Quick note:

Acronyms are all the rage! JWC = July Writing Challenge. This way I can include the actual prompt IN the title and not have you forced to dig around for it. You'll either be interested from the get-go and I spare you a click or you won't and something else on the interwebs grabs your attention...like a cat or a snarky comment by some rando who aggravated everyone in the thread above him. Either way –there ya go Oprah gif–


Today's topic is all about my first kiss AND first love, and since they were not one and the same, I'll delve into each separately. Scandalous! Kidding. Especially if you know anything about my sexual/relationship history on the whole, a kiss really, in the grand scheme of things, "ain't shit," as the kids say (used to say?).

That said, first kisses are a big deal.

So big in fact, I don't even remember his name (twss). No seriously. I think it was John? Maybe it was Mike? I don't know, in the end it's some standard run of the mill male name that I've no doubt he's attached to still and that's that. But the back story:

I was eleven years old (11 was a really interesting year for me, but more on that later...maybe) and my friends and I – 3 girls, 3 boys – were playing, you guessed it, spin the bottle. Stooped on a small stone porch of an abandoned house, the six of us squeezed in a circle formation and nervously stared from one person to the next. None of us really wanted to kiss any of us – the boys were lame and us girls were just "guys" so attraction wasn't a thing back then. Again, we were 11.

Anyway, it was my turn to spin and spin I did. It rounded the girls twice, passed the boys again before landing on MikeJohn or JohnMike; we each stood up, much to the teasing hoots and hollers of our friends, and smooched (little bit of tongue, too! lol). I don't remember if I closed my eyes – perhaps I did? I know I never ever kiss anyone with my eyes open, no matter if its cheek or lips, so I'm guessing maybe they were open with MJ(JM) and it traumatized me for the rest of my life? Could be the case.

BUT then it was over we eased down into our spots, watching the game go on until my parents picked me up on that wild summer evening. I don't remember his name, or the other boys (Chrissy and Meghan were the girls) but I do recall this distinct feeling that JM(MJ) was grossed out that HE had to kiss ME. Like I was offensively unappealing so much so that if he scowled afterwards, I wouldn't have been shocked. How rude, my man! How rude.

I've recovered, though I'm fully convinced my brain erased his stupid name from the bank because of that shitty after-feeling on Kiss Number 1. And there's that!

Now onto the muddied, complicated, sordid, sometimes-awful story of my first love. Prepare: I'm gonna reveal things in here that might be more TMI than normal, but in order to properly tell the abridged tale, some things need it.

My first love was not my first "love." That is, as I grew older, I realized my first-everything (minus the kiss) never, not even a little bit, earned that part of my heart. I'm going back and forth deciding on whether or not to name names. It's not as though I keep contact with First Everything or First Love these days...

Let's go with their initials to be safe.

PB was First Everything. First real boyfriend, first date, first sexual partner, first pregnancy scare, first experience with abuse and first lesson in negative relationship longevity – where I learned staying with someone because it's convenient or comfortable is far harder than leaving.

AF was First Love. We're going to skip over all of PB because that's not what this blog is about.

AF was...oh, boy. A mess, really. Met him on a whim when I was called at the ass-crack of dawn (730 am to a teenager on their day off from work) to fill in for a theme park trip because someone else canceled. I agreed because I adore my friends and will do anything for them, despite the time. Lauren, I love you still. ;)

I was 18 when I met AF, three years on from when I met PB (PB and I dated for about 2.5 years) and I was relatively-newly single and happy and content. Had no desire to be with anyone, just wanted to enjoy being me again, after ending a horrible horrible relationship with PB.

Okay, okay, back to the First Love.

18, theme park trip, AF.

AF was immediately into me and I into him. You just form connections with some people that start off with a bang and, unfortunately, end with one as well. Not sure we'll get to that but just know that the spark was a fucking fire by minute two and it was almost impossibly hard to dismiss.

But I had to dismiss it. Because AF was Lauren's ex. She had invited me to help her get his attention back...not steal it from her. Long story short: I did help wherever I could, I did everything in my power to push those two together but by midday, Lauren was well and truly into AF's best friend, NA, and so she released me from any obligations. Still, I'm a ride or die bitch and I my best to push him away and denied all his come-ons. I flirted but I didn't flirt, ya know?

Because, as I would learn the hard way farther down the line, AF was a chaser. From moment one, he chased chased chased me and the more I turned him away and turned him down, the harder he would chase. Not in the bad, creepy way. I mean, he knew I wanted him, but I just...held back. For six months, I declined his date invitations, his calls, his texts, I just NO'd him left and right.

Until one day, I didn't. We took another group road trip over the week of my 19th birthday. And it was during this that I finally gave in. I asked him to be with me, he said yes and then we spent 7 glorious weeks together.

Seven. That's it. Months of chasing, buying and sending me gifts...for seven weeks.

Because AF had this thing where he "didn't date girls for longer than two months." LOL. Seriously he said that to me and he meant it.

Only. In the moment it was happening, I knew he didn't want to do what he did. He was upset breaking it off, I was upset, confused, heartbroken. Embarrassingly so, but I wear my heart on my sleeve and when I'm in love, I love with a fiery passion and can't just turn it off because the other party wants or expects me to. Fuck that nonsense.

Also, I was his first everything and we were well and truly in love.

But still, he was a man of that ONE true word and ended it still. Worst time of my life. That haze of heartache and depression caused an eating disorder to return, a cutting spell that lasted years and eventually lead to more abusive relationships with older men. A girl had to find a way to cope, right?

Gosh, I didn't want this to be so long and yet I feel like I've not said much at all when it comes to AF.  

I believe, truly, that AF deserves a blog series – what do y'all think? I could tell you the nitty gritty and spin your heads faster than that bottle from all those years ago. AF was emotionally, physically and verbally abusive to me. We spent years doing a on again, off again dance where I allowed him so much control over my heart and life. I missed out on two great relationships with guys I WANTED because I thought...maybe AF will want me back?

Sheesh.

Even so, that's the truth. That's my truth. Well, the teeny tiny surface area of it anyway.

So let's cut it there and let me know – blog series on AF? Would it be beneficial or helpful to learn this sort of history of mine? To share this sort of history of mine?

You can email me to let me know at hello.wildcollective@gmail.com or ironseapodcast@gmail.com


Day 3/31 = Complete!

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