Who was your first love?
First one?
Rather fleeting...
Gurls
My first real girlfriend, other than dancer number three from the Jackie Gleason Show, was Patricia.
Fourth grade I think it was.
She had this smile, this beguiling smile, and if per chance she cast one your way, well, it turned all us guys into befuddled masses of profound stupidity.
I was no exception…and she knew it.
So every time she would come near, or I mysteriously found myself near her, I’d make sure and do something cool, like flip my fountain pen up in the air and nonchalantly catch it, writing side down.
Unknowing that I’d just sprayed myself with a unique pattern of Sheaffer traditional blue ....Boob, James Boob.
Oh, yeah, and her eyes…flashing, batting brown eyes….and some kinda smell too...better than, say, my catcher’s mitt, or even gramma’s rhubarb pie.
That’s all I remember about her looks.
Didn’t even consider the shape of her hind end, or if she even had one for that matter.
One blessed day her parents invited my parents to dinner.
I sat across the table from her, sipping my shaken not stirred fruit punch, creating a rather distinguished looking purple mustache.
These folks had lived outta the states for a few years, and rather proudly offered up their unusual cuisine.
There, on my plate, was a heaping festering mound of curry and rice. Not the spicy curry of the orient, no, this was some sorta green slimey slices of slugguts.
Patricia smiled at me.
I forked the slug slices, and moved them around my plate, mustering and encouraging my life long taste buds for fried potatoes, hamburger patties and ketchup.
I furtively went to the potatoes.
Only they were swimming in some sorta gawd awful milk sauce...not fried, definitely not fried.
I think I had two bites, feigning nausea, gladly skipping dessert which looked much like mousse of dog vomit.
Patricia invited me up to her room (HER ROOM!!!), upstairs, legs of Patricia, leading the way...huh, Patricia has legs....nice, really really nice legs (self; wimin my age have legs too. Take note.)
And there I was, in a girl’s room.
Puffy, fuzzy things.
Pink things.
Lacy, frilly things.
Some sorta awning of posts and frilly cloth over her bed.
Pillows, stuffed toys, more pillows, more toys.
So there we were.
‘Nice place ya got here’ (I almost said ‘doll face’, but somehow knew my Bogart wasn’t working any better than my Bond).
‘You are in third place on my list.’
(‘what? There’s a list?’)
‘If you kiss my locket, you’ll be at the top.’
(‘If I kiss her locket?’)
(‘what the heck is a locket?’)
She pulled a dainty gold chain from where, I’d discover years later, cleavage came from.
Her locket was a little gold heart.
I felt really really stupid.
Here I was, in a gurl’s room, with all this claustrophobic crap, and even considering kissing her locket for cryin’ out lowd.
Get me the heck outta here!
(bat, bat, smile)
S-o-o-o-o after I kissed her locket, landing me solidly into first place, we went downstairs.
Funny thing. Next day at school, I took on a much different persona.
My once pitter patting heart went back to a normal beat.
Her smile took on a more sneer like function.
Her batting eyes became nothing more than a possible Tourette.
Her smell took on the odor of curry.
Basically, she disgusted me, and less than 24 ago, I kissed her locket...damn.
My first fleeting relationship.
Not for locker room lore.
. but who was the first person who stirred your emotions and got you giddy.... Can you remember their name ?.. How old were you?
. Haven't seen her since grade 8 
