I was sixteen when we first met. I was an honor student looking for a job and he was the manager at our local movie theater. I have to admit there was chemistry but I never thought in a million years that he would even give me a second glance. He was 23 at the time, with long black hair, big arms, golden skin and a girlfriend who ended up training me. She was extremely nice and I was fond of her, but I had my eye on the prize. Before long, I had his number and I was pouring my heart out to him on a regular basis. He pretended to care and I thought “hey, this guy really gets me.” Well, his girl turned out to be too clingy for his taste so he broke her heart, and I finally got my chance. I had to tell him how I felt before he found another. So I gathered my thoughts and invited him to star gaze in my backyard. I put it all out there. How I was convinced I was a lesbian before I met him…that my best friend had packed up and left town after I told her I was in love with her…and that my love for him seemed to be growing with each passing day.Within a week we were a couple, or so I thought, and I could already hear wedding bells. By the end of our third month together, I found out he was seeing another girl and it all came crashing to a halt…or so you would think. No. Like the little naive girl that I was, I continued seeing him. Girls would come and go but I was determined that we were meant to be.
By my nineteenth birthday, I’d finally gotten up the nerve to leave him but not before I had given birth to our child. I once again found myself in familiar territory. I was a lesbian again. Gay? Straight? Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that he was the exception.
