My first relationship started somewhere in my freshman year of high school. I met him at church, and he was one of the Sunday school instructors. Sin. I suppose this is where it started with dating older men. I was 15. He was 21. He was also responsible for giving me my very first alcoholic beverage. Booze. Despite the circumstances, this was my first innocent relationship, and in a way, my first love. He gave me my first kiss inside of a movie theater. I cannot recall the movie, but I remember it being the best movie I’ve ever watched.
We both had very strict religious parents who wouldn’t approve of our relationship for one of many reasons. For that, most of our time together was on the down-low. Every card he wrote, came unsigned. Every gift I received from him, un-marked. I skipped a lot of school, and a lot of after-school practices to secretly see him, and that really dawned on me over-time, which would eventually lead me to move on.
We dated for about a year. I would call him every day, and we would talk for hours. I was ready to move to the next step, but he wasn’t. He respected my boundaries, and we both heavily relied on faith at the time. I remember the exact day I broke up with him. I called him on the phone, and told him I didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore. And just like that it was over.
He was the good guy. I wanted the bad boy. I don’t remember ever feeling any sadness our relationship was over, but I still love him deeply. Almost 15 years later, and we have still remained friends. Maybe that’s all it was ever meant to be. Friends. All the men I’ve dated, and he’s still the only one I have ever fully opened up to. But that’s why we’ve made such great friends.