We were merely 18 years old but the chemistry was unmistakable and growing more palpable by the second. I’d never felt this way before (only had one lame boyfriend up to that point) and he wouldn’t stop kissing me. To the naked eye, no-one could tell we’d just met three days prior but here we were now locked in a passionate embrace, leaning against a car in some random hotel parking lot because we had ditched our friends and the dance floor to make out.
“We better get back” I said, knowing my father would be wondering why I’d left the wrap-party for almost an hour, no doubt with that hunk of burning love from Italy.
“When will I see you again?” he whispered in my ear.
“France is not that far away” I replied breathlessly, my nether regions about to explode. Is this what it’s like to feel horny? I’d never had sex, so I wasn’t sure.
We made our way back to the party and re-joined our respective teams. No, I didn’t play tennis but was on spring break from college and my father had asked if I wanted to tag along to the regional tennis tournament in Britain. At first I declined because who cares about sports? But then he mentioned that a friend now lives in London, so I could stay with her and tour the city. Cut to, the friend being out of town that weekend, so I begrudgingly agreed to accompany Dad to all his tennis matches. Was not looking forward to mingling with old fogies.
Little did I know the Junior team would be participating as well….because I took one step into the Player’s Lounge and my eyes landed on the most beautiful human being God put His hand towards creating. Hubba. Hubba.
Hold up. Some girl he’s with looks vaguely familiar. I hated the fact that my brother was a regional Casanova but rather than side-stepping her, this time I was thrilled to approach one of his conquests.
“Hi, are you Sophia?” I asked
“Yes, and you’re Pierre’s sister.” Sophia replied
“Yea. I remember when you and Pierre met in Italy years ago. So you’re with the national tennis team?”
“Yup. Meet my friends….”
I didn’t hear a word because the boy of my dreams just smiled and his dimples were dazzling me. I managed to shake his hand through all of Sophia’s white noise, and learnt his name was Leonardo. He excused himself because his match was up next so I joined my father in the stands to watch. Am I delusional or was he looking directly at me every chance he got?
Sophia mentions that they’re all going to the mall afterwards, if I’d like to come too. Hell yes….and of course, Leonardo and I end up in the back seat, chatting and laughing over nonsense. Ahhh, don’t you just love instant chemistry? Sophia was in the front passenger side with some other guy named Gabriel behind the wheel.
Normally I don’t put much effort into how I look but knowing that their Awards ceremony the following night was a dressy affair, I try to shop for something cute to wear….and maybe lipstick and eye shadow, although I barely know how to use either.
During the Awards dinner, Leonardo and I exchange furtive glances from our respective team tables, and breathe a sigh of relief when the function ends so we can hit the dance floor, get close, sleek off to the car park and fall in love.
This is the 1980s so there are no emails to exchange or Instagrams to follow. Just regular old landlines and street addresses are shared and we promise to keep in touch. Fast forward three weeks later, he calls to say he’s travelling to France that Thursday. I already know based on my radical feelings for him and how he treated me with such tenderness that he’s the one who should take my cherry. Question is: would I tell him beforehand?
I met him in the dining room of the fancy hotel he was staying at. I remember not thinking clearly and ordering the French-onion soup. Stupid. Eventually we went up to his room and of course, things got hot and heavy. He stripped down and I tried to play it cool, especially since his member looked a normal size. That should fit, right? Except that when the foreplay started and I happened to glance at it again, the thing was now bulging and massive. Oh no….and he was coming in for the kill? I internalized the panic and tried to enjoy my first time, while homeboy murmured how tight I was. Errr….thanks? If he only knew….but I didn’t care to have that conversation since I was now headed to the bathroom to assess the damage.
The night ended with cuddling and small talk because he’s a sweetheart but I couldn’t wait to leave and tell my best friend Brigitte about what just happened. Leonardo escorted me home in a taxi, and we kissed tenderly at my front gate, where he told me to write before I hightailed it inside.
Brigitte was livid that I hadn’t mentioned my sexual naiveté and insisted I write him a letter explaining the significance of what had happened and why I was such a limp lush in the bedroom.
“It will make him love you more” she implored.
“Are you sure? I dunno. Aimee thinks the opposite.”
“Ugh. What does Aimee know?” Brigitte balked.
“Errr….she has a boyfriend, dummy. She’s more knowledgable than both of us combined.” I replied.
Still, I made the stupid decision to write a long letter outlining all the details of that night and because I’m a wordsmith by nature….I poured out my heart, describing what he felt like, how he tasted, and why I deemed him worthy….so you can imagine my surprise when HIS WIFE called.
[insert Record scratch sound effect]
This was my first harsh lesson into how stupid men are at leaving their incriminating evidence around the house/car/office.
Who’s married at 18 years old? This guy.
I apologized profusely when the woman introduced herself as Leonardo’s wife, advising that she had read my letter (gasp), that they are happily married with a daughter (double gasp), and that he doesn’t love me (knife to the heart). Apparently he’d gotten her pregnant and both their families insisted on marriage. (And still this mothah-effer rode me bareback??)
What would any self-respecting teenager do in that situation? I called up Gabriel, starting dating him remotely, then booked a bus ticket to Italy so I could parade him around in front of a devastated Leonardo.
My pettiness knows no bounds.