He was my first “boyfriend”. When I was around 14 or 15, I was still stuck in 4-H, which Mom had forced me into in the first place, and which I never wanted to do. I was doing meat judging (please keep all earthy snickers to yourself at this point), which involved a lot of standing around in meat packing plants and frigid walk-in freezers, where cuts of meat were lined up and waiting to be ranked in order of best to worst from one to four, or to be identified. This guy was on my meat judging team. He was a year older, which of course made him mysterious and fascinating. At this point, of course, all males were mysterious and fascinating. He decided after seeing me in a bathing suit at a 4-H camp that I was very very hot, and I suppose, at that age I was. I had perfect stick legs with no cellulite, a little perky butt with narrow hips, and little boobs that bounced UP when I walked around the pool. With clothes on I was much less interesting. He started paying a lot of attention to me, and kissing me on the mouth with his tongue, which was a new and intriguing sensation. I was actually kind of grossed out by it, since I was not particularly attracted to him, although he was handsome by most standards, a solid country boy with interesting brown eyes. I mainly just wanted to see what he would do next. Our county extension agent, a beefy red-headed man with flushed cheeks whom we referred to as Mr. Hester, began to refer to him as “Pierre” because of all the french kissing. Mr. Hester seemed old, but in hindsight he was probably in his early twenties and getting a vicarious disgusting thrill by watching him maul me. He even kissed me in the car when we were all riding to a meet (or is that “meat”?). We were a very good team and took a lot of awards. I took State first place, for which my award was a waffle iron. A waffle iron?? What the hell did that have to do with meat? I remember one exhilarating evening at camp when he and I sneaked off into the woods and rolled around on the ground under a tree, with this fascinating extra body part of his poking at me through his jeans. I remember another even more exhilarating evening there when a bunch of us sneaked off, including his redneck friend Roy and some other boys, and I had my first beer ever. We got someone to buy them for us and passed them around. I probably got about a beer and a half and had a most excellent buzz, the first one I ever had. I vowed this was something I would do again. We then went back to camp and went to some sort of meeting, which was the funniest meeting I ever went to. Fortunately we were NOT caught. Friend Roy was a bit of a pervy pain in the ass but I knew him from school and had always thought he was kind of cute. He told me he didn’t have a clue what his friend saw in me until he saw me at the pool that day in my bathing suit. He also told me I had toothpaste around my mouth and it looked like I had been doing something else. I didn’t figure out what the something else was until much later. After 4-H camp, that boy and I didn’t see each other anymore, since neither one of us drove and he lived out in the country. He did an early primitive form of drunk dialing however, as it seemed his drinking habit was becoming routine. He would call my house drunk, which my Mom failed to identify and she would be thrilled that a nice boy from 4-H was calling me. Then he would mutter and slur at me, much to my great disgust and amusement. I didn’t drink again for another couple years, and I have the funny feeling that I wouldn’t have called him even if I did. Mom still kept track of him for some strange reason, and I got one of her famous clippings in the mail when he graduated and when he got married. I was totally annoyed and figured (correctly) that she thought it was about time that I settled down and got married too. That was the last I ever heard of him and I am sure he is out and about being a solid country citizen with a bass boat and a gun and just having a good old time.