Serial Dater: Like Falling For the First Time (Part 1)

by: Adam Guerino 

I’ve always wondered what the term “lost/lose” implies in relation to one’s virginity. We describe it in a manner you might use to explain something like your keys. But you’d never say, “My virginity was here a second ago and I have no idea where it went.” Or, “Did you check the couch cushions?” I’ve pondered these concepts recently because, after ten years, I’ve found my virginity. That’s right, the person who took it, a decade ago, has been found. And he just won’t give it back.

A flashback: It’s summer in my Iowan small town and I just graduated from high school. I was 16 going on 17 (let’s skip the musical interlude, if that’s alright) and I was researching my future school in Chicago the most logical way I know how: gay internet chat rooms. There I came across a gorgeous man who just turned 19 and was “visiting friends in Chicago.” For some reason, even though we didn’t, nor would we, live in the same city, I talked to him. In fact, we started talking on the phone for up to 3 or 4 hours a day. It was then decided, that we would drive halfway between Iowa and his home state of Indiana (where he was home from school for Summer) and, you know, “just hang out” at the Red Roof Inn. By the time we met up, after talking for over a month almost daily, I was 17 and completely enamored by this man. Disclaimer: the following statement might be too romantic and magical for some readers; the faint of heart may want to skip to the next paragraph. After drive-through fast food at Wendy’s, I promptly lost my virginity at said Red Roof Inn.

Just recently, I came across a familiar looking gorgeous man on facebook. And though the first name was the same as he I lost my virginity to, he was in a radically different career than before, had a different college listed in his educational background and lived in Chicago. I honestly didn’t entertain the notion that they were the same man. But he was cute so I sent him a friend request. After he accepted it and I saw more of his pictures, his smile brought me down memory lane. Now, after being sure it wasn’t him, I was certain it was. I sent him a message eloquently asking, “Hey, you look really familiar… have we met?” To which he replied, “Hahah, yes, you don’t remember?”

I maneuvered asking him to get a beer, under no pretense, while secretly wondering what our kids would look like. I told friends and strangers alike about how excited I was to see him again and they were extremely hesitant on my behalf. “Uh, it’s been a long time, sweetie,” they’d explain. “Don’t get all worked up.” It also began a game of trying to find the best way to describe his relation to me. “He who I lost my virginity to” just wasn’t catchy enough. “Sexual awakening” was tossed around a bit. “My first” just sounded too corny. The winner, and the funniest, nickname was the one that stuck as we began referring to him as my “Sire.”

I worried a lot in the upcoming days before our maybe/maybe not date. Not even that it wouldn’t go well but that it would. If he was as great as I remember and we clicked again, I’d have to wonder… had I wasted the last ten years of my romantic life? It seemed like a silly notion to worry about something going well but it was humbling to think I had been looking forward, in the wrong direction, this whole time. Instead of dating someone new, I should have realized I let something go that could have been great. But to put too much pressure on the date was ridiculous considering I wasn’t even sure it was a date. So, I went to meet my sire with as little anxiety and expectation as possible. Or at least I tried. Even before I arrived I realized I was falling.  Like falling for the first time.

Adam Guerino is a writer in Chicago who works nationally as a stand-up comedian and event producer. He is the creator of OutLoud Chicago which brings queer entertainment to the mainstream. He will hosting Word Is Out, a spoken word night presented by and OutLoud Chicago June 12th at Town Hall Pub 3340 N Halsted, 8pm. Admission is $5 and includes a companion lit zine. For more from Adam Guerino, is a great place to start.

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One response to “Serial Dater: Like Falling For the First Time (Part 1)

  1. Pingback: Serial Dater: Like Falling For the First Time (Part Two) | In Our Words·

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