I do not need forget-me-nots, he loves me, he loves me not.

Forget? Forget my first lov, I will not.

Winter storms may have sunk the sun, succumbing beneath the surface of a particularly suffocating snow, but that same buried beam shone upon my parents on the day that I was born.

Except it was not they who were the lucky ones.

The lucky one was me.

There was no greed, no jealousy, no lies, no deceit, that blossomed on that dismal day, for the pollen had distributed already, there upon us three, a new-made family.

Love would now bloom in our hearts, forever and a day.

And that will always be my first love, for all I am was crafted then, and all because of they.

#fiction #fantasy #prose

Blog - Hannahvernon.co.uk

Parental Advisory: contains scenes of mild raunchiness.

My first love?

At 14, at 16 at 25 and 30 I thought I was in love.

But my first true love came so much later. It was only then I knew what true love felt like. All the others were just shadows.

We “met” on line. Words, then pictures, then calls. Her voice broke through my clouds, like dazzling rays. Her smile lit up my world.

You can’t fall in love like this? Surely.

But we did. From the very start.

And so she flew to me.

The airport set the tone.

Buckle in... this is raunchy!

As she came through the gate our smiles collided, lighting up the world.

She ran to me and jumped into my arms. I swung her round as we kissed, uniting our souls for ever.

Pushing her against the wall, my hand went to her breasts, touching and holding them through her sweater. She gasped urgently. We had waited twelve months for this. Our passion had no control.

Passers by passed by, barely noticing us.

Her hand went to my crotch, swiftly unzipping me and slipping inside. Without the hindrance of underwear, she found what she wanted. Hard and aching. Leaving it there, she held it gently. Our bodies pressed together, hiding her hand from view.

My left hand pushed against her pussy, through her summer skirt. Fingers pushing against her. Finding her sweet spot through the material.

And we kissed. For an eternity.

And this was the start. Without words.

In love.

Forever more.

*********************

In reality I have not met this lady, yet.

We have not kissed.

Or touched.

But was this just a dream?

It happened and I woke up gasping.

Perhaps it was a vision.

Perhaps she is out there now. Reading these words.

Perhaps.

By the age of 21 I had several unrequited crushes. I had been on a few one and done casual dates. I even had a boyfriend for a couple of months during my freshman year of college. None of these boys/men ever touched my heart. Something was always missing. There was no attraction, no chemistry. This was the 1990s so the lingo wasn’t there but if it was today, I would have wondered if I were asexual.

After my last unrequited crush, when I realized he was in love with one of my best friends, I decided I needed a change. I decided not to work as a teacher’s assistant at a preschool for the summer but accepted a job at a family friend’s specialty shoe store.

He was 34, divorced, but still not quite over his ex-wife. He was a teacher down South and took this job in the Midwest as a last ditch effort in trying to win her back. Instead, he met me. He came in for an interview and we only locked eyes for a brief moment, but something in the room changed.

He started work a week later and flirted with me all day long. I subtly let him know I was single to test the waters, and he asked me out. My heart pounded with excitement and I wanted to say yes. But I had reservations about our age difference, his past, and was overwhelmed by the tension and chemistry between us whenever we were in the same room.

We danced around our attraction all summer long and when I could no longer stand it, I finally said yes. The date was everything I hoped for. He presented me with a single red rose at dinner. At the end of the evening, he walked me to my door and gave me a chaste kiss that sent shivers down my spine.

The end of the summer came all too soon. I went back for my senior year of college and he retuned to his teaching job. Despite the distance, we stayed in touch for seven more months, mostly through letters and phone calls, remember, this was the 90s, so those calls were expensive.

He came to visit in December and we shared more passionate kisses and I let him touch me as no others had. It was very tame, I realize now, above the waist, but for the first time I wanted more. For him, I was insatiable.

There were more charged phone calls and letters through March when I came down to visit him for my spring break. The day before, I had disappointedly started my period, but that didn’t dampen my passion for him. My first night there, we did everything short of losing my virginity and with his encouragement, I touched him in ways I never wanted to with anyone else. He had awakened my passion and stole my heart.

The next morning, however, he was cold and distant towards me. That night, after he returned home from work we walked on the beach. “We need to talk.” His tone was somber and he didn’t look at me. “I met somebody else and I think she could be important to me. We can’t do this anymore.” I fought back tears as he continued, “I owe this to you. You and your interest in me gave me the confidence to approach her,” I was heartbroken, to me he was everything but I was a mere transition liaison. The final twist of the knife came when I replied, “But our relationship...” He bit back, “We didn’t have a relationship, we only went out on a few dates.”

At the time, it was devastating but as a grown up with a little more life experience, I realize that I shouldn’t have fallen in love with him. I should have used him, as he used me, to explore my sexuality. If I had taken off my naive romantic rose colored glasses, I could have had a very passionate, no strings attached, interaction.

My first love loved me more than I loved him. I did love him, but I just couldn’t make myself vulnerable enough to return his love in the same way. Still, I was closer to him than I was to anyone else, and we talked on the phone every night for hours, even on nights when he’d pick me up in his piece of junk car and take me to the movies, or to grab a burger. We were seventeen and eighteen, and our worlds hadn’t even begun to open up. We went to prom together in 2015, and I was so nervous and he was so sweet. Two months later, I told him we needed to break up because I was moving several states away. Three months after that, he was gone.

I was walking my dogs when my best friend called me. One of her dad’s friends had been the one to find him. I didn’t believe her. Later that day, our youth pastor’s wife called me. She told me everything she knew. He left a note, with all the typical points. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, he just couldn’t do it, he had saved up enough money to pay for his funeral. I was still in shock. Three days later, I read his obituary and cried for the first time. Then, I didn’t stop crying for a week.

I didn’t go to his funeral. At first, I regretted that, but I don’t anymore. I hate funerals. Instead, I gathered around with some friends and we talked about our good memories of him. We laughed and cried together, and I felt a little better. Then I went home, and I was alone, and I felt worse. It took me two years to stop actively mourning. It took me three years to feel healed. Now it’s been four years, and I can look back with a smile, or with tears, and either way, it’s okay. I can never forget my first love, but I have learned to love again.

He was perfect. there is no other way to describe it. But just beacuse he was perfect, doesnt mean it was meant to be. In fact, it was the opposite. we were just two teenagers in desperately in love. clinging to each other for everything. He was nerdy, inexperianced, and he was older. I was the young, experianced girl, who was absolutely taken with him. I could'nt think of anyone else, could'nt dream of anyone else, could'nt hope for anyone else. he wanted to lose his virginity. He was so afraid of turning 18 and being a virgin. It scared him. I tried so many times to explain. explain he did'nt have to do it, that it was his choice and nobody else’s. But he would'nt listen. And then one summer night it happened. We lost it, in the heat of the moment, and the thing he had wanted to lose, was lost forever. He left me that fall. He was gone, to somewhere else, somewhere where he would be happier, away from my “toxic” influence. But there were always two things he gave me. he gave me innocence, and he gave me his love. And those are two things he will never get back.

We met really young.

I don’t think I realized I was in love.

I didn’t realize what you did for me until you were gone.

The way you protected me from those who wanted to me harm.

The way my cheeks burnt when I caught you looking at me.

The times you made me smile.

The times you made me laugh.

Here we are years later my love for you only growing.

The thought of you still makes me smile.

The thought of you still make my cheeks burn.

7 years later and you still have this effect on me.

Sadly I don’t think you feel this anymore.

It’s been years since we last talked.

As much as I try to reach out somethings holding me back.

You were my first love and for that you hold a special place in my heart.

I miss you

I love you

Couldn’t ask for a better first love.

My first love. We never met. Never know whether his eyes shine while hearing my name or my texts broght a smile on his face. Never know that I was being played until too late. Never forgave myself for the mistakes I done, for him. I guess I never want to be vulnerable with someone again. Love is such, isn't it? Being naked without any masks and filter.