Getting Over My First Love – Part 1

June 2, 2016

Stacy at 18 - cropped
The 18-year-old version of Me at Florida Agricultural & Mechanical University in Tallahassee, FL

A week or two ago, an old friend from college asked me why I transferred from FAMU, and I started thinking and writing about it. I realize now, 13 years later, it was because I didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of a break up…well not just any break up – my first love.

I’m a little nervous about this one guys. The experience that I’m writing about this week involves a person that is still living. lol. I didn’t tell the person that I was writing this story, nor am I trying to throw him under any kind of bus, so I have changed pretty much all of his information.I’ll be sharing this story in a few parts over the next few weeks. Hopefully, I don’t get silenced before I finish sharing it. Lol.

LOL. Okay, here we go…
[PART ONE]
He invited me to a house party that his friend was hosting. We were freshmen at Florida Agricultural & Mechanical University (FAMU) in Tallahassee. Prior to the invitation, we had been flirting with each other in the classes we had together during the day, and at night we talked on the phone. This had gone on for a few weeks.
When I got inside the apartment, where the party was taking place, it only took me a few minutes to find him in the crowd. Off I went, leaving my friend behind. I don’t even remember which friend I left behind. Anyway, I dashed over to him. We talked and laughed for a few minutes, then he took me to someone’s bedroom and shut the door.
We talked more. We laughed even more. We started kissing, and our hands explored each other. He asked me if I wanted him to keep going.
“No,” I said.
“Why not?” Michael asked.
“’Cause you gotta’ wife me up first,” I said.
“What?! Wife?! I’m only 17,” he pleaded.
I cracked up. “No dummy, not get married. I just mean that I would at least like the person I have sex with for the first time to be my boyfriend.”
We looked at each other.
“What does it mean to be a boyfriend? What are the rules?” he asked.
“We do you mean what are the rules?” How could he not know what boyfriends do? Was he still joking around?
“Like we only see each other?” he followed up.
“Yes! And we only have sex with each other,” I said.
We sat in silence for a few moments. I wondered what he was thinking.
“Okay,” he said.
So we got up, we fixed our clothes, and I walked out of that room with a boyfriend…my very first college boyfriend.
His name was Michael. He was very tall, he had beady eyes, and the kind of cheeks that grandmothers like to pinch. When he smiled, you could see his gums. I don’t know why his gums stood out to me.
I first saw Michael in my African-American history class. I wasn’t sure if he was cute or not, but I liked the way he dressed. He wore a lot of baseball hats and those puffy vests, and his sneakers always matched whatever he was wearing. I really liked that.
I also wasn’t sure about his personality. He was one of those students who thought he was smarter than everyone else in the class. He challenged other peoples’ comments – sometimes even the professor’s. He was cocky. Actually, I thought he was obnoxious, but that also made him really interesting.
A few weeks later, we exchanged phone numbers. We were at the State Capitol building one night with hundreds of other students. We marched there earlier that day in protest of the voter irregularity that took place in Tallahassee during the Bush – Gore election in 2000.
Michael and I started talking on the phone after that day. A few weeks later, he invited me to the house party, where he became my boyfriend.
Now that Michael and I were a couple, we spent more time together and we talked a lot more on the phone. He also snuck me into his male-only dorm often. He would walk over to my dorm to pick me up. He always brought me one of his huge jackets so that I could disguise myself before I set foot in his dorm. I’d walk through Gibbs Hall trying to avoid eye contact with everyone – even him. We never got caught…not even when the resident advisors randomly inspected the rooms. I hid in his portable closet during those times.
We spent countless hours together on his extra-long twin bed just laughing, talking about life, listening to music, and watching movies. The first movie we ever watched in his room was “Don’t Be a Menace…” He was always talking about his hometown, St. Louis, the city’s music, the culture, and what life was like there. I listened to him…every word. He often teased me about being from Connecticut. It was also in that same twin bed, where I lost my virginity. I was happy that it was him.
Our relationship was easy. It was fun. It was light.
The night before I went home for summer break, we met each other outside of my dorm. We gave each other the longest kiss goodbye.
We cheated on each other that summer.
To be continued…

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On this blog, I’m sharing some of my personal memories of pain, shame and embarrassment. Hopefully they help you in some way.

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