Romance writer Chloe Thurlow

Literary romance

First Love Lasts Forever

I remember my first love as if it were last night below the full moon with the sea slipping over the beach. The experience was overwhelming, painful, obsessive and I didn’t sleep for days. We may believe our first love is more intense and magical than anyone else’s. But that’s not true. It is always intense. Always magical. In fact, researchers have found that first love remains lodged in our minds and influences our attitude to love and sex for the rest of our lives.

According to BBC Science, first love is so potent it echoes the bond between mother and child in infancy. First love burns brightest and, even when it burns out, the experience, researchers say, is ‘similar to using cocaine, so pleasurable it’s like an addiction.’ The study identified three phases of love.

  • Lust
  • Attraction
  • Attachment

Lust and attraction sound the same to me. Teenagers race from one to the other, rarely reaching the attachment phase, making the experience so strong and vivid, the light that come on stays on, a glow that glimmers behind each new relationship.

My first love was a boy I met in Spain. I have a photograph and he looks so young with his tentative smile, green eyes and swept back hair . He is deeply tanned, angular, his eyes not staring into the camera but through the lens at me taking the picture.

His name was Ricardo. He did not speak English, and my schoolgirl Spanish was at the level where I could ask for little more than a café con leche. Ricardo didn’t need to speak. He just stared at me with those big green eyes and I my breasts tingled as I stared at him with his wide shoulders in a white tee-shirt.

He was with his parents and two younger sisters at the same hotel where I was on holiday with my parents and brother. Like in a scene from Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice, I would see him passing in the lobby. In the restaurant I watched across the sea of tables as he cut peaches in quarters and shared them with his sisters. I saw him on the beach. I wore a yellow bikini. He wore red shorts decorated with yellow suns. We smiled. We said Hola, and I took his photograph.

 First Love Last Night

Then it was Friday. There was a disco at the hotel. The moon was full. We danced. We moved towards the exit as if drawn by a magnet and gripped fingers as we hurried down to the beach. We continued around the coast towards the rocks where I had seen him diving.

He made a swimming motion and I nodded. He stripped down to his underpants. I stripped to my bra and panties, and then I did something that I had not planned to do and can’t imagine how I ever got the courage to do it: I took off my underwear and walked into the sea.

I turned and waved. He was watching me as he lowered his boxers. He swam out through the swell. We raced childishly. We ran back to the beach and kissed, a long salty kiss. We made love that night beneath the moonlight and next day I stood in the shade outside the hotel as his family climbed into a taxi.

Ricardo waved out the rear window as the car drove away and I thought my heart was going to break. I had discovered emotional feelings and desires I didn’t know I had and imagined that I would spend my entire life searching for the boy I had made love with on the beach.

The intensity of my feelings passed, as the survey in BBC Science said it would, but my first love remains unforgettable and the memory is like a breath of warm air on the bitterest winter night.

Image shows Katie in Love book cover

Katie in Love has more than 100 5**** Reviews

“This is highly original storytelling of breath-taking assurance and awesome craft. Thurlow’s writing is very much like her main character; moody—by turns melancholy and reflective—beautiful, sensuous and cerebral. This is “writer-ly” writing to be sure, the sort that stirs serious critical buzz and garners shelffuls of prestigious literary awards.” Terrance Aldon Shaw, Amazon, 5 stars. 

34 Discussions on
“First Love Lasts Forever”
  • Yes I do, it was so long ago now and yet so recent. The intensity I felt when I opened my heart up to her everything was accentuated to such a higher level. Everything felt better. I will miss it always. Great piece Chloe. X

  • It has been my experience that all love last forever — at least in the memory of the lovers. I do not believe it has to be sexually expressed to forever haunt the reverie. As a young man, I repressed my sexuality with women, yet the memories are strong and vivid. I lived my early youth in a different age before birth control. Women were more careful about giving themselves away in those times. Some of my first loves and sexual advances occurred at a very early age. Most of my romantic infatuations did not culminate in love making, but it matters not, as these memories still live today.

  • Even though my first love was decades ago, I have never forgotten her or how she impacted my life. Not only was she my first real love, she was also my first real sexual encounter. I have never felt the same since she walked out of my life leaving a wound on my heart that has never completely healed. I have traveled through several loves and two marriages since her and, I can say, nothing compares her touch, the sex or the giddy way she made me feel. I wish I could experience that again but, it is as elusive as a butterfly that remains just out of reach never to be captured again. Chloe, I can say, you have brought me very close to those feelings. Something I will always treasure in you. It’s very strange to know you’ll never meet someone. Yet, you have impacted me in ways I never thought possible beyond my wildest imagination. Thank you for being a part of my life again.

      • You’ll never completely understand how much you’ve touched me. Please, please feed me. I am famished to the point of sexual starvation. I have been for many years.

      • My first love should have been the loss of my virginity but that was sadly not the case. She loved me and I knew it but for some reason I wanted to break her heart. I was her first and she did not know that she was mine.
        Everything happened so quickly, like a blink if an eye.
        She had gotten what she wanted and so did I and when it was all over.
        I was scared to be in love with her, although I knew I was. For some reason
        I ignored my heart, maybe it was fear, maybe I was not ready. She did not say anything to me. She just looked at me and cried, disappointed with no words but to this day I wish she had said something. “What is wrong with you, why don’t you love me like I love you?.” Sometimes words that are unsaid are better left that way.
        I ran into her recently, I hadn’t seen her in years and then I realized that I didn’t break her heart and I am just flattering myself. The reality is. I broke my own heart and I still do that, to this day.

  • My first love? Like so many others of my age, the tentative step from boy to man was so much later than it is today. At an all boy boarding school even talking to a girl was enough to get you expelled.
    But at college, ah! that awakening. That wonderful moment when time either stood still or raced by. The intensity of focus, the warmth of another human being, the perfume, the touch, the taste, the moan, the kiss – all this and so, so much more. To say that I have forgotten would be to deny that it happened. It did. I remember it well. And I still love her. But 40 years on – just not quite so often.

  • First love is complicated. I will never forget the handsome older man I lost my virginity to at age sixteen. He was twenty three, gentle, kind and supportive. Our time together is clearly etched into my mind but it was not love. It was nature taking us on a course not to be argued with. So I didn’t. Love came a few years later. I was young in the big scheme of life, eighteen to be precise, but knew it was love In its truest form. I proposed to him. He proposed to me. A few decades later, my pulse quickens when I see him. I cannot imagine life without him. This is first love.
    Thank you for your ever insightful stories. You continue to inspire us to explore ourselves with each new blog.

    • Lovely. Reading this made me think of my first Cotellian Ball..16 and my first kiss, dressed up like a Cinderella moment. I remember seeing at age 19 the man i would marry, i knew it instantly that something guided him to where i was at a dance club for meeting guys. Later when he realized i was only 19 and he was 26 when he took me out on the first casual date, I saw his smile saying out loud, ah Jail Bait. LOL I was very sophisticated, savvy, sassy and full of fire. He grabbed my arm that first night when i purposely walked by him so he would notice me. I did not know he had already scanned the room and was watching me. He positioned himself so we would meet and sure enough heading to the ladies bathroom he was standing there waiting to smile and dazzle me with his charm. Cosmic love happens like that. You cannot miss each other. Circumstances brings you together. Now though new book and chapter about to be written. I loved the marriage, wonderful and a daughter came of this too, but i knew later my fairy tale love story somehow was meant to be done. A new Partner was going to enter and find me somehow. Meantime the ‘dance card’ had other opportunities but something within my Heart told me ‘wait’ the last man standing is the FOREVER one.

      That is where i am………..and writing romance love stories to present other inspiration and hope for those that believe in COMING EVENTS….

      Roshandra hopelessly a romantic and warmly writing on……

  • First love for me was like a tattoo that you get when you are young and regret and cherish as you grow older. First love really does last forever.

  • Yes I do. I was infatuated with him. He kept breaking my heart and I kept taking him back until finally he snapped the elastic and was gone. Ran into him later. He was clueless as to how much he had hurt me. Which also has set a precedent for my love life. They hurt me. I forgive them. Pattern repeat. Eventually the elastic stretches and it breaks the bond permanently and even with trying to super glue it. It’s never the same. Then choices have to be made. New elastic or is the bond so broken it’s pointless?

  • Hi Chloe. Did your parents know about it? How young were you? What if the other person were your first love, but you were not their first love? I feel that that is not fair.

  • I’m afraid the beginning of my sexual life was rather detached emotionally. I’ve loved, and I’ve lusted, but the two didn’t coincide at the beginning. I lost my virginity to an escort, and simply for the purpose of losing my virginity. As a result, lust and attachment became separate for me. I remember my first time well though.

    I was serving in the military, and she really liked military men. She grabbed me immediately and took me to a room. She was intense and vigorous, the way she moved was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Then something happened to me, as my hands touched her bare body, I reacted as if I were possessed. I took control, then I took her as if I had years of sexual experience. I lasted a lot longer than I expected to, and I made her orgasm three times. The third time was extremely intense for her. Her body tightened all over, and she screamed in absolute ecstasy.

    I realized two things that day: the first was, I was good at making love… really good. The second was that sex is expressive. It wasn’t just something that mommies and daddies do, it wasn’t a way for highschool teenagers to have fun on the weekends. It’s a connection between two people, and after it happens, things are never the same between them. You now know them in a way you can never forget.

    • I was thinking the same thing, Jay. I can picture this entire scene like a movie…the two young people looking at each other, afraid to speak, the scenes in the restaurant, on the beach. Finally, they are alone at the disco and no words need to be said, they join hands, run off into the night and make love. I also like the scene next day, poor Chloe standing there watching the car drive away. And I can see a look in her eyes that says, I will get through this and I will be stronger. Really excellent.

  • Once I was the young man seduced by the mature woman. Now I’m the older man fulfilling the domination fantasies of young women. Both were pleasurable, but I like what I’m doing now more.

  • Chloe’s account and the responses here are both charming and royally entertaining. However, I feel the need to speak up on behalf of those whose first love was perhaps slightly less of a success.

    My first love was, superficially, not too dissimilar to Chloe’s: I was 16, working in a hotel in Torquay, Devon, England for the summer. The object of my attentions was also 16, a girl I met on Babbacombe beach, about 250 feet below the hotel. Dark haired, dark eyed and very pretty, her smile was captivating. We agreed to meet on the beach after my shift ended at 9 o’clock. The portents were good.

    Sadly, the encounter did not run smoothly. We shared her sleeping bag, for this was where she slept, on the beach. The sex was hurried, rushing, fumbling and thoroughly incompetent. It was my first time but not hers. She was unimpressed.

    We agreed to meet again at the beach at the same time the following evening. Of her there was no sign. I had mixed emotions. I had wanted to improve on the performance of the previous night but breathed a small sigh of relief when I realised I would not have to.

    Until reading Chloe’s enchanting blog post I had pushed this memory to the darkest recesses of the complex cave system that makes up my mind. Revisiting the memory did not make it any less painful or embarrassing. The shame of my first visit to the STD clinic is just as emotionally powerful now as it was then.

    Fortunately, the little critters were soon eradicated by the frequent application to the affected area of a powerful pink lotion, for which I was very grateful.

    First love? Hmm.

  • When I was eight years old I fell madly in love with my cousin Andrea. It seems silly to say that a boy so young could fall in love — a crush, the adults would say; bullshit, I said then and say now— but love it was, and I had it for the next eight years. Bad.
    I should start by describing Andy. She was my dad’s cousin’s youngest daughter and lived in DC with her oil executive inventor engineer bastard dad and her cheated-on, abused and unbelievably sweet mom. She came for a visit for Christmas. I was eight and she was nine and I took one look at her and was gone. She was of Polish extraction and had olive skin, clear blue eyes, dark hair and very white teeth (a combination I favor to this day) and went to a Friends’ school outside of Bethesda. She and I hit it off immediately. I hadn’t met her before, but her older sisters and brother had always been really kind to me the few times they had visited, so i felt we had some common ground immediately.
    Being in love manifested in increasingly curious ways.First off, I wanted to be around Andy all the time. I would draw for her, and even then I was pretty good at it and fond of showboating. I drew originals and commissions, doing cartoons of family members, my grandmother’s dog, friends and imaginary people for which we made up stories. It was hard to both draw and stare at her, but I managed.
    Since it was Christmas, I was able to stay at my grandmother’s house for several days. Andy stayed at my great-aunt’s, her grandmother’s, in the adjoining house. I spent all day with her, and we really loved one another’s company. She suggested holding hands, and we did from then on. I cried on Christmas Eve when I had to go home, but my mom pointed out that I had been at my grandmother’s all week and didn’t actually LIVE there. I think her feelings were hurt, as she had taken time off to be with us. My sister Amy, who stayed home, told me that mom was drunk and crying over soap operas and that I wasn’t missing much. Amy was grounded d for running away, something she did every few months for several days at a time. Christmas night we went back, and I was able to stay a day or two more before Andy and her family flew back.
    Oh, the heartache. It was physical pain. this longing to be with her. It wasn’t sexual, at least not much. It was more like a piece of myself had been ripped away. I wrote her letters, drew her cartoons, made her a model plane. My parents eventually noticed and they wondered about my obsession, figuring it for a crush. They also figured, partially correctly, that I would get over it. And, over time, I mostly did. But I never forgot, and over the next few years that old love feeling would well up in me and overcome me for a time. Then, as always, it would fade and mostly go away.
    The summer I was 15 I had a job lined up with a roofing company that would start later in the summer. My buddy Joel and I were reconditioning swamp coolers and, being downtown to buy supplies, stopped by my grandmother’s to have a snack and some lemonade. As we walked into the kitchen, my heart leapt in my chest. There sat Andy, all grown up and more beautiful than ever.
    She had gotten in bad trouble at the Quaker school and had been expelled. She was moving to Tucson to live with her mother because her dad’s house was closed to her (she was even out of the will, though what she did I never really knew… Andy was, among many things, a liar and you couldn’t really trust anything she said). She was going to go to my school and be a year ahead of me. She wanted Joel and me to show her around. Joel was a nordic blonde with electric blue eyes and really fucked up gray teeth that had been damaged in utero. She sexily went up to Joel and said “I’m An-DRAY-ah and you have wicked eyes.” I wanted to kill Joel, but I was really intrigued by the name shift. An-DRAY-ah. Exoctic. I felt faint. It was a pretty good omen of what was to come.
    Joel and I left to finish our work, and when I was done I made my excuses to the roofers and more or less moved down to my grandmother’s.
    That summer, Andy and I were inseparable. We both fell in love, forbidden though it was. We kissed, but dared not do more (I was totally inexperienced and she had, I found out later, a history of terrible sexual abuse at the hands of schoolmates and maybe faculty). So we would go to the hotel down the block and sneak into to pool area and swim and bake in the sun and stare at each other. I wanted to run away with her, and I really wanted to have sex with her. I loved her with all my being and literally had her in my heart every second. I enjoyed her company and believed anything she said. I also confessed my whole and entire devotion to her, confessed it fully, exposed myself totally. This was, as it turned out, a mistake, and a very painful one.
    When the summer of love ended and school started, we had drama together. I had been in advanced drama since I was a freshman (a rare honor) and she was able, as a senior, to jump right in. She behaved very, very differently toward me at school. I still felt the insane love for her and was obsessed with being around her, but it turns out that I was not the only one. Two of my friends also fell under her spell. She would behave very formally toward me in public, sometimes not speaking to me or running hot and cold. I see now that she was pretty damaged, and that I had unwisely committed my heart entire to her untrustworthy safekeeping. She played her suitors off one another, lied, ditched school, stole money and drugs… pretty much ran riot. I have a photograph from a play we were both in that year, a Shakespeare best-of designed for high school one-act competitions. I had some juicy roles: Master Quince in Hamlet (“Speak the speech I pray thee, as I pronounced it to thee, trippingly on the tongue”) and the lovestruck Lysander in Midsummer night’s dream. Andy, alas, didn’t play Hermia (Lysander’s love interest, if you have forgotten) but Helena, the girl in love with Demetrius (whom Hermia’s father wants her to matty instead of Lysander). My aching love for Andy shines though the picture… she is emoting with a very Medea-ish look in the front of the picture, while I, gaunt in my toga (I had stopped eating for the most part and weighed, at my current height of 6’1″, about 145), stared at her with the tormented expression of a dog looking at humans grilling steaks that he maybe, maybe might get a bite of. It is a heartbreaking picture. I didn’t go to state that year, the only year I abstained.
    The weakened company took second because, the director told me, my understudy had botched his lines. My lines. I didn’t go because I wanted to show Andy that I could do something that didn’t involve her. I knew at this point I was bashing my heart on rocks and was going to break. I was also not eating, cutting class and suffering what amounted to a full scale mental breakdown complete with hospital stay that December. My survival mechanism kicked in just in time, and eventually I could think of Andy without my heart rolling over in my chest.
    That summer I continued to see her from time to time, but I had already moved on. I was hanging with a cool crowd, a group to which she was peripheral at best. I developed what indifference to her I could muster, but mostly just avoided her. She went off to Switzerland to study beauty and I have not seen her since, although she sent me an amends letter when she went through a 12-step program some years later.
    So, that was the first time I fell in love and man, it fucked me up so bad I didn’t do it again for a really long time. Weird, though, that I am still a romantic. The obsessive part was the thing i really want to lose, the part where I use how the other person views me as a way to view myself. Pretty common, I think, but not very fair

  • My First Love wore sky blue trousers, this is the first thing that captured my attention as he approached from the train station, sports bag in hand, when I met him in a mountain resort. Talkable and maybe too exuberant for a shy girl like me. He took me on a ride with the cable car. I always had a deep fear of heights. His arm meant the world to me as long as that cable car was balancing over the steep evergreen. His mouth never stopped talking, about philosophers, summers and aircraft. We had lunch, we had dinner, then we slept in separate rooms. Couple of days later, we slept on each other’s shoulders, in a tight compartment – the train was taking us back home. I prepared for my second summer camp, at the seaside, he prepared for his late August repeating examinations. I sent him a post card… In early October he came looking for me at my dorm, hundreds of kilometers from home. Kissing, holding hands, he talked and I listened, late nights on a bench, under the stars. Platonic weekends, love letters, distance, dreams, belly butterflies… Then, in the thick darkness of a winter night, listening to Dire Straits, I feel his lips whispering to my ear: “Marry me?” I said “Yes!” Twenty-six years later, we make our own home porn. Together!

      • Well, twas a novella to begin with, then another one: http://amazon.com/author/dorisdawn and yet a third one: “MATRYOSHKA – Sex in the Golden Age” (Naked Beyond Time & Space Book 3) [Kindle Edition] – don’t know why I could not add it to my Amazon page :(

        Our love story is embroidered in fantastic worlds, beyond space and time, emerging from his crazy fantasy (the worlds, I mean).
        My fear of heights? It works only here, on planet earth. :)

  • Ah, my first love was amazing and beautiful. I know sometimes people experience “puppy love” the first time, but mine was deep and meaningful. At the time, I was going through some really difficult family and personal issues and I swear this love actually kept me alive for a time. I think I love the young (in my memory) boy still.

    Of course, life went like it does and we went our own ways, really being too young to commit to anything. But the love itself still makes me smile.

    Best first love ever, I think.

    – Evony Thorne (an erotica writer)
    http://dominanceerotica.com

  • It is also something that I had pushed to the back of my mind, Oh, Thanks Chloe, for opening that door :P
    It seems unfortunate that many of us, are caught up in the moment of the experience of our first love, whether or not we are prepared for the journey.
    As Robin pointed out, not every first love can be termed as a success.
    We go from being someone’s son or daughter to being someones lover, partner etc without really knowing who we are, what we want or what our ideal world would look like, all of these semi important experiences mould us in ways that are either good or bad, but the outcome it appears is solely related to chance, the chance of who we meet for that experience and upon that we reflect favourably or miserably for the rest of our lives.

    I have seen a group of Young People of today, they’ve been instructed to Know Yourself and Follow your Heart;
    To know Who You are and what You Are; Travellers of the World, Lovers of Friendships and consciously choose their first experience not just let it happen to you.

    Funnily enough I saw a post saying: Since Sex got easier to get, love got harder to find…

    When watching and speaking with these young ones, I’ve noticed an important difference… they do not have the regret, it will not plague them forever.

    • Perhaps that phrase: Sex got easier to get, love got harder to find…goes with that lack of regret that haunts so many people? As I have come to see from the comments on this blog, first love wasn’t always a great success and for those of it was, I guess we must count our lucky stars.

      • Thank you, Isabella for a thoughtful and uniquely insightful post, and thank you too, Chloe, for your considered response.

  • I will like to talk about my first kiss. I was in high school. I was holding my yearbook from. Freshman year. Her name was Reshni. A beautiful Indian girl, she was a junior. I asked her to sign my yearbook, it was brand new and she was the first to sign it. I handed it to her brand new and barely opened. We went where we always went, across the street waiting for our rides home. I waited for the school bus and she waited for her sister to pick her up. We talked like we had done everyday after school but this day was different. It was her last day at our school, she was going to a different school because she was moving, it was a a sad day but I didn’t want to say anything to her about my sadness. She signed my yearbook and of course I didn’t look at what she had wrote because she told me not to look until after she left. After she signed it, she got close to me like she was going to hug me goodbye but she didn’t this time, she kissed me on the lips it was soft and beautiful. This definitely wasn’t her first time doing this. That was my last time seeing her. I read the yearbook when I got on the bus and she wrote. I have always loved you and I will miss you more than anything. Please keep in touch and always remember me.

  • First love.
    I was going to write a long bit about how my view of relationships was born out of a struggle between two ideas – one being that as a military brat we moved a lot, so friendships came and went; and the other being that my parents marriage lasting to this day – but really, who wants to plow through something boring or like that?
    My first love was blonde and blue-eyed, upturned nose, haughty and unattainable. She had the body type I craved and have never really encountered again – taut, small breasted and she smelled of Windsong. Part Stevie Nicks, part Lauren Bacall, her whisper in my ear filled my brain with intoxicating, black-out drunk feeling. The world, time and space, everything went away, and her fingers on my skin made and unmade me all at the same time.
    We fumbled our way through a relationship or sorts, and it ended in tears.
    But I still catch her scent on the breeze, hear that whisper in my ear, long for that touch that felt as no other has or will again.

  • How very true. Memories of that long ago first love come unexpectedly, sometimes in waking after a restless night and I wonder where he is now and whether he still remembers me.

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