In yesterday’s column, we discussed the lofty ideals of love in the piece “This Is What She Wants.” Judging by your comments, I could tell that many of you felt my friend’s desires for love were overly optimistic … too perfect. Some even said that it reminded them of being 15, or experiencing puppy love.

Whether I agree or disagree with your position doesn’t matter at this point, as our discussion has taken me to an entirely new place which has inspired today’s column. For the past 24 hours, my mind has been occasionally drifting back to the first time I ever fell in love and how it made me feel.

Now I’m not talking about when I was in kindergarten and pledged my life to the most well developed five year old in the history of mankind, Cookie Johnson. (Yes, her name was really Cookie.) And I’m certainly not talking about my 7th grade year when I literally felt like I was in love with the entire clarinet section of our middle school band. That’s not it either. Instead, what I’m referring to is the kind of adult love that knocks you off your feet and makes you want to do crazy stuff like live right and have a perfect credit score.

Here’s the story of my first love…

I was a freshman in college at Emory University in Atlanta… Her name was Summer. It was the second week of school, and I decided to enroll in a swimming class just to get one of my core classes out of the way, and get an easy A in my first semester of school. On the first day of class, I remember stepping out of the pool and catching a glimpse of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen running on the track above. I swear it was the only time in my life that I had ever seen someone run in slow motion. So I just stood there in awe.

Eventually I would begin to breathe again, and we would officially meet two days later. Even though I could tell there was a mutual attraction, she was still older than me so she tried to play that “he’s like a little brother to me” role. I wasn’t having it though, and was determined to transform those strong, raw emotions that I couldn’t seem to shake into something more meaningful. Well it took a while (as in over a year) but eventually those sparks would flame up into a fire that would cast a shining glow over the entire campus for the next two years. She was my soul’s counterpoint. My best friend. My earth angel.

At the time, I thought she was my soul mate, and that love could get no better. That’s what I remember … that was my first love.

So how did it end? Well that part doesn’t matter, as today we’re only focusing on the positive side of that first love. Which brings me to a personal favor that I’d like to ask each of you…

The Fly Guy Request: Share with us the memories of your first true love. Explain why you were so sure that it was love. Don’t hold anything back. And remember, I don’t want to hear how it ended …simply how it began, and how you knew.