He sent me a Facebook message saying, “I’m sorry about your divorce. I went though it a few years back. We should go on a hike sometime?”
I immediately had visions of my hands taking a hike down his chest and across other places on his body. My high school crush — a boy I hadn’t talked to since college — was kind of asking me out, and I wanted to go, in a really bad way.
I remembered his blond hair and his brown eyes and could feel his hands on my hips. I was catapulted back to 1992, and I wanted to stay and camp out there for a few weeks.
On my drive to the mountains the following Saturday afternoon to meet him, I realized that I’d always thought about him. He was that guy; the one you long for from afar, the one all the girls had a thing for. Everything he touched turned to gold. He was good at sports and smart with a dash of naughtiness that the teachers always let him get away with.
We made out after our mile climb in a steamy session that moved to my car. Driving home later, I thought, If I see him again, great. If I never hear from him again, I will be OK. It was startling.
My phone pinged as I pulled into a gas station for a much-needed Diet Coke. It was him saying what a great time he’d had and that he’d love to see me again, soon.
My high school crush didn’t have kids and before I knew it — on the nights my kids were with my ex, six months after he’d moved out — he would come over. We shared great food and great sex, and stayed up all night talking.
That was enough for me. I was in no way ready to give myself emotionally to anyone. I missed my ex and our family Saturday afternoons, and I loved my alone time.
“I’m thinking you just had to get me out of your system,” he said after I’d told him about the mad crush I had on him our junior year. “I never knew. You are a very private woman.”
I’ve never thought of myself as being private, but he nailed it when he told me I just needed to get him out of my system. The sex was better than I’d ever imagined; it was exciting and fulfilling, though to my surprise, I wanted nothing more from him.
And so, after two months our short love affair came to an end. He said he “couldn’t be used as my sex toy anymore.” It was hard not to call him on a random Saturday after too much wine with my girlfriends, but we ended on a good note.
Having my teenage crush notice me and want me was not the be-all and end-all. It didn’t make me whole, and it taught my 15-year-old self a person doesn’t complete you — that’s an inside job.
I have zero regrets. He told me the same after our last kiss: “You’ve showed me what passion and intimacy can be like. I’d forgotten that.”
Our short-lived fling had served its purpose. Maybe we will meet again, or maybe we will let the passion we showed each other linger like a high school memory.
Everyone needs a girlfriend!
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