Acoustic Guitar on a Sunny Day

"I like telling stories about my first kiss. I tell people that it happened on the playground in kindergarten, and the girl, being madly in love with me, forced me to play Sleeping Beauty with her. After much reluctance and running away, I assented, and it was innocent, cute, and magical. This is the story I tell people, but I cannot know for sure if it's true or not. I mean, kindergarten was a long way away, but I tell the story anyway. The first kiss I remember, my first tongue kiss anyway, happened in my friend's basement with a girl I barely knew. It was grotty, like kissing a slimy ashtray. She thought it would be the height of class if she left a ring of saliva around my lips. It dripped from my face when I pulled back to breath. She then proceeded to take my virginity, not violently like some back-alley rapist, but casually, like a friend taking another friend's french fry.
"My first girlfriend didn't like to be touched. She thought I was funny, and she enjoyed spending time with me, but she hated the idea of physical contact with me. I used to entertain the thought that maybe she was somehow similar to Rogue from the X-men, and that she didn't want to touch me out of fear of hurting me. I think it was the opposite that was true. My hand once accidentally brushed hers while we were on a walk. She jerked her hand away as if mine were hot enough to melt iron. The break up was unexplained and predictable. The last time I saw her, she was having regular sex with her father and loving every second of it.
"My first wife was unsightly. My attraction to her was based solely on scent. She smelled perfect. Not like flowers or some kind of fresh fruit. She smelled like clean linen and Pert Plus. I loved making love to her in the dark. Her smell surrounded me and I couldn't see her face, which always put a damper on experiencing her. I left her when I caught her with the proprietor of the local gaming store. Occasionally I'll smell her scent somewhere and I'll get the strongest urge to return to her and try to work things out, but the image of her grinding into the greasy 43 year old gamer who still lives with his mother deters me.
"My first mistress was convinced I was cheating on her. This always confused me because it was my then wife who introduced us. We would hide in the tool shed and "shack up." Directly after each encounter, she would screech at me, demanding to know who I was seeing behind her back. Occasionally she would throw gardening equipment at me. It all became too much for me, so I allowed my wife to find us in the throws of passion, promptly ending both relationships. I haven't had a physical or highly emotional relationship since."
I leaned back in my seat and took a long drag from my cigarette. "So when you ask me 'do you believe in true love', my answer is yes. Absolutely."
She rested her chin in her hand, her eyes never leaving my face. "But why?"
I smiled and offered a small shrug. "I don't know. I guess I'm just a romantic at heart."