August 1992

August 16, 1992
Alarm! An actual entry in here. I must catch up on the latest. His name is Jeffrey Scott H--. My match made in Heaven. We met over a month ago at Disneyland. He works there, but it was his day off and he helped Teresa talk me into buying a set of mouse ears. He said I looked cute in them and I was hooked. Our first date was August 1st - we went to Ozz for dinner then to see Death Becomes Her. Anyway, we took it slow, only kissing at first. On our 6th date, we explored each other below the belt. Finally last week, we made love. It was incredible. I had an orgasm inside him last night and it nearly made me go unconscious.

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Not from the diary, just a commentary:
For years, decades, really, I always though of Jeffrey as "the one that got away." I have spent time over the last 25 years searching for him on Facebook, scouring the internet to find out what happened to him. I felt like he was my "one" - and that when I moved to Long Beach just before turning 25, that I had made a mistake and lost him forever. I've never really had a long-term relationship since him that worked.
But now I'm reading my diary and I can't help but notice… Jeffrey and I couldn't have dated more than 6 months. If I was talking about our 6th date in August of 1992, and I had broken up with him by December of 1992… that's a tiny blink of an eye in the span of my 50 year life.
What was I thinking?
Why have I held him up so high on a pedestal to think that because I lost him, I had lost all my chances at love?
Strange how the memory shapes reality, isn't it?
I have these fleeting thoughts and memories - I wanted to leave Orange County; I didn't want to spend a quarter-century in that repressive climate. He didn't have a car, so if I moved to Long Beach, we wouldn't ever see one another unless I drove to him.
But then I remember something about his mother getting out of prison, moving in with him… she didn't know he was gay so it meant that he was going into the closet, so going to visit him wasn't really an option. Is that true? Is that a real memory? Hard to tell sometimes.
I couldn't go visit him, he couldn't go visit me - fate had torn us apart, star-crossed lovers and all that romantic drama.
And I always wondered what happened to my one and only.
I feel like I have these memories of gossip through the Disney channels - did he move to Colorado? Did he get married to a woman?
And now, reading my entries from 1992, I realize I've made a huge mistake. He was a summer of fun, to be sure; but he can't have been "the one," can he?
One diary entry, a handful of photographs, and a bunch of memories that feel jumbled and confused.
No. He can't have been the one.
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