I first fell in love when I was sixteen. This happened at summer camp. The funny thing is that I didn’t even want to go there. I was going to spend those two weeks at home.

But for mom and dad, returning from the resort and finding their home ruined was a nightmare. Unfortunately, my lousy reputation made them think so.

That's how I ended up at the scout camp. There was nothing but kayaking and canoeing and evening bonfire parties. But this trip was the best getaway as I hooked up with Zoya, probably the hottest chick I’ve ever met in my lifetime.

I fell in love with her at first sight—and I was her first crush, too. She was a tall, slender blonde with the rarest striking green eyes and smooth, tanned skin that made everybody crazy. And she had these soft, fluffy, pink lips that I could kiss forever.

She used to wear white shirts, and I loved her V-cut shorts. During that fortnight, I couldn’t think of anyone else. But she had many pricks around her that drove me insane, though. For example, Zoya wouldn’t have to execute the art of eyelash batting to get anything she wanted. On the brink of an eye, another spotty volunteer will show up with her water or ice cream and take the best place on the beach by her knees. Her only glimpse would be enough for any guy to stand up and run. At the disco, many curious guys stood in a line, anticipating their turn to rub or kiss her on the cheek. Zoya’s gorgeous face and voluptuous body did their job.

However, she was cold as ice with all. Including me from the very beginning. She naturally was like that. It seemed like she allowed everyone to show signs of attention, but she didn’t single out anyone. I managed to invite Zoya for a slow dance. And the one that followed after. Never switched. Held her tight.

After swaying with Zoya, I insisted on buying her some ice cream and bought ice cream a couple more times. 

The most exciting memory is how I rubbed sunscreen on her back the following day, though 

I left the camp with a broken heart. Zoya and I lived in different towns, but we didn’t dare ask for a phone number or address, but I never forgot her.

I couldn't get her out of my head and thought about her day and night. Of course, it was childish. I had plenty of other classy and filthier women, but Zoya's eyes have captivated me until now.

Even when I started dating girls, none of them aroused such bright and robust feelings as Zoya did. I don’t know for sure, but isn't it a trace of the first feeling, the most gentle and genuine, left in our hearts?

When I turned twenty-nine, I married Jenny. Jenny was an avid reader, extremely intelligent, savvy, calm, and pretty. She was a good wife and great mom, and she still is. 

But there was no spark of passion in between. We were good friends, nothing more and nothing less. Unfortunately, I was stupid enough to trade that God-given lady and peaceful life for eternal solitude and… memories that got me and will follow me until the day I die. But those days were long. I was still young. Somehow, I thought I was a player, and the life of a family man made me sick. That's how infantile I was. 

For Jen, it took little time and effort to make an ideal wife in this regard: to babysit our daughter and me 24/7.

She never gave a damn about my fondness for partying and carousing. My week-long hangovers, numerous side affairs, gambles, and so on and so on and so on—all that didn’t bother her.

My buds could call me late at night. I could take off without a word right there where the providence pervaded me.

Jenny was stupid enough never to blame me for all the sins I committed. She managed to keep the house clean and cook so well that we seriously considered capitalizing on her talent! What amazed me the most was how Jen managed to cope with her nursing shifts with that poker face she developed through the years. Did she love me? Oh, well, how did I, a narrow-minded sexist, never having much faith in love, know? In love with yourself, you usually neglect the feelings of others.

A few years later, when my business proved some stable growth, we decided that Jenny should quit her job. With more free time, she’d dedicate more time to our baby. 

I didn’t mind at all if she was happy.

But one evening changed everything. I went down the street to a bar with my friends. And I met no other gal but Zoya in the flesh.

More than twenty years passed, but I recognized her immediately. From a beautiful girl, she turned into a beautiful woman. She had gorgeous platinum hair, and her impeccable figure was favorably emphasized by a short red dress.

I reminded her about those old days in the camp. She laughed and said she’d never recognize me. That evening, I did not leave her out of sight. We exchanged numbers, agreeing to meet during the week. We lived in the same town, which was a shock for me.

It’s no surprise that I didn’t even think about my wife the days I was seeing Zoya. Jen trusted me like a mother trusts her kid. For me, she personified something that was never connected with sex. But Zoya was different. I couldn’t stop thinking of her that night.

The next day, I invited her to a fancy restaurant that Jen had never been to. I noticed a dozen of dirty eyes watching her. 

As I wrote, we started seeing each other. A month later, I told Zoya about Jen. She wasn't happy with that at all and insisted on a divorce. 

The avalanche of stupidity is growing up. I left my family for Zoya, a woman I had hardly known. We settled down by the beach, and for so many years, I felt happy with a woman I thought I loved. I did anything Zoya asked me to. I felt like a baby. Spending sprees, fancy restaurants, and anything she wanted, like we were sixteen again.

But with time passing—just a few months, actually—I’d noticed my dream woman was only interested in my credit card. She’d never ask how my day was or listen about my problems at work. Her eyes lit up only when I gave her something. We were complete strangers—totally empty and superficial sex addicts.

I came home in the evening and told Zoya that I was having problems with my business and would have to file for bankruptcy. She felt sorry for me. Nothing more or less. When I left for work in the morning, she was gone. She left a short note saying that we couldn't be together.

Jen never forgave me; she had the right to do so.