Do you ever think about your first?

I don't think I can even remember my first crush.

It was so long ago, spnited was only middle-aged.

 

Good God, I crushed on so many girls throughout my childhood tha it's hard to remember who the "first" was.
Like someone else said earlier, I never went through the "girls are yucky" stage. I guess the one I really remember early was a Cambodian girl named Chandevy Khim. I guess it was a good foreshadowing because I've always been told that the girls I date/have dated lean more toward the exotic looking side.
Chandevy was good friends with my best friend, Tom. I was always convinced that those two would end up together and I'd have to kill Tom in his sleep. But, Tom was interested in someone else, so I was safe. I remember getting Chandevy's phone number from Tom and trying to think of any excuse to call her. One night I did and we talked for a long time.

But, I was sooooooooooooooo painfully shy back then. PAINFULLY shy.
Chandevy and I continued to become more friendly and Tom told me he thought she "LIKED ME liked me." I thought he was full of shit and wanted me to make a fool of myself, much like I'd enjoy watching him make a fool of himself over a girl.
One night, and I remember this vividly, Chandevy and I were on the phone and she asked me who I "liked." I hemmed and hawwed and stammered and avoided. Chandevy even admitted right there that she LIKED ME liked me.

And, like a pathetic little tool, I still couldn't admit it. I know I was young (elementary school) but I still kick myself to this day.
I've changed a lot since then and have no trouble approaching girls. I adopted the attitude that if I ask out 100 women I'm interested and 80 say no, then I'm going on 20 good dates.
But, Chandevy is the one that got away. I try to look her up on MySpace or Facebook or any of the other "reunion" web sites, just to see how she's doing and if she still talks to Tom, who I also lost touch with. No luck so far.

 

Especially if she was also eight.

 

The Saturday Boy
by Billy Bragg

I'll never forget the first day I met her
That September morning was clear and fresh
The way she spoke and laughed at my jokes
And the way she rubbed herself
Against the edge of my desk
She became a magic mystery to me
And we'd sit together in double history twice a week
And some days we'd walk the same way home
And its surprising how quick
A little rain can clear the streets

We dreamed of her and compared our dreams
But that was all that I ever tasted
She lied to me with her body, you see, and
I lied to myself bout the chances I'd wasted

The times we were close
Were far and few between
In the darkness at the dances in the school canteen
Did she close her eyes like I did
As we held each other tight
And la la la la la la la la means I love you

She danced with me and I still hold that memory
Soft and sweet
And I stare up at her window
When I walk down her street
But I never made the first team,
I just made the first team laugh
And she never came to the phone
She was always in the bath

I had to look in the dictionary
To find out the meaning of unrequited
While she was giving herself for free
At a party to which I was never invited

I never understood my failings then
And I hide my humble hopes now
Thinking back- she made us want her
A girl not old enough to shave her legs...

 

Mine was sometime in elementary school. Third grade, I think. Her name was Michelle. I was too scared to talk to her, but one day at recess one of her friends said something to her about me and she shot a smile in my direction. I was still too scared to talk to her, and we eventually moved across town. We ended up at the same high school, but I was still a wussy, geeky loser with absolutely no confidence or game. And she wasn't in any of my classes, so I never really got the chance to talk to her.
But oh, did I try to woo her one last time. Oh yes, I surely did.
A couple nights before graduation, I get on some kind of funky adrenaline high. The only way to explain it is to say that it felt like someone reached into my brain, turned a key, and unlocked all of the mysteries of the universe. There were no drugs involved, which made it even more amazing. I stayed up all night writing down my thoughts on high school, graduation, the meaning of life, whatever I could think of. I wrote personalized letters to a couple of my homeroom buddies, about what I thought of them and some advice for the future.
And I also wrote a letter to Michelle.
I had gotten her to sign my yearbook -- it was the first time I'd talked to her the whole time we were in high school, even though we were in the same homeroom -- and she signed it something like, "Too bad we never kept in touch all those years." For some reason, to me, that was an invitation to write her a personalized, stalkerish letter that said I'd been pining for her since elementary school. In my delusional, adrenaline-fueled trance I probably even believed some of it.
I signed it and put my phone number on it. I convinced my best friend, who had a car, to take me by her house one night around 1 a.m. and I left the letter stuck in her door.
Amazingly, neither she nor the cops ever called me. That letter will have me cringing and looking for the fire exits if I ever make it to a class reunion.

 

My first gawky, adolescent-age crush was at the end of fifth grade. Her name was Jennifer. She'd been in my class every year since first grade. We were both "talented and gifted," which was something we had good laughs about once we were thrown back into regular classes with everyone else in junior high. We always invited each other to our birthday parties and what not, but I didn't start to think of her in THAT way until the spring of fifth grade, when she started sprouting these THINGS from her chest.

She liked Night Ranger's "Sister Christian." So I did too. Yup. I like Night Ranger, 24 years later, because Jennifer did.

Our friend Eric held a pool party at the end of every school year. So after the last day of school, my mom drove me to Eric's house. And what did I see when I walked into the backyard but Jennifer in a goddamn two-piece. Holy mother of hell. She was a knockout. I was completely and totally in love...which was great, except she and Dave fell for each other that day. Dave was an athletic and handsome kid with dark, brooding good looks. Six years later, Dave would, to the surprise of no one at all, captain the football team and win class beau.

So what shot did I have, with my bowl haircut and undeveloped physique? Apparently Dave and Jen had quite the summer together, or at least as good a summer as any two 11-year-olds can have, and they dated deep into sixth grade. At one point, they broke up, but I kept chickening out of asking Jen to "go out with me" (which I guess meant having her over to watch TV while my mother lurked nearby, I dunno).

So you can imagine how I felt when I reported to school on a Tuesday--after missing school Monday b/c I was sick--only to see Dave and Jen got back together over the weekend. We had some class activity where we talked about our most important people and Dave and Jen said each other. I was sicker than I'd been on Monday and I swore I'd never miss school again, convinced I could have stopped them getting back together if I'd only been at school Monday.

Jen and I never did go out, though we would always say hi to one another when walking by each other in HS. But come every spring, I can't help but think of her occassionally.

 

my first real crush was in the fourth grade. hot little number named kim ... god, i loved kim.

she moved to a school about 15 minutes north and became one of the biggest sluts in the county. daddy issues, i think.

 

Don't know if it's a crush, but I remember the first girl I ever took on a date and kissed. It was back in the mid-60s when I was in junior high (I'm an old codger). We went to a dance, then to a malt shop (really, straight out of Happy Days), then I walked her home by 10:30. Kissed her good-night and floated home. Still remember those soft lips.

A very sweet, very cute girl. We went our separate ways and I totally lost track of her. A couple of years ago, I was looking online at the paper in my little hometown, where I hadn't been in 20 years or so, and read her obit. Cancer. I hadn't seen her in forever, but I had wondered about her from time to time. It made me sad and a little melancholy to hear she'd died. Mother of two.

 

Mine was Anne Marie -- had a crush onher all throughout grade school; sat next to her in several classes and sang in the choir together. Rarely gave me the time of day and generally that was to tell me to leave her alone.
Went to different high schools and never saw her after that, although I did hear about her in college -- me to a directional university and her to Michigan.
But after college and I moved to Ann Arbor, I would run into people who knew her as she got older -- a vicious chain-smoking bitch.
I generally felt a lot better about life not working out the way I wanted in eighth grade.

 

Her name was Joy. We were in love in third grade at St. Joseph's Catholic School. I think we even held hands a couple of times.

We actually wound up going to the same high school and college, but never hooked up.

 

Dammit ... I was going to post the exact same thing. Well, except for the second sentence. Replace "He moved ..." with "I moved ..."