Learning The Hard Way

My first true love was a school teacher. We met at an adult bookstore one night. I was prowling the backroom, trying to find a film clip to watch, bored beyond belief. I went back up front and was talking to the guy behind the counter, which I was wont to do when nothing much there really interested me. When in walked a tall, dark, handsome man. I felt my knees buckle a little and my stomach started doing flip flops. I couldn't take my eyes of him. He walked to the counter to get some quarters and the counter guy obliged. They chatted a moment, obviously this wasn't his first visit, though I had never seen him there before. He passed me and nodded, then passed through the curtain, into the barely lite backroom. I turned to the counter guy, a huge smile on my face, and asked if he knew him. He said yes and told me his name. I was giddy as a school girl, asking more questions, wanting to find out more about this handsome stranger. Counter guy told me all he knew and added that he was a very nice man. I decided to go check him out.

I stealthily slinked into the backroom trying to spot him. I rounded a corner and saw him as he disappeared into the little cubicle. Now for some reason, these little cubicles had holes in the walls so you could see straight into the one next to you. I darted in to the one next to his. I heard his quarters drop and the movie clip start. I did the same. I keep leaning over to get a peek into his little booth. He was so handsome I just had to see his face one more time. He must have thought the same. Our gazes met through that hole in the wall, with the flickering images lending an almost magical affect to the moment. We introduced ourselves and agreed to meet back in the narrow, under lite corridor. Here I was face to face with a walking wet dream. Thick dark hair, 6 feet tall, broad shoulders, eyes so dark and deep you could get lost in them, a killer smile, and smooth Italian skin begging to be touched.

We spent the next three hours there, talking about ourselves. We found each other endlessly fascinating. We watched a little film clip together and discovered a little bit more about the other. We made out, talked some more and finally arranged to meet again the next night. We traded phone numbers and addresses. On our way out, we announced our intents to the counter guy, who promptly invited us to dinner at his house with his partner. We accepted. We kissed goodbye with promise to see each other the next evening. I got into me car, I didn't even remember the drive home. My head was in the clouds, my feet didn't touch the ground and my heart was racing.

We had many dates after that. I was 18, just about ready to graduate high school. He was 30, a teacher in the next state. I was dating a girl for cover at the time from another school. I would drop her off at a respectable hour, then meet up with him for a date or make out session in the car. We called each other regularly, wrote letters every few days. We fell in love. He was the sweetest, smartest guy I had ever met. I loved his voice, his smile, his humor. He was romantic a seducer and kind. His body was great. His equipment, well let's say he wasn't lacking a thing in that area either. A well balanced meal of meat and potatoes.

My mother found a letter on my desk in my room. I don't remember if it was from him or one to send to him. Either way, all hell broke loose. Daddy threaten to have him arrested and report him to his high school. I said "like hell you will. If you do you will lose me as a son. Take your pick". I convinced a female cousin of mine to move into a horrible, rental trailer way outside of town. It was cheap and starting community college and working part time it was the best I could do. My mother cried as a packed stuff into my car. Thankfully, the place had furniture. We continued to see each other afterward. He would visit on weekends and one night during the week. We went to restaurants, and clubs. Visited friends, went to parties, and he even introduced me to his brother.

His school year ended and he wanted to work for the big school system in Charlotte. He was hired. One day I came home from work and he was there with a big smile on his face. He had rented us a nice apartment in Charlotte. He was dying to show it me. It was gorgeous. Hardwood floors, a balcony, nice bathroom, two bedrooms. I was a bit overwhelmed but very happy. We moved in. I took a better paying job in a mall near by. Things were great. We settled into a nice routine together. It was bliss, or so I thought. He had to go out of town to retrieve an elderly aunt to visit with his mother. I knew he would be gone when I returned from work. I wasn't looking forward to sleeping by myself. I had gotten use to him holding me as I dozed off.

I got home about 9:30pm and went in to the bedroom to change clothes. I hung them up and walked to the kitchen to get a soda. I had forgot my cigarettes in the bedroom so I went to get them. He had left me a note. We were always leaving notes and cards for each other. I thought it was sweet for him to write a little something for me while he was gone. I opened it up, read the first couple of lines and had to have a seat. I read it sitting on the bed several times. I finally got up, feeling a bit numb, reeling from the shock. I went to the kitchen, poured me a rum and coke, and read it one more time. It really said what I thought it had.

I called my parents the next morning, saying I was coming home. I had everything packed up and ready that was mine. Daddy came in to help me move boxes to the truck downstairs. When we finished, I walked back up stairs one more time to look around. I got teary eyed. I could have sobbed but Daddy was waiting on me. I laid the key on the kitchen counter, turned off the light, and pulled the locked door closed. For a couple of months after being back home, I would find myself out on the steps crying. There wasn't anything I could do about it. I was crushed. He seemed to think that after a year, all we had been through, that the age difference was just too great to overcome. I certainly couldn't age myself. I had already turned 19, and he 31. I guess it depends on how bad you want it.