Aaaaah, the Good Ol' Days ......(Part 1)

My first stalker. I was 16, I had known him since 13, and we were friends, although he wanted more. He was sweet, but I was just not attracted to him in any kind of romantic or sexual way. He sent me a Valentine's card every year.

One Sunday, back from church (those days my father could still make me go), I found a bouquet of red roses, plus a card, on my pillow. My room was the only one in a wing seperate from the rest of the house, and I had a separate entrance, which I'd left unlocked (those were the days you could still do that, wouldn't dream of it today). I was pissed! As in, breathing-fire, I-will-beat-you-down, kinda pissed! I shoved the roses into my mother's hands, ordering her to throw 'em away, or take 'em to work. She was trying to calm me down, and asking me, very reasonably, whether I didn't think I was over-reacting, just a tad. Looking back, I definitely was, but all I could think about was what the hell he could have gotten up to while there, in my sanctuary. I mean, underwear, shower, get the picture?

Monday morning, he actually saught me out to ask whether I got the flowers, and I exploded, pretty much ruined the friendship, and the rest of our time at the same school, we talked when forced to.