Hugs, and a July 25, 1987 greeting card

I was sitting on the bleachers in our school's gymnasium. It had been converted into an "auditorium" by pulling the seating, which could be pulled out and pushed back like the bellows of an accordion, away from the walls. My class of 1982, which had exactly 82 graduates after the drop-outs and failures, was waiting nervously for commencement ceremonies to start.

Valerie walked up behind me and embraced me around my shoulders for a warm hug. A short time before this moment, I'd awkwardly given her a silver identity bracelet as a graduation gift. It had been a "hit and run" present because I lacked the social skills to remain present with gratitude. I sat there feeling like I'd successfully escaped any emotional displays when she hugged me.

Val had been my best friend for the last three years of high school. She was beautiful with long, straight, brown hair and big brown eyes. Her figure was nearly perfect in a voluptuous way with large breasts and hips and a small waist. Her physical attractiveness wouldn't have been so remarkable if she hadn't been so kind to me. Most of the pretty people didn't want to have anything to do with me, but she talked to me when few others would. She also gave me the first hug I could remember.

While I'm sure that my parents likely hugged me on occasion as a very small child, it happened outside of my conscious memory. No one in my family was comfortable with any sort of touching and my father was especially resistant to showing physical affection to his daughters. As a result, when Valerie embraced my shoulders from behind, I was frozen in shock and didn't know how to feel or respond. I didn't react, and she wandered away to continue her preparations for the ceremony.

Tito had told me that he loved hugs more than anything and would take a hug over a kiss from a girlfriend. Though I had rarely had such experiences, I wanted them, and I was sure I'd welcome it when we finally met. This is the card that I sent to express that desire.