Writing Challenge Q&A: First Love

Hello once again!  It’s time for the next installment of the impromptu Q&A.  This week’s topic is brought to you by my Minion (Joel Rede).  He chose 19, which is “discuss your first love.”  Why the Minion is interested in my lack of a love life is beyond me, but whatever.  This is actually something I don’t really talk about with anyone, so forgive me if it gets a little weird.

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Replace the house thing with Interwebz stalking.  Also, it’s always creepy .  But you accepted that.

So, what exactly is a first love?  I could tell you about my first crush, or the first boy I loved like a sibling, or I could simply say I’ve never had one because I’ve never dated anyone.  All of those stories would be true, but at the same time, they’d be a lie.  I think first love is something we have to identify for ourselves.  Each of our experiences are different.  Some first loves are amazing and some are heartbreaking.  Then, there’s the kind that’s neither breathtakingly beautiful nor Earth-shatteringly horrible, it simply is what it is.  That’s the way mine was.

Don’t get me wrong, my first love was a lot of things.  It was unconventional (back before “we met online” became an acceptable meet-cute outside of the nerd circle).  It was terrifying.  It was beautiful in its own way.  And, ultimately, it was probably unrequited.  But I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world, because it was exactly what I needed at the time.

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When I met First Love (the person), I was eighteen, maybe nineteen.  I was hanging out in the Yahoo chatrooms when I spotted a screenname that intrigued me.  After a few minutes of stalking him, I got bored, pounced on him, and stole his boxers (it was this whole running joke between my friends and I back then, don’t ask).  We goofed around and talked in the chatroom for a while, then he eventually PMed me and the rest was history as they say.

Back then, I was in a really dark place.  First Love was the first person I felt comfortable enough showing the darkness to and he accepted it.  He never tried to tell me I shouldn’t be having those thoughts or feelings.  He didn’t try to change me.  He simply supported me when I needed it and talked me through things when I needed a dialogue.  It was terrifying, because he was the first person to see all the parts of myself that I hate and claim to love me for it.  Even when I pushed away, he was there.  Granted, he lives in the UK, so I never had to deal with any of those “let’s meet” conversations (which I probably would’ve shut down right away), but for many years, he was there just to talk to and be sweet talked by.  Like I said, it was what I needed at the time.

Not to mention his influence on my music tastes and the like.  I was mostly punk and metal before First Love came around.  Ugh.  The things we do for love.  But, eventually life started getting in the way.  We both had University (his word, not mine).  Our chances to talk faded away.  I’m glad I got to know him, but I’m happy he got a life outside of the Interwebz.  He deserves so much better than talking to me all the time.

Feel free to discuss your first love!  You know where to find me.

I’m Sexy and I Know It (Not Really)

Hello again!  Apparently people like reading about the lives of cripples (who’da thunk it?).  My last post crushed all of my others by at least three times the views.  Thank you for that.  It’s kind of creepy, considering I’m not all that interesting, but yeah… thanks!  Since I’m still out of ideas for writerly topics and have no pictures of food to share, I thought I’d continue in the more personal vein to see if last week was some weird fluke.  Rather than focusing on general cripple life, I think I’ll talk about sexiness!

Over the past year or so, I’ve read quite a few articles about crippleness and everything from fashion to sex appeal (usually from male perspectives).  Pile that on top of a ton of negative commentary on how males objectify females (but never vice versa which is total crap), and it spawns many an eye-twitch inducing moment, but I always manage to keep my mouth shut.

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Pretty much.

You see, unlike most of the females I know (and a number of the males), I’ve never had to endure wolf whistles and cat calls and all of that creeptastic behavior.  Why?  Because (biologically speaking), I’m undesirable as a potential mate.  When straight males look at me, that primal part of their brains that focuses on reproduction isn’t activated.  I know that, and over the years, I’ve come to accept it.  But because of this lack of being lusted for (yeah, I went there), it grates on my nerves when I hear how horrible objectification is.  Don’t get me wrong, when it’s creepy and makes someone uncomfortable, it’s B-A-D bad, but a random “looking good” from across the way isn’t.  Being constantly overlooked or not considered mate-worthy isn’t as nice of a thing as many people imagine.  Keep that in mind the next time you’re so disgusted with the person who whistled at you from the other side of the street.

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On the flipside of growing up without being sexually objectified (yes, there are other kinds of objectification I’ve encountered), it has forced me to learn how to look at myself and acknowledge the sexy bish inside since no one else is going to do it.  It’s exceedingly rare for this to happen, but it does.  Also, it’s a fairly recent development, so it still weirds me out a little.  I mean, I constantly hear about how you have to learn to love yourself and how you shouldn’t need the validation of others (which is theoretically true), but I wonder if people realize how much easier said than done that is!  It’s taken me near thirty years to accomplish it, and it’s still something I can’t admit in the moment.  Only when I’m looking back can I say “Damn, I was sexy there!”

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In my Sixh top and the pants I designed.
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Why yes, that is a riding crop in my hand.

Self-perception is everything, but it’s fed by public-perception, so the next time you’re walking (or rolling) down the road, throw someone a whistle or a “looking sexy” or “cute top” or “great shoes” or something.  Then, you keep going so you don’t make it creepy.  Yeah, some people might accuse you of being a perv depending on your statement, but you never know whose day you might make a little brighter.