First Love or Heartbreak featuring Cate Ashwood

       I am so excited to have the opportunity to write a little something for WON, and when I heard that the theme for this month was “first loves”, I was torn between talking about writing first loves, or telling the story of my first love. But for me (and I’m sure many other authors), the two are inextricably linked.
      My first love was in the sixth grade, and he was an older man in the seventh. I carried that torch for nearly two years, but one day I saw him making out with Rosie in the hallway at lunch. I was devastated. My best friend was going through something similar, and so to mend our broken hearts, we wrote stories for one another. She wrote my happy ending with David, and I wrote hers with Duncan.
      Those stories helped me get through my first heartbreak. Until I met my husband (which is a story for another time), I had, shall we say, bad luck in the romance department. Writing romance is a way for me to live vicariously through my characters, to have do-overs on things that didn’t go so smoothly in my own life the first time.
      Take my first kiss, as an example. My first real boyfriend, Patrick, was the son of a family friend, and like most girls, I had spent years imagining what that kiss would be like, who it would be with, where it would happen. What I didn’t expect was to be taken by surprise in my basement, but more than that, I didn’t expect it to be so wet. And I don’t think he expected me to burst into tears and run up the stairs, never to come back down. Eventually, he got the hint and went home.
      It wasn’t exactly the stuff romance novels are made of (although Patrick and I are still able to laugh about it today).
      One of the novels that will be coming out from Dreamspinner Press this summer is called The Storm Before the Calm, and this is a small excerpt of Charlie’s first kiss:
      "I tilted my head up to him, inviting him to take, giving myself over to what I hoped was about to happen.
       I didn’t have to wait long before Max bowed his head, brushing his lips across mine. It was slow, almost hesitant, but as he kissed me, it became hungrier until he was claiming my mouth in a searing kiss. It was nothing like the kiss I’d shared with Beth Atkins at her birthday party in the sixth grade. This was hot and needy and powerful. Max possessed me—owned me—and I liked it. I shoved my hands into his hair, holding him to me, afraid he would stop. His lips were soft gentle but demanding as he pushed his tongue into my mouth. It was soft and velvety. I slid mine against his, the wet heat making my head spin.
      We broke apart, both of us panting a little as we stared at one another. I felt like my entire world had shifted, not only off its axis but into an entirely different solar system."

First Love and Heartbreak featuring Eden Winters

      Others here have told of their first loves, and the stories and loves have varied greatly. I’d like to add another dimension to the tales.
      I met my first love very young, and as luck would have it, we evolved together. Sometimes we moved in different directions, and sometimes in perfect accord. No matter how hard my day was, I could hide in my room and share all of my problems. I was never judged, never condemned, and always told things would be all right.
      Then my love and I would immerse ourselves in imagination, be someone else for a change. Fight other battles.
       Heartbreak occurred the day my mother discovered and didn’t understand. She was a practical woman, and quite frankly, my flights of fancy scared her. She cast my love out of my life, and forbade me to follow after. I sought comfort from others, and instead of reassurance, I heard, “You can’t.” The reasons changed, but no one believed. And since they didn’t believe, I stopped believing too.
      My heart broke. I cried. I mourned. A piece of me had been ripped asunder. Life wasn’t the same. Why? Why? What harm had we done?
      I gave in too easily. I should have fought harder. The one shining, perfect thing in my life, gone for good. Or so I thought. Chin up, I put the past behind me and tried to move on, pretending it was no big deal, pretending to be “normal”. Though sometimes, I thought I caught a glimpse…
      I married, had children, and learned of different forms of love. Though my heart was full to bursting for those two precious ones, something was missing, and my thoughts turned to my first love often. My children were and are the joy of my life. And they both loved books and printed words as much as I. They grew up, as children do, and left the nest.
      For a while I spent time with my love’s second cousin, a more practical version of what my heart yearned for, just enough to tease me with what I couldn’t have. No, those dreams had died. That ship had sailed. And I wasn’t on it. Turn off imagination and focus mundane tasks.
      I found myself alone, and not really sure what to do with my life. Then one day my old love comes to call. “I’m too old,” I say. “Too much time has passed. Maybe if we’d never parted years ago.” Fear. I’m afraid. Do I dare take a chance?
      “What’s time got to do with it?” my love asked. “Will you be any younger if you simply give up? I’ve been here waiting all along, I never really went anywhere.”
      My children were the ones to encourage me, who cheered me on, and who restored my faith in myself and my abilities. Instead of saying, “You can’t”, the asked, “Why not?”
      Quietly, stealthily, I reconnected with my old flame. We spent days together, weeks together, had such adventures, and stayed up late at night. Now, instead of exploring stars and solar systems as we’d done in my youth, we chased bad guys, visited with people who could turn into possums, and delved into the mystery of the eerie violin music haunting a Highland castle.
      Then we went public. Folks around the world embraced us and cheered us on.
      Though shaking in my shoes, I’ve brought my first love to meet my family, who now smile and tell me how proud they are. They still may not understand, but that’s okay. I get it completely, as I stroll off into the sunset, hand in hand with… my writing.
     We lost a lot of years, but we’re finally together.
      My first love and I.

 

Eden Winters, author of the award-winning Diversion series.

www.edenwinters.com

edenwinters@gmail.com

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Eden-Winters/e/B004A2ZFF4/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1424219812&sr=8-2-ent

Twitter: @EdenWinters1

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EdenWinters

First Love and/or Heartbreak featuring Andrew Grey

      My first love was a very weird situation.  I had moved around for a number of years and never really had time to date.  I was also deeply closeted and afraid of losing my job if I came out as gay.  But I was in my late twenties when I met Mike.  He was a nice man, kind, and as closeted as I was.  He worked in one of those large home improvement stores that sold everything from bolts to patio furniture.   Mike and I met and we cooked together, watched movies, gabbed, and had some amazing fun.  But it didn’t take me long to realize that he and I were in very different places in our lives and the fact that we never left his apartment together was the first clue.  As I said, we were both closeted, but at that time I was beginning to come to the realization that I wanted more.  I had told my parents and some close friends about myself and was slowly stepping away from my closed off life.  Mike wasn’t willing to do that with me.  He and I had about three months of heady wonder together where my heart raced and I looked forward to every touch and hung on every word.   It was an incredible time in my life and I look back on it with such fondness.
      Unfortunately things end and my time with Mike faded away.  There wasn’t some grand breakup or fight, just a quiet realization by both of us that he and I wanted and needed different things.  It was very sad because I missed the heady days of excitement.  But then, things changed.  I met Dominic through friends… at a dinner party and the heady excitement of first love faded in comparison to the sheer amazement and incredible depth of feeling that entered my life.  I write Romance and I love it because I had my own great romance and it wasn’t with Mike.   So while Mike was my first love, that relationship had to run its course so I could meet Dominic, the love of my life. 
________

      Andrew grew up in western Michigan with a father who loved to tell stories and a mother who loved to read them. Since then he has lived throughout the country and traveled throughout the world. He has a master’s degree from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and now writes full time.
      Andrew’s hobbies include collecting antiques, gardening, and leaving his dirty dishes anywhere but in the sink (particularly when writing)  He considers himself blessed with an accepting family, fantastic friends, and the world’s most supportive and loving partner. Andrew currently lives in beautiful, historic Carlisle, Pennsylvania.

Reach Andrew at

Web site:  www.andrewgrey.com

Facebook:  www.facebook.com/andrewgreybooks

Twitter:  @andrewgreybooks

Email:  andrewgrey@combast.net

 

First Love, or Rather, Heartbreak featuring Christopher Koehler

(Lack of) Heartbreak: How To Survive Being Dumped

      The short answer is to be very ill. I met my first boyfriend my junior year at UC Davis. He was everything I’d been looking for in my first same-sex relationship: tall and male. That makes me sound shallow, but I was twenty and as deep as a birdbath. But his kisses electrified me. He was older and out and lived in the Bay Area and seemed far more sophisticated. Then again, I was twenty, so how hard could that have been, really?
      Then the cracks started to show. Was it necessary to cloak every comment in sarcasm? Even at twenty I recognized that for the defense mechanism it was. Then he started mocking my pronunciation of certain words. Hmmm. He asked if I was a “butt virgin.” Yes, and staying that way, apparently.
      My mom’s dog hated him on sight, trying to get between us at every opportunity. I should’ve listened to her.
      You can’t lie to dogs.
      Then he shaved his head. Huh. Apparently one of the things that had drawn me to him was his hair. Like I said, deep as a birdbath.
      The final blow came, as it were, one winter’s evening. I’d contracted myself a galloping case of strep. He called from Berkeley, claiming we needed to talk. Ordinarily that would’ve set off the klaxons, but not that night. Oh I knew what that meant, I simply didn’t care. It still rained in California in those days, and I felt horrible. Still, we “had to talk.” Whatever. I hauled myself out of bed. We met. To talk. In the rain.
      He dumped me.
      I blinked and said, “Can I go back to bed?”
      He said we’d be f*ck buddies.
      That would imply we’d ever done such a thing in the first place.
      And that, best beloved, is how you survive being dumped: a fever, chills, and body aches.

Post script:
      Several months later, he earned the sobriquet he would keep for years, over a decade in fact. He became the Ex Who Wouldn’t Go Away. He showed up on my doorstep. I’d changed addresses. And phone numbers.
      Without informing him.
      He apparently had called my mother, who had never liked him, not unlike her dog. Suddenly she felt sorry for him?
      He appeared on my doorstep, claiming he had to recharge his car battery. Did you, now.
      I’d grown up considerably since that rainy night. I’d met the man I’d marry. There were flowers from him drying suspended from the heat register in my room.
      When the Ex saw them, he blanched. Then he turned red. I allowed myself a smirk, a small one.
      So’d that charge your battery?
      Maybe I hadn’t grown up that much after all.
      But seriously, the fever.  --- Christopher Koehler

Christopher’s greatest vice is having opinions. His second greatest vice is sharing them. He can be found online in the following places:

 

Facebook.com/Christopher.Koehler

Twitter @christopherink

christopherkoehler.net/blog

 

His latest novel, Poz, is available on Amazon! And from the publisher, Dreamspinner!

First Love and/or Heartbreak featuring David Berger

      Who would have ever thought that writing about the Smurfs would be my first love? When my sister and I were little kids, we used to play with her Smurf figures, creating storylines for Smurfette, Brainy Smurf, Papa Smurf, and even the villain, Gargamel. I’m not sure what it was about those blue gnome-like creatures, but we entertained ourselves for hours. I think it was my idea to write down the stories we came up with, but I knew that when I did, I felt like I could do anything. This was one of the first writing projects I ever did, and it was empowering. I remember reading them aloud to my sister repeatedly, and then she would come up with new ideas for stories. Writing these stories took place long before I fell in love with Greek mythology, so I created elaborate stories where the Smurfs met other creatures. Notebook after notebook lay stacked on my floor from these stories, and I’m kicking myself now because who knows what treasures I could have today. That was most assuredly my first love.

      As an adult writer, I feel like we get an Etch-A-Sketch moment, so that “first” for me would have to be my first novel, Task Force: Gaea—Finding Balance. Now, technically, that started as a high school short story, but I reworked it over the decades into a seminal piece of literature and published it in 2012. This was my first lengthy work that was (and is) a part of who I am. Like most first loves, you have your ups and downs, your times when you want to walk away, and then there are the times when you just don’t want to eat, shower, or even use the restroom because you’re so enmeshed in what you’re writing and don’t want to be apart. You always remember your first love, or so the saying goes. I’ve devoted my soul to mine, and it’s come a long way from writing about little blue creatures that live in mushrooms. It’s hard to imagine putting so much energy into something simply for the love of it, but I guess that’s what parents do for their children. Both of my first loves have left an indelible mark on me, and I wear those marks proudly, like badges of honor.

First Love or Heartbreak featuring Anne Barwell

       It’s kind of ironic that my first published book was about two men who are experiencing love for the first time. In Cat’s Quill, the first in the Hidden Places series, Cathal and Tomas are both men who have still to meet someone with whom they could fall in love.

      Cathal is from a world where men and women from his ‘background’ mate for life, so he’s not about to give up that part of himself unless he’s really sure it’s with someone he truly loves.  He is also avoiding someone he is expected to marry but does not love. Years ago he’d watched his cousin fall in love, wishes he could have the relationship they had, and wonders if he ever will.

       Tomas isn’t looking for love in any shape or form. He’s a loner, and rather deliberately set himself up that way, having lost his parents at an early age. He was also separated from his beloved sister for most of his childhood and moved between foster homes so he is in no hurry to get his heart broken.  He is very cynical, and fighting who he is. He’s a writer, and in denial that two of the characters he wrote in his last book should have got together.  His reasoning is that if he writes gay characters, someone might suspect him of being gay too.  Despite a lot of readers asking him if they got together after the end of the book he’s so far into the closet and self denial he might as well be in Narnia.

      I was asked how probable it was that Tomas—a man in his late 20s—hasn’t slept with anyone yet, or even been kissed.   It’s not in his personality.  Sex is about intimacy, and would mean letting someone else in, and past the barriers he’s spent most of his life erecting around himself.

      So when he meets Cathal, Tomas’s attraction for a man he barely knows hits him out of left field. Love isn’t something he’s thought about—hell he’s gone out of his way to avoid it—but that doesn’t stop it from happening.  It takes him a while to figure out that what he’s feeling for Cathal is love, and goes as far as to accuse Cathal of ‘making me fall in love with you.’

      Both he and Cathal are outsiders, and while it takes them both a while to admit to themselves and each other that they’ve fallen in love, but once they do, they don’t want to go back to being alone. It’s not about just saying the words but following through with actions that show very clearly that their priority is the person they love.  Despite not wanting to go back to being alone, Cathal is prepared to give up a life with Tomas to keep him safe. And Tomas—who was previously self-centered and isolated—follows Cathal into a strange new world without a second thought.  After all, that’s what love is, isn’t it?

Buy Cat’s Quill HERE!

Blurb:

      Tomas Kemp has two successful novels to his name and the true belief that a successful sequel is only a matter of a little inspiration. When Tomas meets a mysterious stranger under the branches of an old oak tree, he feels compelled to tell him about a book he holds dear and the sequel he wants to read. But Cathal doesn’t share that deep belief that the sequel Tomas seeks ends happily. Cathal has seen enough of a world where stories are real to know that happy ever after is sometimes the dream that won’t come true.
      But stories have never let Tomas down, and as he follows Cathal across the reality shift between their worlds, he learns that Cathal is right: Happy ever after is never just given—but sometimes, it can be fought for and won.

Bio:
      Anne Barwell lives in Wellington, New Zealand.  She shares her home with two cats who are convinced that the house is run to suit them; this is an ongoing "discussion," and to date it appears as though the cats may be winning.
      In 2008 she completed her conjoint BA in English Literature and Music/Bachelor of Teaching. She has worked as a music teacher, a primary school teacher, and now works in a library. She is a member of the Upper Hutt Science Fiction Club and plays violin for Hutt Valley Orchestra.
       She is an avid reader across a wide range of genres and a watcher of far too many TV series and movies, although it can be argued that there is no such thing as "too many." These, of course, are best enjoyed with a decent cup of tea and further the continuing argument that the concept of "spare time" is really just a myth.

Links:
Blog:  http://anne-barwell.livejournal.com/
Website: http://annebarwell.wordpress.com/
Coffee Unicorns:  http://coffeeunicorns.wordpress.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/anne.barwell.1
Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/115084832208481414034/posts
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4862410.Anne_Barwell
Dreamspinner Press Author Page: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/AuthorArcade/anne-barwell

First Love and Heartbreak featuring Clancy Nacht

      Many people don’t believe in love at first sight. I’ve never experienced it any other way. People I’ve dated have been, to me, some of the most beautiful creatures to walk to the earth, and fascinating beyond measure--and I knew all of this about them instantly.
      At least, that’s how I remember it. My best friend in college said she would write a song about my “five minute crushes” and while it is true that there were people I’d be very intense about and then flit away, that wasn’t always how it went down.
      I remember the first time I saw him. I was a freshman in high school. School hadn’t officially begun yet, I was in band so we had early clinics with upperclassmen who put us through drills to get us in shape for marching band. There were many attractive people, many with cars, but it wasn’t until the full band arrived that I saw him.
      When I told one of the upperclassmen of my attraction, she gave me a kind of puzzled look. He wasn’t the tallest. He was pale, dark hair, blue eyes, freckles. His skin wasn’t clear. He wore all white because it was more practical in the heat and he didn’t much care that he may have looked peculiar. Like me, he was a percussionist. He stood with a slightly cocky air playing with his drumstick, smirking to himself while I sat on the ground watching him haloed by the sun. That’s what I think of when I remember him--that moment.
      I impetuously, and with encouragement from an upperclassman who I think kind of wanted to see me fall on my face, asked him to Homecoming and he said no. I went with someone else.
      In spite of the fact that I dated others freely, we bantered and flirted constantly. When I needed a ride, he drove me. I may or may not have invented reasons to go places I didn’t need to be and he may or may not have indulged me knowing I was contriving reasons to hang out with him. The situation had all the makings of an epic and lasting romance. Right up until we went on an actual date. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=El1kgCqD7Xk
      Two years of flirting, dancing around each other and my being in and out of relationships. There’s no drama like band drama, so of course my loss of virginity was reported to all who cared to listen. There may have been part of me who worried that I was damaged goods. Or it was just the genuine pressure I felt after all of the build up, but I flubbed the date. Hard.
      I was nervous and distant. I remember him arriving, introducing him to my mom and dad. His commenting on our big fish tank. Drakkar Noir, which he usually wore but it was in fuller effect. I don’t remember where we went or what we did. Then, back home, in front of the door. The time for the kiss. I bolted. <img src=”https://clancynacht.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/tulips.jpg”>
      I avoided him for weeks--no small feat, though it was made easier since we had been moved to different bands. Still. I was humiliated. I missed leaning against the piano in the practice room while he played Moonlight Sonata. I gazed at the remains of the tulips he’d bought me for my birthday because, “What’s better than roses on your piano? Tulips on your organ!” I was still sniffling from the cold we’d passed back and forth because of proximity.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DwjwDpUams
I was ready to try again.
        We had a class together and he sat behind me. I decided it was time to break the ice and turned around. We flirted very cautiously. Then, a girl who sat next to us asked him how his date with another girl went.
      In the time we’d danced around each other, as far as I knew he never had a girlfriend. Or dated. Suddenly there was a girl.
      I’ve been told I have a very expressive face. I try to control it and certainly, in that moment, I was crushed and there was, what felt like an eternity where I thought for sure heartbreak was audible and I’m sure my expression reflected that. After a beat, I did my best to smile and congratulate him. The girl, a friend of the one he was dating, was sure to go over what a great girlfriend she would make. She sounded like all of the things I was not, most notably, a stable individual.
      How could I compete with that?
      Though he begged me not to shut down and ditch him again, I felt like his path was clear. This girl was wonderful and I… I was a mess. And I can’t front. I was. Too young, too nervous, too scared. I’d had a few short-lived relationships and they a measure of heartbreak to them, but no one had shattered me like this.
      I look back on the situation with both fondness and horror. I wish I’d been strong enough to maintain our friendship, but I feared I’d interfere. I tried for a time, but friends of the girlfriend felt that I did interfere and I believed that the loving thing for me to do for him was to back off. As it turned out, it wasn’t. That poor choice haunts me.
      As much as I wish I could give that boy and girl a happy ending, the pain and romance of the situation is something I draw from when I write. Heartbreak helped to build who I am and many a tale I spin.
      While heartbreak features in every story I write on some levels, I’ll have a new story out on March 10, 2015 called Pride and Justice. I wrote it, it includes mystery men and a zombie crisis.
      A percentage of the earth's population has transformed into surprisingly functional zombies who returned to work the next morning as if they weren't undead monstrosities. Justice Kinkead, officer in an elite zombie fighting force, gets called out when good zombies go bad, putting down the brain cravers and safeguarding the new economy. After several of his partners succumb to unfortunate deaths, Justice figures he'll go it alone...until he's assigned a mysterious and sexy new partner, Merlin Pride, who seems to know more about the zombies' origins than he's letting on.
      Merlin also seems to sense that Justice needs a good fucking, but it's complicated: Justice still lives with his undead ex-boyfriend. Can Justice make peace with his past? And if he does, should he take a chance on a man who may have something to do with destroying civilization as they knew it?
     They get a much happier and more magical ending than I do. Check it out!

Clancy Nacht

http://www.clancynacht.com
https://www.facebook.com/clancy.nacht
https://twitter.com/clancynacht
http://clancynacht.tumblr.com/ 
clancynacht@gmail.com

First Love or Heartbreak featuring Amy Lane

             One of the odd things my husband and I have in common—besides being born thirty-six hours apart in the fall of 1967—is that our parents “had” to get married.  And then they absolutely had to get divorced.
              We were nineteen-year-old virgins when we got together, and the one thing we knew for absolute certain was that first love did not always last.
                And so far it has “not lasted” for almost twenty-eight years.  Last night we had the “Yes, we are once again financially screwed” discussion. This morning he did something harmless and goofy for me, just to make me laugh.  We touch each other’s hips or shoulders or hands as we pass in the hallways.  We try very hard to crack each other up when we’re watching a movie, and we have watched movies together for the last twenty-eight years, so we can quote our favorites together as we watch.
                We are besotted with our children. And we can talk about our dimwitted dogs for hours.
                 And even though I’m not always in the mood, I still go to basketball games when he asks me.  And even though he can run half-marathons, he still limps along with me for my half-mile walk around the block and helps me find dog poop in the dark, just so we have a quiet space in our day to talk.
                When I work too many late nights, he starts looking haggard—he can’t sleep well without me beside him in our broken-down bed with our lumpy mattress. And he calls me almost every night when he’s stuck in traffic, so we can catch up on our day.
                 And I could go on and on and on about the things we do or say, every day, to make sure that we do not lose that tenuous contact, that brilliant, blinding, necessary immersion in each other that denotes being in love.
               We both saw—grew up with, to some extent—the idea that whatever it is that binds two people together, there is no foolproof way to keep them that way. Not a job, not a common interest, certainly not a child. Whatever it is that makes the two of us one, it’s got to come from inside us, and it has to come daily. Every small thing we do to make each other happy is worth it. Every moment we take to be us is a moment we take to bind our family—children included—closer.
               And it’s a moment to make sure that even after our children leave, we will still be us.
              All families start with a family of two. All relationships take work. I think the reason our first love may possibly end up being our only love is that we had that awareness from the very beginning that it could end.
              And then we worked every day to make it begin.
_____

              Author Bio:  Amy Lane has two kids in college and two kids in soccer, and four fur-babies up in her business as she writes. She, her Mate, and her brood live in a crumbling crapmansion and squander their funds on movies, travel, and joy. She is the author of many books, and cannot imagine not writing.
Website: www.greenshill.com
Blog: www.writerslane.blogspot.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/amy.lane.167
Twitter: @amymaclane
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=dp_byline_sr_book_2?ie=UTF8&field-author=Amy+Lane&search-alias=books&text=Amy+Lane&sort=relevancerank

First Love and Heartbreak featuring Sarah Madison

       To say my first serious crush was hopeless is an understatement. I knew it, even at the time. I was fifteen and a sophomore in high school. He was eighteen and a senior about to graduate. I was in the very worst of my ugly-duckling phase (one that continued well into college, I’m sad to say), with Coke-bottle lenses and wild-masses of hair that was unfortunately permed. Richard, on the other hand, was Byronic-looking, with dark hair that flopped over his blue eyes in a heavy forelock, and cheekbones to die for. And talented—he as the leading actor in all the school plays, and I’ve always found talent hugely attractive. Ironically, he was the Dracula to my Wilhelmina, and I played her part with all the breathy, quivering naiveté of a young woman begging to be seduced. Let’s just say the role wasn’t a stretch for me.

      My friends, unable to miss the painfully obvious crush that I had, took me aside and tried to tell me I couldn’t have a crush on Richard.

      “I know,” I’d say sadly. “He’s graduating soon and going to L.A. to break into television.” I knew he’d make it, too. He was that good. I also knew there was no way someone as cool, and gorgeous, and wonderful as Richard would even look twice at me.

      My friends would exchange a funny look and try again. “No,” they’d say. “You don’t understand. You can’t have a crush on Richard.” Again with that odd emphasis on the word ‘can’t.’ Almost as if they meant ‘shouldn’t.’

      Still, I was too obtuse. Finally, one of my friends spelled it out. “Richard is gay.” She shared the information in a low voice with a quick look around to make sure no one could overhear.

      Oh! Oddly enough, I found it very comforting. I wasn’t being rejected for not being pretty enough or interesting enough. I was simply the wrong gender.

      It didn’t change how I felt about Richard. I still thought he was awesome and the sexiest thing on two legs, and I still knew he was out of my league, but now I could relax around him and enjoy his company because I knew it was never, ever going to happen, not even in my fantasies. Unbeknownst to me, my immediate acceptance of him, unusual in a community widely known for its Bible-thumping preachers and at a time when AIDS was becoming a household word, made me one of the Inner Circle. It never occurred to me to treat Richard any differently, and because of that, his friends became my friends. Never once did anyone hold my foolish crush up to me or make fun of me for it, either.

      Richard eventually graduated and moved on out of my life. The following year I developed a hopeless crush on Steve, a track star who could sing like an angel, and whose sandy-blond hair fell across his hazel eyes. Yep, I have a thing for hot guys with talent. So sue me.

      I have to say, I owe both of these guys a great deal. They were young, handsome, and had legions of girls fawning over them. They could have behaved like jerks to me, the homeliest one of the bunch, the one with the smallest chance ever of being their girlfriend. But they didn’t. They did me the honor of pretending they couldn’t tell I had a crush until long after the crush was over. Very cool, guys. Very cool.

First Love or Heartbreak featuring Kris Jacen

       What is it about the blush of first love that captures the imagination? Is it the romantic in all of us? Whether the first love comes at 16 or 24 or 44, it’s the emotions that can just blow apart any logic you throw at it. Now, I’m not talking about first LUST. That’s another thing entirely.

      Does love at first sight exist outside of romance novel? I like to think so. Way back in ancient times…okay, maybe just back to when Duran Duran and Journey were all over the radio waves, a young teen was sitting in the back of the chorus room with her friends and saw HIM. The senior with a good voice and the jeans over work boots. The two became friends that school year but alas the senior disappeared after graduation with not even a goodbye.

      Fast forward a few years, to when Sophie B. Hawkins “wished she was your lover”, the young teen is now a junior in college and home taking a nap between classes during Spring semester and the phone rings. She grumbles into the phone “this better be good” and promptly drops the phone. You see, that boy that she was friends with? He’s on the other end of the phone. Seems he enlisted in the Army after graduation and was home on leave. Did she want to go out before he left?

      With one date and a spectacular goodnight kiss—off he went again with no way for her to contact him, until she found his parents’ phone number and asked his mother for his address. Putting pen to paper (remember this was ancient times before email became so available), she wrote him a letter of the goings-on in her world and mailed it off to Korea. The two became pen-pals, talking about everything and anything with a phone call here or there.

      For Christmas that year, the girl’s best friend asked her what she wanted for Christmas. Her reply? “A certain Soldier.” Well, Christmas came and went with no word from the Soldier. The morning after Christmas the phone rings and it’s the Soldier with one question to ask (after apologizing because there were no available phones to call on Christmas) “will you marry me?”

      That Christmas proposal was twenty-two years ago this past year. With many moves and two daughters, they’ve gotten through it all with many more adventures still to come. So if you ask me if I believe in love at first sight? I think so, just ask the girl got that senior-turned-Soldier that she unknowingly fell in love with in the chorus room all those years ago.

FIrst Love and Heartbreak featuring Margie Church

His name was Rob

 

      I was 13 and he was 18. He had crystal blue eyes, and white blond hair so thick and curly that I swore it never dried between washings. When he smiled his eyes lit up and my heart just stopped.

 

      Jail bait. Well, hell yeah. He was a first year college student and I was maybe in 8^th grade? Surprisingly that warning never came from my parents' or from Rob. I laugh now, wondering why my parents' only concern was he was too old for me.

 

      We never officially dated but some of my girlfriends were older and hung out with him so I got to tag along. He said I was cute and funny. I thought the sun rose and set with him, and while I was growing up we remained friends. He was still playing the field. I figured I still had time to catch him.

 

      Then one day he told me about a woman he'd met in a neighboring town. By then I was a freshman in college. Looking back, I can't imagine why I would have actually cared about who he was dating. We'd hung out and had a few beers every now and then but nothing more. Yet somewhere in my heart, Rob held that special spot as the first guy I loved. He'd promised he'd wait for me and I was foolish enough to think that actually meant something.

 

      A few months later, I was walking downtown and he pulled to the corner. As usual, I was happy to see him. He rolled down the window. "I'm getting married." It turned out the woman he'd told me about had gotten pregnant so they were heading down the aisle.

 

      I remember not knowing whether to laugh or cry, but I do remember telling him he promised to wait for me. The stupid fantasy of a little girl had never evaporated. I learned her name and to this day, I remember her whenever I hear it.

 

      Rob got married and their child – a son – was born with significant birth defects. The baby died before its first birthday and that left Rob reeling. A marriage he didn't really want in the first place, the child now gone – "Maybe it's time to walk away from my wife too?" he asked me that over a beer one night.

 

      But the tug on my heart was gone. I told him to go home to his wife. And he did. Isn't it funny how the right choice becomes clear sometimes? They had other children together and I saw his son's graduation picture a couple years ago. The spitting image of his dad.

 

      I don't think I ever saw Rob again after that – decades ago now. He stayed in the same town I grew up in and for the hundreds of times I've visited, our paths never crossed again.  My picture has been in the local paper and I've been a guest at public events. I still wonder if he ever thought about coming by to say, hey. I would have.

 

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First Love and Heartbreak featuring Laura Medeiros

First love.

How many people can really remember the very first time they fell in love? I'm talking about that all consuming love that is a driving need (not specifically romantic love, but the love you developed for something you had previously not had). Not many people can remember where they put their keys, how are they going to remember something that happened to them before they were two or three or five?

Sometimes I think the love a toddler feels is more pure and more intense than any other love we feel in our entire lives.

Why?

Because its the first time, the actual, literal first time that happens.

You can only try chocolate for the first time once. Just once. And if that had happened when you were older, you might actually remember the nuances of the cocoa on your tongue, or how your brain felt like it did a flip-flop. You might actually recall the feeling of consuming the creamy warm taste, and how you wanted to wrap your tongue around all of it. You wanted it in you, you needed to be blanketed in it. But for most people (at least in the US and most western European countries) we don't remember that first bite, or falling in love with chocolate. If we are lucky, we have photographic evidence. Proof that we tried to merge our entire being into the chocolate, tried with everything we had to be one with our new found love, i.e. that baby picture with the chocolate smeared all over your face and hands, and in your baby hair.

But love is pretty neat in that it feels to be the first time, every time. Each new love is just as intense as the very first one. It would be horribly boring if that weren't the case. We would stop falling in love with books, movies, foods, people, if love did not constantly renew itself to feel like the first one. Falling in love always feels like a first love. There is that adrenaline rush, the need to always be with your love. It's no less poignant because its not the first time, its no more profound because its the fifth time. Love has this timeless quality to be just that, love.

It's what gives people hope. To know they can fall into a love as earth shatteringly intense the tenth time, as they did that very first time. Trust me there is nothing as ground shaking as the love a toddler feels regarding anything if they love it.

We may not be as quick to fall in love as we did when we were little. We may actively prevent ourselves from developing those feelings with barriers of protection. But once those barriers have been breached, once the fall has happened, love and all of its emotions and sensations are just as fresh and intense.

Heartbreak

Unfortunately this same, always the first, never diminishing in intensity and impact happens for heartbreak. Its always earth shattering. Its always the worst thing to have ever happened to you. Nothing before that moment and nothing after that moment will cause you as much pain, ever. Until it happens again. And it never gets easier.

I guess thats why people prevent themselves from falling in love again, to protect themselves from the pain of heartbreak. But the joy and the endorphins of love are such a heady high, I think they are always worth the risk.

First Love or Heartbreak featuring D F Krieger

           Like many authors, I find love to be a fascinating concept. First love, though, is the most fascinating of all. We read about it in romance novels. That first glance, the first kiss, the love at first sight. We swoon, we fantasize, then we finish the book and move on. February is the month of love, where cold winter nights are glamoured in the cloak of softly falling snow as you cuddle the one you love in front of a crackling fire place. *Sigh*

But first love? To quote the 1980’s movie, Legend, “Love you say? Love is a different matter.” When many people think of first love, they often mistake it for “first crush,” “first spouse,” etc. When I think of first love, my thoughts travel back to my first pet. Yep, my black cat Ebony, who was my constant companion from the time I was 4 until I was 11. I was absolutely devastated when he passed away, and despite the numerous pets I’ve had since, Ebony has always stood out in my mind. I loved him. I truly, honestly loved him.

To me, love is when you care deeply about a person despite everything. Despite knowing their faults (he brought me a dead bunny once during Easter weekend and my brother tormented me that he’d killed the Easter Bunny and we’d never have Easter again. It took me a full week to forgive that poor cat.) Despite knowing their habits, both good and bad (he would follow me down the block to the library and sit outside the doors, waiting for an unsuspecting patron to open the door so he could race in, calling loudly for me. It did not score brownie points with the librarians.) Despite their differences (he could never understand why I always rudely rejected his presents of mice and birds.) Despite everything that could come between you both. Love is loving them despite it all.

Sometimes, we take our true first loves for granted. We’re so busy dreaming about that first romance that we forget to appreciate or understand the very definition of love. Love, for me, was the black cat waiting in the rain at the bus stop for me to come home from school. Love was the purring ball that let me soak his fur with my tears when my parents declared they hated each other and wanted a divorce. Love was a little black cat who gave me everything a friend could ask for, even when I didn’t know I needed it (even when it came in the form of a decapitated Easter Bunny.)

Who was your first love?

Want to know more about D. F. Krieger? You can find her at her website (dfkrieger.com) or on her blog (dfkrieger.blogspot.com)