Maybe the boy who smelled the least of body odor and Googled 'penis' with you during computer class became someone for whom you felt something weird and frightening and exciting and new, and you called it love. Or maybe Cupid struck you during middle school, when you didn't even know the definition of the word yet and thought everyone who wasn't your best friend had cooties. Or maybe you think of that time in college, when you became intoxicated by both your first taste of cheap alcohol and by that cute guy who approached you for a quippy conversation, which eventually turned into an exchange of numbers, a first date and a relationship in which you learned not every guy who says he loves you really means it.
When you think about your first love, you might imagine yourself in the backseat of the used Volkswagen your parents got you for your seventeenth birthday, awkwardly fumbling around in the company of McDonalds cheeseburger wrappers and empty cans of Arnold Palmer.
