I was her first, and she was my last.

I know that’s overly cliched, but it was the absolute truth for both of us. I don’t recall, exactly, the very first time that I saw her. She was working at a local market as a cashier. The owner seemed to rotate regularly through pretty girls from the local school. I had frequented there for close to a decade and a half, although I never asked how he managed to find them, but they were generally a feast for the eyes.

She was a little shorter than I was, probably around 5’9” or so, and had crystal blonde hair that stopped just below her shoulders. Add in green eyes that one could get lost in, a lithe body and a certain … perkiness, if you know what I mean … and she was utterly gorgeous.

I do remember the very first time that went beyond simple pleasantries while she was ringing up my order. There were two people ahead of me on line and she was the only cashier working just then. She had on a loose T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants tights. Those tights made me finally truly understood what the phrase “like they were painted on” meant. While they covered her from the waist down, they were utterly revealing.

As the line slowly progressed, I could not take my eyes off of her. She was smiling and full of energy.

When it was my turn, I quickly looked around and noticed that there was no one else in line and no one else nearby. Taking a breath to put a little courage into me, I leaned forward a little and said, “I know this might be overly forward of me, but you might want to consider wearing something that’s at least a little less revealing?” I paused to smile. “Not that I don’t appreciate the scenery, of course.”

She smiled and laughed, and it was a quiet laugh with such a clear sound that I was sure there were angels getting jealous that theirs didn’t sound so beautiful. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the view. You’re the first one this whole day who’s commented, never mind everyone else seems to need to force themselves to not even look.”

Her smile just then utterly melted me. Without even thinking, I introduced myself — even though I’d been here multiple times, I didn’t think she knew my name. And then, not even realizing what I was doing, I asked if I could invite her out for a cup of coffee sometime … or lunch … or dinner … or breakfast in bed.

I think the last one was what broke through to her. She laughed again and told me that we would have to wait for breakfast, but she would love to join me for a coffee. She told me her name and that she would be finished today at 5:00. If I was serious about that coffee, I should be waiting in the parking lot for her. With that, she turned away to do something else.

# # #

I was back and waiting in the parking lot at least ten minutes early. Something told me that this was one of the most important appointments of my life. Little did I realize.

She walked out of the door exactly on time, waving to someone inside, a light blue windbreaker over one shoulder. A twist of her head flung her hair around, and I was, once again, utterly entranced. I waved, and she headed towards me. Once she was seated, I suggested a local coffee shop — not one of the “name brands,” where we could sit comfortably and talk. A small smile indicated she was fine with that, and a few minutes later, we walked in the door.

If I were tortured for the information, I could not recount what we talked about. All I do remember is that we actually talked, about ourselves, about what we wanted in life, and about all sorts of other real subjects. The more we talked, it seemed utterly natural that we would start holding hands. It happened almost without thinking — for both of us.

The time passed all too quickly until we were told by the manager it was time to leave, as they were about to close. I escorted her out, holding the door to the cafe and the car. Once I was inside, we looked at each other, and her mouth turned into that slight smile that I was already falling in love with. “About one minute, I think.”

I had no idea what she was talking about and said so.

“Oh … Well, right now, you’re going to drive both of us to your home. And I think it will take about one minute for us to take all of our clothes off before you take me to bed.”

Who was I to resist a challenge of that magnitude from the most beautiful girl I’d ever laid eyes on?

# # #

It turned out that she was wrong — by about 20 seconds. Then again, I don’t think she’d considered the time saved by torn clothing and buttons that would need to be retrieved and sewn back on later.

Afterward, we lay in bed, sweaty. I had an arm around her while she was half-cuddled against me, one leg hooked over mine, her arm casually draped across my chest, and her head resting against my shoulder. I slowly caressed her golden hair and then I heard her seemingly whisper, “Hold me … and never let me go.”

I instinctively held her closer and tighter before gently kissing her forehead. Then I whispered back, “If that is to be so, dearest … then we must agree on how we treat each other.” She looked up at me that smile once again cutting through to my heart.

I smiled back warmly and told her that there must never be secrets between us, not even in the things that we didn’t say to each other. We had to be able to talk about anything and everything — including the deep, dark secrets that we had never felt safe revealing to anyone else. And we must never say anything to intentionally hurt each other.

She tilted her head back, climbing slightly up my body to kiss me, murmuring, “Yes, yes, yes…” as she did. And with that, we had made a certain sort of vow to each other and, magically, had become a couple.

# # #

From that point forward, we spent all of our spare time together. When we were in public, our hands would always reach for each others’. And every time that we wound up in bed, after utterly tiring ourselves and each other out, she would always curl up against me and whisper those same words to me. It had become a sort of ritual, in a fashion, and I would now always respond by holding her a bit more tightly, and responding the same way. Somehow, that would melt her as she melted me and she would relax against me, seemingly feeling even more secure with me.

Of course, there were complications. Any serious relationship has them.

At first, her friends were concerned for her and outright suspicious of me. After enough whispers behind her back, and even to her face, she confronted them. With her fingers twisted with mine, she practically yelled at them, saying that I was the best thing that had ever happened to her and if they were truly her friends, they could see that. I remained silent, almost on the verge of tears hearing her say those things, promising myself that I would never do anything to hurt her.

Eventually, her friends came to understand. I suspect that at least part of what drove that understanding was that every time I was with her, she would always reach out to grab my hand, and that simple touch was enough to bring smiles to both our faces. I was never truly accepted as one of them, but they became more willing to allow me into their circle.

Worse, though, was her family. Her mother never accepted me, and, I think, never stopped hating me for, she believed, seducing her daughter and taking her virtue. Her father, though, merely started out concerned for her. One time, while waiting for her to finish dressing, with him glaring at me, I quietly told him what she and I had discussed that first night in bed. I didn’t provide the details of the setting, but merely what we had agreed for how to treat each other. His expression softened, he nodded his head and then reached out to shake my hand. “You realize that we can never be ‘best buddies.' But so long as you hold to that for how to treat her, and I can continue to see the sheer joy she gains from being with you … I have nothing I can say against you.”

I nodded understanding and agreement, moments before she came dashing down the stairs, grabbing my arm and shouting a farewell to her family as we went out to whatever we were doing that evening.

# # #

We never lost those feelings for each other. Sure, I would occasionally look at someone else, as would she. That’s only natural. But even those instances were talked about between us. “No secrets” means exactly that — even when we had some passing interest in someone else.

No matter what, though, we had both come to the realization that there would never be anyone else for either one of us.

Finally, before I asked her, I went to her father. It was still quite awkward between us, but I felt that I needed to — for my own sake, as well as, perhaps, for hers. I acknowledged that I was quite “old school”, and then proceeded to ask for his daughter’s hand.

He laughed and said, “I’ve seen the way you look at her, and she looks at you. I also know the sheer joy you bring to her life, and can only assume the same is true for yours.” I whispered quiet agreement, not wanting to interrupt him. “I would be a fool and a worse father if I denied her that.

“I’ll hold you to your promises about how you will treat her. And, honestly, I doubt that there is anything I could do to stop her even if I were to say no. So, yes, if she’ll have you — and I utterly doubt that she would ever say otherwise — you have my blessing.”

I hadn’t gotten a ring. I was reasonably sure that she would not require such a trinket. That night, with her laying against me, once more … our ritual completed … I murmured softly, “Will you be mine, forever? I want to be with you and you with me. I know that it would be nothing more than a …” I searched for the right words. “A public acknowledgement of what we already have.”

Before I had even finished, I felt her nodding her head, whispering, “Yes, yes, yes…” against my chest. Then she looked up at me, her eyes bright and somewhat watery, saying, “… and never let me go.”