When I was 12, I fell for a family friend, someone we considered a cousin, which at the time seemed like a safe thing to do. He was 15, making him a desirable older man to my inexperienced eyes.
He had a crush on my sister, as she was the same age, and seemed more his type. He lived hundreds of miles away, so access to this older guy was limited to family gatherings and our summer vacations at the Jersey Shore. Besides, he liked my sister.
And then, the Thanksgiving of my freshman year in college, when all the cousins got together, sparks began to fly. The chemistry we had could not be replicated even at the most prestigious science lab.
My heart cracked open after just one kiss, and it lasted for years. My sister married someone else when I was still in college, and of course, my heartthrob was at the wedding. After a night of drinking and dancing, I wound up at his place, and gave away my virginity in his single, childhood bed. He still came to our family gatherings and was the first one I asked about during phone chats with cousins, as he never strayed far from my mind. We had a daughter together, but due to issues around our misuse of alcohol to solve our intimacy problems, our marriage ended after I got sober.
We tried counseling but, in the end, too much damage had been done. Now fast-forward to another family get-together, a number of years down the road, on the heels of my divorce and recovery. My first lover was there, the cousin-like friend, divorced and sober too. My heart said charge, while my newly sober psyche told me to slow down.
