Number One

No, this post doesn't involve Commander Riker. Although maybe it should, since he was an early and thoroughly unholy crush of mine. 8 year-olds should not want to do those kinds of things to men pushing 40. Perhaps I should submit him to E for punishment for doing that to my brain.

The Number One in question was my number one. As in The First. My First. Man, that is. If you can call him that. 10 years on, he is now in his third decade and still barely qualifies as a man-child.

I was 17 when I met him and from the first instant I thought he was hot-times-1000. He took a fancy to my fancying him and ultimately I fell in love. I believed his beautiful lies, and within a year or so I slept with him.

I should have known he was fucked in the head when I had to beg him to have sex with me. See, I couldn't get rid of my virginity fast enough. I hated it, I hated the stigma, I hated the inexperience that came with it. We kissed, touched, dry humped, anything except penetration. When I finally asked about it, he recoiled like I'd asked him to do something abhorrent.

I didn't know that's not normal. I didn't know that a "no labels" type of "relationship" meant No Commitment. I didn't know that when he introduced me as "a friend" to co-workers that it wasn't because we were above labels, but because he wanted a crack at some of the barely-legal girls he worked with. I didn't know that people who love you aren't supposed to tell you no one else would have you.

Ultimately, he left me. In retrospect I should have seen a million times over how fucked in the head he was, and still is. Truth should not be a foreign concept. Love should be more than pretty words. I don't regret sleeping with him, only loving him.

In the end, I got my experience.