And that's when my troubles began

In the bizarre reality that was middle school, Bryan* and Chris hailed from two separate worlds, parallel universes; chronologically, they go hand in hand.

Bryan was my classmate in seventh grade and my first "official" boyfriend. Because he did not ask me out until fifth period on the last day of school, however, I had most of my "first boyfriend" experiences with my "second official" boyfriend, Chris, that summer at sleep-away camp.

That I had gone from having no boyfriends to two boyfriends in a matter of days was an irony not lost on me. I spent nearly every day of seventh grade in utter shame over the fact that I had never been "asked out." It's not that I was particularly unpopular - plenty of girls less pretty and popular than I were actively dating our school's dorks, dweebs and geeks. Losers proudly dated other losers and the popular kids naturally dated each other, but I was stuck in limbo somewhere, wondering where I fit in.

(I should clarify that being "asked out" had nothing to do with actually going anywhere. It was simply the term for being boyfriend/girlfriend, actual dates notwithstanding.)

Bryan, everyone seemed to agree, was on my level. He had a bowl haircut and a dry wit and was one of only two guys in homeroom taller than the girls. All year our classmates had tried to get us together. I don't know what finally made him take the leap - maybe it was the pool party we had attended days earlier in which my, um, assets were clearly on display. Or maybe he had bet that he'd have a girlfriend by the end of the year; and now, with two periods left, the clock was literally ticking. Regardless, at some point during fifth period study, he felt compelled to grab my arm as I walked by where he sat casually, atop of his desk; pull me in close between his acid-washed denim-clad legs; and ask the words I'd longed to hear all year: "Will you go out with me?" With that one line, he made it official. I was as good as anyone else.

Bryan and I had a couple of late-night phone conversations in the few days before I headed off to camp. It was never discussed, only assumed we would stay together through the summer. I got one letter from him, and wrote just as often in return. I mean, really, what was there to say?

Dear Bryan,
Having a great time here at camp. You should be pleased to know that I have mastered the art of the French kiss with a fast boy from Long Island and am eagerly anticipating sharing this newfound skill with you upon my return. Hope you're having an awesome summer! CUL8R!
(heart symbol),
Lori

Because wouldn't you know? Having a boyfriend at home gave me confidence at camp, and by the Fourth of July, I had somehow managed to get "asked out" again!

My relationship with Chris was truly sweet. I don't know how I knew, but it was understood we were each other's first dates, first kisses. We'd hold hands during field trips and slow dance at DJ socials and I'd pretend to get mad when his hands would rove too far down my back during the long refrain of Stairway to Heaven. (But really? So exciting!)

I had my first real intimate moment with him; not sexually, but literally intimate in proximity. It was a coed overnight, and after a day of hiking in the White Mountains, our group had settled by the campfire to tell ghost stories, roast marshmallows, and wind down under a miraculous display of northeastern stars. As soon as the counselors went to sleep (or, more likely, got drunk), Chris came over to join me in my sleeping bag. The sleeping bag was tiny, though - not big enough for two people - not that we would have known what to do even it had been large enough to move around in. As it was, we lay like sardines, nose to nose at first and later, back to back, two truly innocent kids lacking the wherewithal to take advantage of the opportunity.

I don't remember any particular conversations with Chris, but we happily and easily dated for the entirety of the summer, which, at 13, was an eternity. Kids dated for a few days, a week, and called that a relationship. To our peers, Chris and I were a power couple; in hindsight, I think we were both just too dumb to have any idea how to end it. We never really said goodbye in August; I let him get in one good grope behind the rec hall and was happy to call it a summer. After all, I had someone waiting back at home.

The only significant "first-boyfriend" experience I allowed Bryan was the heart-wrenching experience of dumping me. Apparently he found out I had dated someone else over the summer, and so sent his friends over to my lunch table one day to break the news. This was unchartered territory for me. Even though I'd been witness to countless breakups of my friends and peers, I still hadn't expected my relationship to end with anything less than a soap opera worthy admission of love. Uh, or something.

We ended up getting back together a month later, and dated for another month after that. We slow danced to power ballads and I did get to teach him how to French kiss after all; but ultimately he broke up with me again, this time for a faster girl who didn't see the irony in his roving hands during Patience.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Or, you know, my embarrassment.