wore a poodle skirt and sang Madonna [badly] to woo him. We lived in the same city and wrote letters, but one day our correspondence stopped.
I was broken hearted. Given how long heartache can last at the tender age of 12 I proved to be amazingly resilient thanks to an always J. Crew or Ralph Lauren clad Argentian boy named Tomas H. who had longish hair and clear green eyes and a smile he never once beamed in my direction. Heartache for Joshua was now longing for Tomas.
Many other heartaches later and now 18 I ran into Joshua again. He was dating my friend and almost immediately I figured out that I'd dodged a major bullet. The first time we were alone together to catch up on the past five years he spent ten minutes telling me how he liked to fuck my friend Brandy in the ass - when she took a shower first. The boy I'd crushed on and given some of my very first kisses to grew up to be a dick.
I never said I love you to Joshua. I told my friends I was in love because that's what you do at the age of 12. You obsess about your boobs and your period and going to the mall and the boys you let kiss you and maybe cop a feel. You obsess and you call it love because to me it was love. I was a moron. I thought that was what love was back then- a few feelings, a few kisses, a few trips to the movies, and then a love that would last forever.
Love turned out to be nothing like what I thought it would be. After years of hoping to meet my special someone and fall in love I did. Then we fell out of love. Then I met someone else and another someone else and so on until finally I met the person and now wisely I don't care to meet anyone else ever again!
All kidding aside for me there was a definite day where I felt something just sort of clicked into place.
If you've ever dislocated something and had it relocated (hopefully after being injected with very powerful narcotics because it does fucking hurt) that is the best way to describe it. One day there was a click and I just knew I was with the person I most wanted to be with in all the world and all those things I once told myself about there not being someone out there in the world just for me was just because I was afraid that one day I would want a future with someone and wouldn't find somebody.
As someone who has found their somebody, please let me offer you a little advice that I sometimes wish someone had given me a long time ago. It doesn't matter if you have things in common or if the timing is right or if you wait eight dates to fuck his brains out or eight minutes. All that matters is that you and your someone have a love between you that stays alive no matter what kind of shit you, her, him, them, or life chucks at you.
I wish I could tell you the how part, but there is no how. Sorry.
(And no, I didn't try to sound like Yoda on purpose.)
I was broken hearted. Given how long heartache can last at the tender age of 12 I proved to be amazingly resilient thanks to an always J. Crew or Ralph Lauren clad Argentian boy named Tomas H. who had longish hair and clear green eyes and a smile he never once beamed in my direction. Heartache for Joshua was now longing for Tomas.
Many other heartaches later and now 18 I ran into Joshua again. He was dating my friend and almost immediately I figured out that I'd dodged a major bullet. The first time we were alone together to catch up on the past five years he spent ten minutes telling me how he liked to fuck my friend Brandy in the ass - when she took a shower first. The boy I'd crushed on and given some of my very first kisses to grew up to be a dick.
I never said I love you to Joshua. I told my friends I was in love because that's what you do at the age of 12. You obsess about your boobs and your period and going to the mall and the boys you let kiss you and maybe cop a feel. You obsess and you call it love because to me it was love. I was a moron. I thought that was what love was back then- a few feelings, a few kisses, a few trips to the movies, and then a love that would last forever.
Love turned out to be nothing like what I thought it would be. After years of hoping to meet my special someone and fall in love I did. Then we fell out of love. Then I met someone else and another someone else and so on until finally I met the person and now wisely I don't care to meet anyone else ever again!
All kidding aside for me there was a definite day where I felt something just sort of clicked into place.
If you've ever dislocated something and had it relocated (hopefully after being injected with very powerful narcotics because it does fucking hurt) that is the best way to describe it. One day there was a click and I just knew I was with the person I most wanted to be with in all the world and all those things I once told myself about there not being someone out there in the world just for me was just because I was afraid that one day I would want a future with someone and wouldn't find somebody.
As someone who has found their somebody, please let me offer you a little advice that I sometimes wish someone had given me a long time ago. It doesn't matter if you have things in common or if the timing is right or if you wait eight dates to fuck his brains out or eight minutes. All that matters is that you and your someone have a love between you that stays alive no matter what kind of shit you, her, him, them, or life chucks at you.
I wish I could tell you the how part, but there is no how. Sorry.
(And no, I didn't try to sound like Yoda on purpose.)
