My First Real Date

19 Feb

I never dated my first boyfriend. I mean we talked on the internet and on the phone and I half wondered if I should even consider him my boyfriend, but we never really went out on dates. He never spoke of his intentions towards me when we were together. I probably would have glibly said yes to anyone who wanted to walk me back to the dorm room male or female at the time. I was too distracted.

But this was different. A date was a date. He’d asked me out. And since I’d avoided dating in High School, I really didn’t know what a date was beyond the fictional world. The date was fun, but I had a problem. I didn’t speak for most of it. It was as if my right side of the brain could finally kick into gear and my left side of the brain was off in lala land. Emotions gripped me harder than before because I had turned them off for so long that it was a shock to even experience anything like this. I hadn’t found that balance in myself, but I didn’t know that was what was happening. And perhaps this is what made it all the more dangerous.

I wasn’t listening really and my emotions kicked in. We spent my time in LA mostly together. If I’d been processing information, maybe I would have stopped it, but I wasn’t thinking. The first night we kissed and made out.

I returned to Buffalo, having romantic notions in my head from years of reading 19th century novels, I took kissing seriously. A kiss to me is probably what sex is worth today. I really didn’t want it to end. And I really disliked being around my mom more and more. I needed to get out of there. I decided to move to Los Angeles. And this was the beginning of the trap I set for myself.

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