posted Mon, 23 May 2005
This morning, I heard that classic song, “Please Don’t Go,” by KC and the Sunshine Band. I remember this song – which you can hear at amazon.com – because I had my first Slow Dance to it, with Keith, my First Boyfriend in high school.
We were at the Halloween party at Julie and Robert’s carport. Keith’s mom and dad circled us, snapping photos, which I guess is what it's like with movie stars and the paparazzi.
Keith never seemed to be that attracted to me, really, which for years I took as an indication of my pulchritude. He kissed me all of two times in our entire relationship, even though he would pick me up to drive me to school every morning, which was a big deal in the Canal Zone, as you had to be 17 to get a driver’s license (he had gotten his before leaving the States) and most families had only one car. The military won’t pay to ship more than one car per family overseas, but he was an only and his dad was a colonel. His parents had paid extra to bring his car.
I should have guessed something was wrong with Keith and me by the way my next boyfriend, David, acted. We would spend most of lunch necking behind the chemistry lab. My mom asked me about the rash on my chin one day. “That looks like whisker burn,” she observed. I had never heard of whisker burn, but I figured it out right away. “You need to shave,” I told David, “or I’m not kissing you any more.”
Well anyway. For years, I thought there was something that made me so unattractive that even my own boyfriend – or, at least, Keith – didn’t want to kiss me. One of the times that he did, he observed that I tasted like macaroni (I had just eaten dinner – a dinner that included macaroni) and that he did not like macaroni.
A few years ago, I googled him.
Well, well, well. I already knew through military brat connections that he had joined the Air Force, become a navigator and was a swim coach at the Academy.
What I did not know was that he was…
Gay, gay, gay.
I found a site for gay athletes where he had posted about his coming out. He has a very distinctive last name. That, along with some other information about his job and hobbies, clinched it.
I was thrilled. It wasn’t me at all! It was never about me! He didn’t like any girls! At least, not for kissing.
I’ll bet this explains a bunch of my old boyfriends.
Marriage 601, Lecture 745: Unequally yoked
1 hour ago