My first quasi-adult love experience (trans: adolescent hormone trip), was with a 13 year-old boy who was hijacked by said hormones. I was 12, and was just pre-pubescent, and was therefore clueless as to his motives.

It was summer camp, and he was bunked in the boys' cabin adjacent to mine (the cabins were paired off, boys' and girls', and shared a common "front porch"), and for the three weeks we were there, he would not leave me alone -- comparing my beauty to Rachel Welch, saying I should never wear my glasses because they hid my eyes, etc., etc.

Finally, during dinner dance celebrating the last day of the camp session, he kept asking me to go steady with him, until I finally said "yes" just so I could get enough peace to eat my mashed potatoes and corn. Later, he asked me to kiss him on the lips, so I puckered and he started chewing my face... When I complained, he explained the whole concept of a french kiss.

I slapped him.

45 minutes later, he wanted to break up.

After that, all through my teen years, I never told any boy if I liked him romantically, for fear of putting the same kind of pressure on him that that one boy put on me.

Then, a few months ago, my father, who was on the board of my old high school, attended an anniversary of my school. While there, the mother of one of my classmates asked him how I was doing, because her son always asks after me, that he has always liked me...

(19 years later. Who knew? Apparently, I'm not the only one who was keeping quiet)

I asked my dad if he gave my address to this woman to pass on, so I could tell him myself how I am doing. "I didn't think of it," he said.

Arrrrggghhh!!

:::Sigh::: Ya either gotta laugh or cry. When I make up my mind either way, I'll let you know. ;-)