The first time I fell in love...... (Advice on relationships)

Member Name: GentleGenius

Product:	Advice on relationships
Date:	03/06/09 (92 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Walking on the moon, elation, excitement, expectation, and later the lessons learned

Disadvantages: Its end, the depression, the hanging on waiting for something that's not going to happen

NB: It might seem as if this is in the wrong category, but no doubt I'll put some words in close to the end, to make it more appropriate. This was the category which DooYoo gave to me when I suggested what follows as a new topic, saying it has been suggested before.

The words of the old song..... "You were my first love, and first love never dies". How true are they? Even now, 39 years on, I don't have a sensible answer to that question.

Way back in the very wet summer of 1970 - which was interspersed with some nice, hot sunshiney days - I was a little 16-year-old who'd fallen in love at first sight. The object of my perhaps rather dubious affections wasn't my first boyfriend....just the first one who'd bowled me over.

Although I began going out with boys when I was just 13 and had several boy next door type, somewhat shortlived relationships, nobody had so far lit my fire (so to speak).

I am going to be as careful as I can here, changing the names of a couple of people involved, for the sake of discretion and my street cred.....after all, how do I know these people aren't using DooYoo and will read this, perhaps recognising themselves?

Diane and I used to go shopping each Saturday and buy out all the clothes shops. I have always, ever since a small child, been a devout music lover, yet Diane wasn't particularly - she just hooked onto what was in the charts at the time, then forgot all about songs that slipped down the charts when their popularity died down and others took their place. I considered it fair play that, after Diane had dragged me each week around shops that held little or no interest for me, I should have my moment of glory by paying my regular Saturday visit to a second hand record shop, situated in a market close to the High Street.

I would spend hours and hours, much to Diane's frustration, just hunting through the piles of second-hand 45rpm records, fishing out gems from my childhood and earlier in my teens. I knew Frank quite well (he was the owner of the record shop), as he'd been a friend of my father's, and he was happy to just let me browse.

One day when I dragged Diane into the shop, my eyes lit up when I spotted a young man sitting in the record shop next to Frank. I took in the soft brown hair tumbling over his shoulders, the large pale greyish/blueish eyes, and his deliciously cheeky grin. I hung around so long on this particular day, pretending to browse through the records rather than doing it for real, as I just didn't want to walk away from this young man who'd instantly endeared himself to me, just by his appearance. Diane got bored and demanded that we head for home, but I wasn't having any of that....I wanted to stay rooted the spot forever, just ogling who I hoped would become my knight in shining armour - so, Diane stormed out and went home on her own. I stayed until Frank closed the shop - he and the lovely young man went home. I was a little disappointed that I'd not been introduced to Frank's helper, and that he'd appeared to ignore me for what must have been the three or so hours I was standing there pretending to hunt through records, just to be close to him.

Diane had recovered from her huff, and in very teenage girl style, I was holding forth enthusiastically on this beautiful young man I'd seen, and who I wanted to get to know a lot better. Being a bit of a matchmaker, and no doubt to try and shut me up, Diane agreed that she'd accompany me to Frank's record shop each Saturday, without complaint, until the young guy noticed me and asked me out.

As the weeks went by and we moved into August, I was getting more and more depressed that the object of my affections still hadn't even spoken to me, let alone made a move, and I think Diane was getting bored with my wailings and moans - to the point where, without my prior knowledge or permission, she took the matter into her own hands. At the beginning of one of our Saturday shopping trips in the middle of August, Diane told me that I had to meet Steve at 8pm outside a garage close to where we lived. She'd after work the day before, trotted off quickly to Frank's record shop, caught it still open, and after demanding to know his name, nagged Steve senseless to take me out, for the sake of both hers and my peace of mind. He'd perhaps a little reluctantly agreed, and told Diane that he'd meet me outside the aforesaid garage. I was suddenly transported up onto a fluffy pink cloud of ecstasy - on such a high - Adonis had finally noticed me! (Well, he hadn't really, as Diane nagged him into taking me out, but because I wanted to believe he'd suddenly seen the light and realised we could walk off into the sunset together, that was what I believed).

Diane helped me choose something to wear, and we trudged home laden with carrier bags, then parted company. I was in a whirl of breathless anticipation, and squealed to my mum that I'd got a date with a hunk. She put my makeup on for me (something I never did properly get the hang of myself), did my hair, and made sure I hadn't chosen anything too bizarre or stupid to wear.

The minutes ticked by, the butterflies in my stomach turned into komodo dragons, and I set off on that warm, sunny evening in August, to meet who was the man of my dreams. Of course I was absurdly early, and I had to wait about 20 minutes, even though Steve wasn't late. Not yet having become infused with the scepticism that comes with age and experience, it never occurred to me that Steve might not turn up, and I'd have been heartbroken if he hadn't done - but, at 8pm on the dot, I saw a familiar figure walking towards me.

Shock horror!!!! I'd only ever seen Steve sitting down before, so hadn't realised he was at least three inches shorter than me - but, not too much of a problem, as love is blind....especially "first love", but I don't think he was too happy about it, as he said he should have asked Diane to tell me to wear flat shoes. All the same though, he was pleasant, took my hand, and suggested we went to his local for a drink. I was bursting with pride when, on entering the sea front pub which was just a couple of streets away from where he lived in a bedsit behind the gasworks, he introduced me to his pals as "my girlfriend". I swelled up with pride, and instantly wanted to marry him.

We had a lovely evening. Steve was warm, friendly, attentive, and very witty with a lovely, soft and husky speaking voice. I had to be home by 11pm, and at about 9:30pm he asked me if I'd like to go back to his bedsit. The thought that he might have a little more than holding hands on his mind didn't occur to me, and even if that had have been his motive, I'd happily have gone along with his wishes - after all, I was in LOVE! All he did though, was just show me his vast collection of 45rpm records, which he kept stashed under his bed. He then said he'd better get me home, as he didn't want me to disobey my mum when she'd told me I had to be in by 11pm, and that pleased me - as with previous boyfriends, I'd always had trouble trying to convince them that I wasn't allowed to stay out all night.

On dropping me at my front door after we'd had what to me was a lovely romantic walk home in the late summer moonlight, he kissed me goodbye, and said he'd like to see me the following evening. I watched him stroll away down the road until he disappeared round the corner, then went indoors, effervescing like a shaken champagne bottle with the cork about to explode out of the top. My mum asked me how the evening had gone, and after I'd told her all about it, she did give me a mild warning not to get too involved too quickly - I didn't listen, as I was convinced Steve felt the same for me as I did for him.

Well that's how it all began. Over the next three months, I was walking on air - in paradise. I even let him take me to a football match (which I loathed, but loved going just because I was with him), and I cringe with horror now when I look back and realise that I even knitted him a football scarf in our local team colours! How's that for idolatry and dedication? We'd see one another every evening, and mostly go to his local pub, the one where we'd spent our first date. I even got to meet his mum a couple of times, and she was a lovely lady. Sunday afternoons would be spent competing with one another on the slot machines in the sea front amusement arcades, and we went to a couple of social evenings that the place where he worked held. Sometimes after we'd been out somewhere, we'd get a burger from Gerry's Nosh or a Chinese takeaway, eat it in his bedsit, then he'd walk me home.

With hindsight, I'd guess that Steve found me a bit immature, as I was only just 16 and he was almost 22, but I was blind to every negative about him at the time. I didn't even (though I can see it clearly now) sense him gradually cooling off, so it came as a huge shock to me when one bitterly cold December day whilst we were walking in the park, he called the whole thing off, saying he'd met someone else. I couldn't believe what I was hearing - and he didn't even walk me home.....he simply left me standing there in the park while he wandered off, saying "you'll find someone else soon". I watched until he'd disappeared from view, then numb with shock, I went home.

It was a couple of days before Christmas, and I just couldn't get caught up in the festive spirit. On Christmas Eve, thick, heavy snowflakes started to fall, and we were treated to the only official white Christmas ever to have happened in my lifetime. The scene outside was like something from an advent calendar, carol singers were standing under a street light singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, tinsel was sparkling in the firelight, and I was as miserable as sin. I spent that whole Christmas just moping around, my mum losing patience with me and saying things like "I told you so". Steve had an uncle who lived next door but one to me, and I was just hoping against hopes that he'd pay his uncle a visit over the festive season, have some kind of pang of mercy as he walked past my house, and ring the doorbell - tell me how much he loved and wanted me, and that we'd soon be married and have kids......all that sort of gooey stuff we expected when we were teenagers in those days. It didn't happen though.

The months that followed were very dark indeed, and wherever I went, I'd be obsessively looking for Steve - not going to the places I knew he frequented, but just hoping we'd pass one another in the street or something, and that he'd instantly realise he'd made a big mistake and we'd be an item once more, and forever! Again, it didn't happen.

In the spring of 1971, my friend Diane was so fed up with my black moods, that she arranged a blind date for me with one of her boyfriend's friends - it was a rebound thing for me, and I fell in "love" all over again - but once more I was dumped, this time after just three weeks. Diane persisted, arranging all sorts of blind dates for me with all sorts of creeps, culminating in me meeting who was to become my (now ex) husband. That's another story though!

Apart from one brief sighting in the High Street in the mid 1970s where he was trudging along the pavement with a bored-looking female and a toddler in tow, not to mention with a shaved head and sporting a huge beer gut, I never saw Steve again. His appearance on that brief sighting did shock me somewhat, as the long-haired, sparkly eyed, good-looking young man that I'd fallen head over heels for, had turned into a dowdy drudge in a fairly short space of time.

Overall, it took me about two years to completely get over Steve, and the hardest time as regards the memories, was the run up to Christmas - but, I did recover, and got on with my life. Then came the point when he stopped entering my head.....I thought no more about him.

To come up to date quite a bit and to cut a long story short, two people (a married couple) who I knew only vaguely, took me for a drink for my 50th birthday. As we were chatting, and they were telling me little things about themselves from their pasts, I began to put two and two together - and it turned out that the man is Steve's brother! It was interesting to learn from him what Steve had been up to over the years, and I reflected about the revelations on my solo train journey home.

I now conclude that if I'd have married Steve and we'd stayed together, I'd have ended up with a husband who has a huge drink problem, and would have spent my 20s living in terrible places, surrounded by a huddle of screaming offspring. That really wasn't what I'd ever envisaged for myself, and it suddenly - at age 50 - hit me like a sledgehammer that I'd had a very lucky escape. I'd been viewing Steve through rose coloured glasses, and I began to realise that while I'd been going out with him, he actually hadn't treated me very well at all - I think he may even have despised me a bit. OK, my marriage to my own husband wasn't a good one for me, but he never treated me badly in any way at all.....I now know that if I'd have ended up with Steve, the bad treatment would just have got worse and worse.....and I'd have put up with it, as at the time, I'd have known no different.

These days, I like to think that the whole thing with Steve from way back in 1970, was HIS loss, not mine, though of course it didn't feel like it at the time, nor for some years afterwards.

I do have to say though, that discussing Steve with his brother on that night of my 50th birthday drink, did stir some stuff up inside me that made me realise....deep down, I still do have a soft spot for Steve, after all these years. There's no way I'd ever want to have any contact with him, but I began to have a deep understanding of what attracted me to him in the first place, and to keep what was in reality a highly dysfunctional relationship, going on and on. A big life lesson has finally been learned.

Of course, there's a lot more to the above story than I've said here, but if I went into all the ins and outs of it, my telegram from the queen would be plopping through my letterbox before I'd even got halfway through typing it.

So, to bring this piece a little around to the title heading, as this is the section that DooYoo have chosen to put it under - my recommendations to anybody would be (not advice, as I never give advice....simply recommendations), to play the field a little bit when young, develop some sense of self before becoming hooked up - whether for real or in your mind - with the first guy who SEEMS as if he's "the one". Sometimes we shouldn't wish for too much, because if we get what we THINK we're wishing for, it turns out to be the opposite, and we might not be able to disentangle ourselves from it easily....or, at all. As for my own personal aftermath from Steve dumping me in the way he did, I'd urge anyone else in a similar position to not jump into the arms (or the bed!) of the first halfway OK seeming male. Take some time alone, to BE - not do. Reflect, get some counselling if necessary to find out why you attract the type of man who at the end of the day won't do you any good, read lots, eat well, lay off the booze, stroke lots of cats and learn how to truly get to know and to love yourself first. Once you've done that, the ideal man will see the real you, and turn up in your life when you least expect it, and are least looking for it. It's important to see people for who they really are, and not what we want them to be, or try to project our own ideals onto them.

Over and out......and, thanks for reading. Hope it's not been too tedious. I give the whole thing five stars, even though with hindsight it was a bad thing...five stars because it was wonderful while it was happening, and because of the deep and valuable lesson I learned from it.

Summary: There's still a tiny sparkle of him somewhere inside of me