My First Love

it happened when i was nineteen and i don't remember much about the day i realized it all, except that it became official the day after my birthday and during a time when Love was not the only trouble i was getting into.

the morning after the party unfortunately began at 8am and i was laying in my bed while wynona forced me into my jeans. it's an unusually pathetic sensation waking to find your girlfriend stuffing your legs into denim. she said i was going to be late to court. confused and hung-over, i let her dress me and drive my empty-minded self to the courthouse.

i stumbled out of her car, but before i could leave, she stopped me to ask,

“what you said last night: were you serious?”

oh wow. that would depend.

that was possibly the worst thing she could ask. my damaged brain could only remember saying two things the night before:

i remembered being in a muddy alleyway. wynona and i were making intoxicated love—doggy-style. there was a dirty mattress in the alley and i mumbled a drunken, “it was put here for us.”

doggy-style is arguably the least intimate form of sex. you can’t see each other’s face and while you can hear a gentle moan escape from your partner’s lips, it is mostly drowned out by the sound of flopping testicles and clapping tits. but it’s an excellent position when space is less than luxurious.

i hadn’t told wynona i was in love with her, but i wanted to desperately. however, i am romantically challenged. at one point in our relationship, we were standing on a mountain, watching the sun set. a pair of doves flew by. i looked into her eyes and just started laughing. that’s how smooth i am. neil diamond could’ve parachuted from the clouds playing an acoustic “sweet caroline” while we spun romantic circles in a golden meadow and i would’ve found myself saying something like, “wynona, did you know the egyptians used crocodile dung as birth control?”

it's a true fact: they did.

she was more experienced than me, both sexually and in relationships and it intimidated me more than it should have.

afterward, we lay on the dirty mattress, holding each other close. we sighed in unison and smiled drunkenly at each other. i placed my hand gently on her cheek and she moved closer looking at me with anxious eyes. i kissed her ear slowly and whispered the single most romantic thing i knew how to whisper:

“do you think next time we could do anal?”

she said she’d think about it.

truthfully, i was not in the least bit interested in anal sex. i was incredibly nervous and we had just done it doggy-style. things jump out of my mouth sometimes.

we put our clothes on and headed toward the apartment. before we got inside, i grabbed wynona and said,

“listen: i like you a lot. like, a lot.”

and then i got stuck.

i couldn’t tell her i loved her: i was drunk. i don’t know much about Love, but it seems like something that should be confessed sober.

and so i continued,

“i like you more than the word ‘like’, there should be another word for that…”

so it was almost 9am-- which means i was also almost late for a marijuana-related court visit, i was deathly hungover, and wynona was looking right into my eyes. all i could remember were two things: one about Love and the other about Anal Sex.

it should also be known wynona had particularly large eyes, which always made her twice as pretty but twice as intimidating when the time served.

“what you said last night: were you serious?” she repeated.

it should be illegal to ask vague, but savagely important questions to a man with a hangover and a court date.

am i serious about liking you more than the word “like”? or am i serious about wanting to put my penis in your butt?

there are few things on earth more strange than finding yourself wondering whether your girlfriend is in love with you or just wants to have anal sex.

“we’ll talk about it after court.”

for once, court saves me.

though, court is surprisingly unaccommodating to intensely confused inner-debates of Love & Lust. and, needless to say, i was no closer to a solution after court. in fact, the only difference of mind before and after court was that before court, my mind was not also worrying about how i would pay $275.

i realized i couldn’t ask wynona what she meant-- that could've been like pausing after your girlfriend asks if she looks fat-- but guessing might've ended with me referring to Love as “gross in concept, and supposedly painful.” or worse yet, Anal Sex as "something i’d been feeling for a while.”

there were likely several great solutions to my problem, but after a birthday party and a 9am government lecturing, my brain wasn't very much different than a lukewarm potato salad.

so, when she arrived i had decided i had no choice but to be straight forward. i figured if i was at least honest, things would work out in the favor of good.

“what i said about anal sex last night… i was just drunk,” i explained. that's the kind of sentence you say after a deep breath.

there was a pause. i couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or just confused.

“i don’t remember you saying anything about anal sex…?”

shit.

“wynona? i love you.”