I’m convinced that you can be in love at any age of your life. Except for infants. Infants are too stupid to be in love. But once you hit age three or four, I think love becomes possible and almost likely. But love is different at different ages; there are various stages of love. Love at three is not love at eighty-three. Although if you want to get technical, for both of those stages, the people in love are all wearing diapers.
The earliest love stage occurs during preschool. I first fell in love with this girl in my preschool class. Her name was Amanda and she was a fucking smoke show. I don’t know how sexual attraction works when you’re three and your dick is the size of a crayon tip, but I clearly remember how hot Amanda was. It’s hard to know why I thought she was so hot. I suppose it was her face or her eyes or something. It definitely wasn’t her boobs. Mine were bigger.
I didn’t know what sex was back then but I don’t think that stopped me from wanting to have sex with her, if that makes sense. In other words, I think I felt the urge to fuck her, but I just didn’t know how to express those feelings at three years old. So instead of using the limited vocabulary I possessed to gauge her interest in me, I just took one of my Power Ranger action figures and chucked it at her face. And when she didn’t respond to my deep expression of love in the form of physical abuse, I felt all the agony and pain that comes with rejection. I don’t know what I wanted Amanda to do in response to my declaration of love. I probably would’ve been perfectly happy if she stole my lunch box or kicked me in the balls or something. All I know is that I just wanted some response, to feel validated and appreciated and recognized. Come on, that’s got to be love.
Is it bad that I don’t remember anything about my first love other than her looks? I don’t know. Is it bad that any time I try to recall what her personality was like I get this misty impression that she was kind of a bitch? Maybe. But cut me some slack. I was three, and every guy and girl falls for the “hot bitch” at least once in their lifetime. At least with me I’ve only done that once, when I was three and barely knew any better. I’d say that puts me way ahead of the curve.
After preschool I never saw Amanda again. And unfortunately, I have no idea what her last name is. If I did I would totally look her up on Facebook, message her and be like “Hey, it’s Jay! We went to preschool together. Remember me? I used to get baby boners for you all the time. We should totally hang out!”
Overall, I really like preschool love. It’s real, it’s sincere. There are no ulterior motives. You feel a connection with someone and you act on it. It’s clean and simple and human. Preschool love is basically wild animal love minus the humping. If preschoolers understood how to communicate their sexual desires and were biologically capable of getting their dicks hard there would be an insane amount of pregnancies among that demographic. Every preschool teacher would have to be a trained abortionist if we’re to have any hope of preventing an unsustainable population explosion.
People always say it’s the teenagers who are the wild, uncontrollable, hormonal animals. That’s only partly true. Teenagers are hormonal as hell but social cues and norms prevent them all from fucking like monkeys. Preschoolers don’t have any of that shit. They live in an environment that lacks a restrictive social-sexual code (I may or may not have used that word correctly). They can do whatever they want without feeling embarrassed or ashamed. Embarrassment and fear is the leading form of birth control currently on the market. And it’s free, so stock up!
I guess what I’m trying to say is that preschool love is actually pretty awesome and in a lot of ways, I’m envious of those tiny humans. All in a single day of school they get to play with toys, eat snacks, take naps, and express sexual desires in a judge-free environment. Ah, the good old days.