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His name was Harry and he was nine years older than me but that’s not important.
What is important is, he was my first–back in 1978–and I have never forgotten him.
Growing up in the mountains, far removed from nightlife and city folk, I always knew my first would be special–and I would have to wait. Chances are the first would not happen in my hometown.
And it didn’t.
I had to go to college for it to finally happen.
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