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dragonlady7the previous post, with its tirade about ridiculous eye colors in fiction, has brought to mind something that has been poking mournfully at my chest for some months now. I cannot get into it without discussing my past love life in rather more detail than some may care to here-- not explicit erotic detail, but detail of the nature of my affections that some may not care to hear. most of you have probably heard about it, as i am not in my soul a discreet person. but don't click if the thought makes you uncomfortable.
I was entirely abstinent until I was eighteen years old, having not so much as held someone's hand with romantic intent. I was an awkward child who developed physically far, far before I developed emotionally. I was suspicious of people, wary, withdrawn, and mostly knew I was too naieve to manage any relationships.
I am glad that I had none until I was ready.
My first lover was a classmate at the school I attended in Scotland on an exchange program. It was very much not a classic high-school romance. We were simply best friends, whose mutual esteem transgressed boundaries usually set in friendships.
Her name was Ursula, and she was six months younger than me, a native of Australia and while she was, like me, a bit of a social outcast, she was an immensely charismatic one whose personal magnetism far outweighed her awkwardness.
But we understood one another immediately, from the first words we spoke in conversation (I believe she made a reference to a Tom Lehrer song and I completed the line-- cliche, yes, but at least it wasn't a pop song. It may even have been the Oedipus Rex Theme Song or possibly Nuclear Proliferation) and ever after were utterly inseparable.
She completely changed me, I have to admit. I had no notion of dealing with other people, had no idea of socializing at all. Critics of the relationship charged that my closeness to her was barring me from making other friends, but they didn't realize: it is rare for me to really make friends. I have only two real friends from high school, even though I moved in a number of circles and was surrounded by fascinating and outgoing people. I am not a person who finds it easy to make and keep friends. But any social ability I now have the confidence to exercise, I got from her. She drew me out of my shell, convinced me that I was an interesting person, and gave me a look at what it was to be likeable, which I never really had been before.
I won't really discuss the physical end of it, as that's probably not mine to make public, but suffice to say that in itself was a large part of what built up my confidence in myself. I had never been loved, and it makes a tremendous difference.
It was I who broke off the physical aspect of the relationship, but I felt I had little choice, and it was merely a formality. I was in Rochester, she was in northern France. We had no prospects for being together at any reasonable point in the future. We couldn't afford phone calls, and I was a terrible letter-writer. At this point, it just seemed to me to be a formality.
Also, I was feeling that, at twenty, I really ought to know what "boys" entailed.
I won't comment on the wisdom of that course, but I will say I haven't loved any other women since. Only boys. And possibly, one man, though he refuses to be classified.
Periodically she contacts me, a bolt from the blue. The contact information I have for her is perpetually outdated. She phones me once every few years, out of nowhere, and it is so indescribably lovely to hear from her I don't know what to do.
We saw one another in Frankfurt when I went to visit Katy for Thanksgiving. It was like we had never been apart, and as we had little concerned ourselves with gossip, we wasted no time on catching up on other people, but simply talked, as we always had, and it was wonderful. She introduced me to her one true love, an Irish woman I believe with whom she is deeply involved. I think they co-own a flat and have numerous cats. Unfortunately, me and Sheila (I am sorry if I misspell) didn't really hit it off-- she is shy, enjoys books more than beer, and I know if I were her I probably wouldn't like me very much either. Even if Ursula and I have no physical relationship she is probably right to consider me a form of rival. I do consider her a rival, not because I want Ursula back, but because she only ever really contacted me when she was miserable, and she is terriffically happy now. Which is all to the good; she deserves to be happy.
But I miss her terribly. Terribly. I am reasonably happy in my life, and I would not exchange Dave for anything. But she understood me, after the manner of childhood best friends, and I have never had a best friend like that.
That's all, I just miss her. She left a comment some months ago in my blog that she had Internet now and would be much more available online, but that was the last I heard of it. I miss her terribly. But I can't really wish that she would contact me again, because that might entail wishing for her to be unhappy. Whatever sort of awful person I am, I don't wish that.
I was entirely abstinent until I was eighteen years old, having not so much as held someone's hand with romantic intent. I was an awkward child who developed physically far, far before I developed emotionally. I was suspicious of people, wary, withdrawn, and mostly knew I was too naieve to manage any relationships.
I am glad that I had none until I was ready.
My first lover was a classmate at the school I attended in Scotland on an exchange program. It was very much not a classic high-school romance. We were simply best friends, whose mutual esteem transgressed boundaries usually set in friendships.
Her name was Ursula, and she was six months younger than me, a native of Australia and while she was, like me, a bit of a social outcast, she was an immensely charismatic one whose personal magnetism far outweighed her awkwardness.
But we understood one another immediately, from the first words we spoke in conversation (I believe she made a reference to a Tom Lehrer song and I completed the line-- cliche, yes, but at least it wasn't a pop song. It may even have been the Oedipus Rex Theme Song or possibly Nuclear Proliferation) and ever after were utterly inseparable.
She completely changed me, I have to admit. I had no notion of dealing with other people, had no idea of socializing at all. Critics of the relationship charged that my closeness to her was barring me from making other friends, but they didn't realize: it is rare for me to really make friends. I have only two real friends from high school, even though I moved in a number of circles and was surrounded by fascinating and outgoing people. I am not a person who finds it easy to make and keep friends. But any social ability I now have the confidence to exercise, I got from her. She drew me out of my shell, convinced me that I was an interesting person, and gave me a look at what it was to be likeable, which I never really had been before.
I won't really discuss the physical end of it, as that's probably not mine to make public, but suffice to say that in itself was a large part of what built up my confidence in myself. I had never been loved, and it makes a tremendous difference.
It was I who broke off the physical aspect of the relationship, but I felt I had little choice, and it was merely a formality. I was in Rochester, she was in northern France. We had no prospects for being together at any reasonable point in the future. We couldn't afford phone calls, and I was a terrible letter-writer. At this point, it just seemed to me to be a formality.
Also, I was feeling that, at twenty, I really ought to know what "boys" entailed.
I won't comment on the wisdom of that course, but I will say I haven't loved any other women since. Only boys. And possibly, one man, though he refuses to be classified.
Periodically she contacts me, a bolt from the blue. The contact information I have for her is perpetually outdated. She phones me once every few years, out of nowhere, and it is so indescribably lovely to hear from her I don't know what to do.
We saw one another in Frankfurt when I went to visit Katy for Thanksgiving. It was like we had never been apart, and as we had little concerned ourselves with gossip, we wasted no time on catching up on other people, but simply talked, as we always had, and it was wonderful. She introduced me to her one true love, an Irish woman I believe with whom she is deeply involved. I think they co-own a flat and have numerous cats. Unfortunately, me and Sheila (I am sorry if I misspell) didn't really hit it off-- she is shy, enjoys books more than beer, and I know if I were her I probably wouldn't like me very much either. Even if Ursula and I have no physical relationship she is probably right to consider me a form of rival. I do consider her a rival, not because I want Ursula back, but because she only ever really contacted me when she was miserable, and she is terriffically happy now. Which is all to the good; she deserves to be happy.
But I miss her terribly. Terribly. I am reasonably happy in my life, and I would not exchange Dave for anything. But she understood me, after the manner of childhood best friends, and I have never had a best friend like that.
That's all, I just miss her. She left a comment some months ago in my blog that she had Internet now and would be much more available online, but that was the last I heard of it. I miss her terribly. But I can't really wish that she would contact me again, because that might entail wishing for her to be unhappy. Whatever sort of awful person I am, I don't wish that.
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this is from kat
Date: 2004-10-14 03:20 pm (UTC)I felt the same way about Sarah (although that relationship was bad in many ways that you and Ursula were not, but that's not the point here).
Ursula was really cool...what impressed me about her when I met her (the one time) was how much energy she had, you know, a sort of sheer passion for life.
Though as I recall I got us all in trouble with your mom on that visit because she wanted to drive my car...but anyway, she was terribly enthusiastic about it, and I liked that.
I think a person's first real relationship is very powerful in that there's a connection between the people that you may never duplicate again in the same intensity. But there are also almost always so many things wrong with that relationship --such as not being on the same continent-- that they usually don't work out. I'm happier with Trevor, it's a much better relationship in all the ways that matter, but that sense of discovery and of everything being new can't be duplicated, y'know?
On another note, I love the Indigo Girls album you've got playing right now.
When I was at Furman U in South Carolina (among all the gay-haters, remember) they did a concert at the school's new ampitheter (how do you spell that?). Anyway, they'd just been told not to do concerts at several high schools because they're lesbians so when they got to Furman, they opened with "It's All Right."
("It's all right, hate me cuz I'm different, hate me cuz I'm gay")
The looks on people's faces....it was fantastic.
no subject
Date: 2004-10-14 03:46 pm (UTC)Also, that's a beautiful story of first love.