The Beautiful Things

I would have to say that my first experience with love was the defining moment in my life. Maybe it was because it happened in a way that was not anticipated. Hard as it is to believe, guys have this storybook view of how things should be in love. The first time you meet the first date, the first kiss and the first time you make love. You know, The Beautiful Things! Having sex is not a beautiful thing, it’s just sex. I guess you already know that. I just wanted to clear that up for you.

Contrary to popular belief, I was not a guy with a sword on a horse, nor a big ugly green toad. When I met my first love, she was not a princess, nor a damsel in distress. We were two kids both interested in cutting school more than anything else. That common goal was the spark that got the pistons pumping. There was no fairy god person, no witch’s spell, or short naked kid running around shooting people with arrows. It was something that happened. And it was a great feeling. Just like a bottle of Sprite in the summer, you should always “Obey Your Thirst.”
As the story goes, we were happy, we were sad; we were in love. We were like a hot dog and the bun. Never any good apart, unless there was some beans. Of course, I was the hot dog. I had certain coolness to me, like Travolta in “Saturday Night Fever.” You know what I mean? Okay, maybe not.

I’m sure you want to know about the bun. She was soft, not toasted or moldy. She was a sweet bun. She had a Sandy like attitude from “Grease.” You’re the one that I want! She always had a smile on her face and love in her heart. These were the parts that made things beautiful. Nothing could destroy that. So I thought!

Like Superman, the beautiful things have a weakness- the dreaded Soap Opera Syndrome! It’s when your life starts to resemble, say, “All My Children” or “Melrose Place;” Everybody sleeping with everybody else; just sex, nothing beautiful about it. I was no longer a hot dog, but just a dog. And my sweet bun became an unlucky crumb. You see, there was a new bun in town and she was pure San Francisco Sourdough. I took one look at her, put my hand to my mouth and said, “Damn, Damn, Damn, Damn!” it was “Good Times” all over again.

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