I remember once when I was walking alone down a path at school and Kevin came running up to walk with me. Kevin was a very outgoing guy and had many friends (some of whom didn’t particularly like me). Of all the people he could have chosen to walk with, he chose me. I still remember the thrill it gave me as I felt so special ... and undeserving.
Kevin was a beautiful boy. He had short dark hair and was very fit and trim. He was everything I wanted to be; and, best of all, he was my friend. I would have done anything for Kevin - or to Kevin - if he had asked me. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending upon your perspective) he didn't swing that way as he was very straight and quite the ladies man.
I never had many friends growing up. Somehow, I think I never felt worthy to have friends. So, it was a thrill to have someone like Kevin as a friend. We met at the school backpacking club of which we were both members. We had weekend backpacking trips just about every month. The backpacking club was coed and the teacher who sponsored it was very liberal; so, it wasn't uncommon to see a boy/girl couple go off to a more secluded area to setup camp.
I recall one particular camping trip; we were resting from our hike near a mountain lake; and, Kevin took off his back pack and then stripped down to go skinny dipping in the lake. I was totally amazed that he would strip down stark naked in front of the girls; I could never imagine myself doing that. I was also thrilled to behold his naked body - he was even more beautiful with his perfectly formed slender body and a dark bush above his manhood. After that I would often dream of his naked body by the lake. Even into adulthood - sometimes, when having a homoerotic dream, I would be transported back in time to high school - and Kevin.
I wasn’t the only one who had a crush on Kevin - although possibly the only boy. When we were together, he often talked of girls he wanted to have sex with. On our backpacking trips, sometimes, he and a girl would go off to a secluded area just outside the camping area where everyone else was staying to pitch his tent and they would spend the night together (he always carried condoms in his backpack). I remember being jealous those nights because he wasn’t sleeping near me. I just liked being around Kevin. I felt really good when he was near me.
On one backpacking trip, as we were driving back home, I was sitting in the back seat next to Kevin and we all fell asleep. I recall waking up to find Kevin leaning on me with his head on my shoulder. I didn’t move. I just stayed there as long as I could, trying to remain as motionless as possible so as to not wake him.
During this same timeperiod, I had acquired my first Book of Mormon and was reading it one time on the school bus. I remember Kevin coming to sit by me; and, after seeing what I was reading, told me that he was a jack Mormon. The irony - my first crush was for a Mormon boy (albeit, an inactive one).
I lost track of Kevin after my sophomore year when my family moved to another town and I switched high schools; although, in college, there was a boy who lived down the hall from me in the dorm that looked a lot like Kevin. The first time I saw him, I ran up and excitedly said “Hi Kevin” - but it wasn’t Kevin; and, I felt really stupid after that. But, afterwards, every time I saw him I thought of Kevin.
When I first created my Facebook account, being curious, I looked to see if anybody else from that highschool class was on Facebook - and lo and behold, there was Kevin. I sent him a message via Facebook and we exchanged a few messages back and forth. I don't think he really remembered me - it was more exchanging names of other people we both knew. I don't know why, but I never invited him to be my Facebook friend (nor did he invite me). Anyway, that brief exchange brought me closure. I don't think of him as often as I once did. But, I did write a poem about him once in my personal journal.
Unrequited Love by Abelard EnigmaI often wonder, with experiences like this growing up - why did it take me so long to accept my true sexuality?
His face illuminated me
His touch excited me
His presence assured me
But, alas, these feelings were not mutual
He liked me well enough
But, I was just friend, one of many
A friend from a previous era
A friend long forgotten
But I haven’t forgotten
He was my first true love
Can we ever forget our first love?
Even a love unrequited?
February theme: How about you? Who was your first crush? Was it for a boy or a girl? Was it mutual or unrequited? How did it end? Where were you in accepting your sexuality at the time?
7 comments:
Wow, Enigma. Your first two paragraphs are, word-for-word, my experiences with my first real crush. His name wasn't Kevin, though. heh. Anyhow, I found my first crush on Facebook too. I'm debating on whether to add him or not. I'm scared of having to jog his memory as to who I am.
So here you go, Abe:
Two Crushes. (I know this isn't exactly what you asked for, but I've got to work my way up to writing about the very first one.)
One was older, one was younger. I crushed on the younger one and the older one crushed me. The old man and me, we both knew we were queer long before we talked about it. He’d have done anything I asked. But I didn’t ask. I believed in boundaries then, I guess I still do.
The old man got sick and died. And I dreamed of him with perfect white hair and shining blue eyes. I knew in that dream he still loved me and that he was still alive and that when I died we’d meet again.
The younger man has brown eyes and is still alive. He almost always smells good to me, even if we’ve both been sweating. We talked this very day. He noticed I’d had my haircut. I got it last week, but he didn’t notice it until today. Kind of like my wife that way. Neither of them really look at me that often. But I looked into his eyes long enough to feel the warmth.
He never seems to mind when I look into his eyes, but then again I don’t abuse the privilege. He sometimes looks right back at me and doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s holding on just as long as I do, he just goes on talking and I try too keep listening to what he’s saying. He is as straight as a blood donor by the way. Twice now when we’ve been looking at each other this way and talking while we do, he’s said, I’m sorry but I’ve really got to go take a dump right now. So he really does give a shit in a literal sort of way.
So we both wear our wedding rings and we talk of our kids and the women we fell in love with (mostly our wives) but sometimes too the ones that didn’t love us back. He rarely touches me but I some times bump into him while we’re walking, usually by accident, but not always. He doesn’t seem to mind, but then he has told me that on hot summer nights even his wife’s touch is too much. If she tries to cuddle, he can feel himself starting to sweat. I do wish the weather was warmer but just because I’m so cold right now.
I think he loves me as much as a straight married man could love another guy who isn’t a blood relation. He wouldn’t call it love, at least I don’t think so, but he once introduced me as his good friend. I can still hear in my mind exactly how he said it.
He has put his arm around me in a brotherly way a couple of times in the last decade. Was it worth waiting years for that partial embrace? Most of the time I think so but sometimes I think I’m a fool.
If the old man had lived, maybe I’d never even have even met the young man. But he died and I held his hand in his last days. He said my touch was healing. Well it didn’t heal him, or not for very long, but it was a nice thing to say. I know he meant it. I hope I outlive the young man. If he died it would be like losing a family member. I don’t have any brothers, but it would be like my only brother and my best friend died.
I try not to think about death, but when my feet are cold like they are tonight, it’s harder to push the thought aside. And then I almost always read the obituaries, and when people you know are in them it’s easy to imagine yourself there, too.
Most of the time I’m glad I love both the old man who is gone and the young man who isn’t really available. Talk about playing it safe--a dead guy and a straight guy. But I know they love me, or at least I want to believe it enough that it usually makes sense. Maybe I ought to think about the old man more than once or twice a year.
The young man--well you probably wouldn’t think he’s so young but he’s young to me--he’s easy to think about. He’s easy on the mind and easy on the eyes. And sometimes I think he knows all about me and still doesn’t care, or maybe that’s part of the reason he does care, or maybe he hardly ever thinks of me, just like I hardly ever think of the old man, unless someone’s given me a reason to do so.
Thanks for that invitation, Abe!
"I never had many friends growing up. Somehow, I think I never felt worthy to have friends."
These words jumped out at me.
I don't remember having a first crush but I remember not having friends; being lonely growing up.
When I was five or six years old, my father told me I was too simpatico, meaning too nice, and "boys were not suppose to be too simpatico."
I remember my face hot with shame. My own father thought I didn't measure up - I wasn't a real boy.
Even then I was already sensing I was different. But my father's words and the worry in his eyes confirmed others could sense it too.
Regards,
Philip
Wow! This is stirring thoughts. So many crushes to pick from... I feel a blog post coming on.
Thanks for sharing and thanks for the stimulus to blog.
And Ned: Thanks for sharing... You need to do more of it.
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