How's Everyone Feeling Right Meow?

[Kosh]

I'm feeling a bit contemplative.

I own the house that I grew up in as a teenager.  That is probably something most people can't say, but its not uncommon with farming families even though I don't farm.  A few months ago I started doing some renovations to the basement.  It's always been mostly finished, but its wasted space since only my wife and I live in the house.  We never go downstairs for anything.  I decided to put in a home theater and build a bar.  It probably still won't get used a whole lot, but at least it might get used occasionally.  One other thing of note is that my bedroom in high school was located in the basement.

Today I was removing some old ceiling tiles, and I came across some letters stashed above them.  At first I thought they were something my parents hid to keep safe,  but they actually belonged to me.  They were written to me by my high school girlfriend over 33 years ago.  This was my first true love.  We lost our virginity to each other.  To say our relationship was emotional and passionate would be a gross understatement.  It's very interesting seeing an unexpected snapshot from my past.  Memories fade over time and become fuzzy.  This was a very raw and vivid reminder of a tumultuous time in my life.

Now the question is..  What do I do with these letter?  Stick them up in the ceiling for another 30 years 

Yeah, I remember my first... That Bitch! She, an older woman, TRAINED me how to be her worlds greatest lover! And I thought I was a sex god! Unfortunately, all women are completely different and I was thoroughly confused for years! I mean: how does "Oh Yeah Baby!" turn into "What the fuck are you doing?!" Or, how does "OOOHH, that fells sooo good!", turn into, "Ouch! 'stop that you creep!" I survived! I think sex education needs a completely different focus.

That is damn funny.   I went down the older woman path in my early 20's when I was much less naïve.

I think I was 16 at the time she wrote me the letters, and she was a year behind me.  We were freshman/sophomore in high school.  We were definitely both early bloomers from a physical perspective.  My nickname in high school was Magnum (after Magnum PI) because I permed my straight black hair, had chest hair, and wore a full mustache (it was an 80's thing).  I remember running in a high school track meet where a coach from a school we never competed against wanted proof I wasn't some college ringer.  I went totally opposite in the 90's.  I went clean shaven and grew my straight black hair down to my ass.  I was 5'11" in 8th grade and haven't grown an inch since.  Being an early bloomer had advantages with buying condoms.  Nobody even batted an eye at me.

We were both farm kids, and lived about 15 miles apart as the crow flies.  Almost every morning I hopped on my damn huffy 10 spd and hauled ass to our secret wooded rendezvous spot on her parents property for a little pre-class nookie.  Then I would hop back on my huffy haul ass 10 miles into town to try and get to school with enough time to hit the shower before first bell.  We'd repeat that after school on days I didn't have sports practice.  That was some fucking dedication    Emotionally we were lost in each other with no anchor of previous experience to ground us.  We pretended we were married, and she signed her letters to me using my last name instead of hers.   

It all came to a crashing halt when my mother found some of the letters she wrote me (but obviously not all of them) and discovered we were sexually active.  My mother called her mother and spilled the bean.  Both sets of parent forbid us from dating each other.   After that, history gets a little foggy.  But, it became impossible to continue.  My parents had teachers at school watching to see if we were together.  It's not like we had snapchat, Instagram, facebook, etc to keep in contact.  Letters to and from each other were intercepted. 

I haven't thought about this stuff in a very long time.  Good and bad memories for sure.  I didn't have another girlfriend until halfway through senior year in high school.  She was a nice Methodist girl that I dated for two years, married at age 20, and divorced less than nine months in.  That is a story for another time.