Long Lost Love

So through a roundabout way, I came across a photo of the first boy I ever dated way back in high school, 1984. Thirty-two years ago.
One of my best friends in high school, let's call her Jenny, dated a guy, we'll call him Chris, for a short while. Chris was a football jock. And secretly gay. He is now a leather pup owned by a leather bear title holder. Things change.
Since Chris knows my friend Don through the leather community, he showed up on my Faceplace page as "Someone you might know."
And next to his picture was a photo of someone else I might know, David.

The first boy I loved.
The story I tell about how we met is probably not true, but my memory has shaped and twisted the plot over so many years that I no longer remember what is true and what is the fantasy of nostalgic memory. Were we in love or just horny teenagers who found an outlet for our libidos? Did we really double date with girls from our respective schools and then smoke pot and fuck in his jacuzzi after we'd dropped the girls off at their homes? Did we really learn about kink from finding toys in his mother's bedroom? Was there ever a party where I was introduced to Chris (who was, by the way, Dave's ex-boyfriend long before he was Jenny's)? Did he teach me that you can mix Hershey's syrup and Cointreau and drizzle it over vanilla bean ice cream for an amazing post-sex snack? Were there nights when Dave and I would dance outside the Boom Boom Room in Laguna hoping to score free drinks from the "old men"? Did we try cocaine in my living room, snorting it off my framed senior photo? Did he become addicted to drugs, and leave me without any more notice of a phone call from the airport after being together for almost 4 years? Did I try to sue him, and were we contacted by The People's Court to appear on the show as a token gay couple squabbling over money?
Memory is a funny thing.
Well, not ha-ha funny more like weird funny.
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