My Miscellany: Let’s Talk About Kissing (part II)
You really won’t get full appreciation for this if you don’t start with PART I! But I did write this part as a stand alone piece, so it’s unnecessary.
When I had my first kiss with Angela, that summer of 1976, my life would never be the same! I would spend the rest of my life trying to get that explosive emotional feeling back. The journey for that feeling would alas be delayed; I was put on restriction for the remaining 2 months of the summer, never being allowed to leave my room.
And then I discovered Boy’s Club Dances. If you are old enough to remember, the 70’s provided many places and opportunities for teens to socialize at dances. At some point during 1976 I was assigned a probation officer for destroying the interior of a car wash. Dave Cooley was his name. He had the wildest hair and a thousand mile stare. He was the first advocate I ever had who would defend me and support me vigorously. It was the first time I think I may have felt love and acceptance.
Anyway, he signed me up for the Boys Club, so that I could integrate with other kids. Most of the time I read in the library (where I my passion for literature would also ignite), avoiding other kids. Sometimes, however, I did play bumper pool and I got quite good. But I digress.
I will never forget my first dance. It was mid-Fall. In New Hampshire, where I am from, the leaves were vibrant and the air was crisp and cool. I was allowed to go to my first dance. Of course, there was no way they were going to give me a ride, so I walked the nearly 2 miles to the Boys Club.
Although I loved kicking leaves when I was a smaller child, I am pretty sure that my love of Fall was forged during those forays into the ethereal world of girls and kisses the during the Fall of 1976.
The minute I walked into the hall I was mesmerized. There were kids everywhere! There were lights flashing and the music was blaring and the walls were lined with girls! I was in heaven. I don’t know what it was, but although I couldn’t make friends, and I was painfully withdrawn, in that setting I had boundless courage. I had no fear of rejection. It was like I was transformed into another kid entirely.
I don’t remember specifically the girl I first asked to dance–and it was a slow dance, I never did dance fast at one of those dances lol. I can still remember those solitary marches to my chosen mate. So intent was my purpose, I would have tunnel vision only for her.
All I can tell you is what I normally felt in the arms of a young pretty girl in general, no one girl comes to mind. I felt elation, rapture, peace, freedom, and more often than not excitement that I usually had to position myself to hide.
It would not take me long before I gained the courage to first make my lips present on a girl’s neck. Oh, their necks! The fragrances that would enrapture me! Their scents making my heart pound erratically. Who knew that such smells existed in all the world?
It was easy to geting away with putting my face there you know? Just by virtue of being close I would steadily gain courage until I was hesitantly placing light kisses gently on those perfumed island of delights!
And then I discovered something incredibly telling: my actions created certain reactions. I could feel girls tremble, feel their knees grow weak. I could feel my blood swirling in my veins, my loins! I could here them try to control a breath escaping in what I would learn later would be sighs of desire! It was thrilling! Invariably the songs would end, I would impatiently wait for the next song to resume my loving assault on their femininity.
While the Bee Gees sang “Too Much Heaven,” “More Than A Woman“, while Yvonne Elliman sang “If I Can’t Have You“, while the Hollies crooned “The Air That I Breath” and during songs like “Dreamweaver,” “Baby Come Back,” and “My Eyes Adored You,” I lost myself in the sight, touch, scent of so many lovely young girls. I escaped my terrible life of anguish. My spirit soared incredibly high!
I don’t know when it was that I just stopped playing around and went in to steal sweet kisses. But I do remember that the feeling I initially had gotten from Angela in that alcove was to be eclipsed by some serious passion.
During those slow dances I took command. I was bold. I was brave. I was insistent and I was often met with appreciation in like kind. Oh the feel of soft lips. The taste of fruity gum, or mints, or just pure breath. The light sweat that would dampen our faces! The heat that would build between two innocent souls, dancing this dance of innocence.
Invariably the dances always ended with “Stairway To Heaven“, the greatest dance make out song ever created on the face of the earth (except maybe “Freebird“, but they didn’t seem to play that often). I got so good at my timing that if I hadn’t made my move by the time
” And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.”
started in the song, I was in trouble because it was moving too fast and the moment would be lost. Then the lights would come on and I would dash out into the chill October air. My sweat would feel glorious on my skin! The air would be so pure and fresh. I was alive! I probably never touched the ground on my way home. Of course, by the time I walked in the door, I would have to conceal my zeal and go back to my closed off self.
Yes, dear readers, those dances changed my life forever! Desire, passion, need, want ignited inside me and never ever burned out. In those halls I found myself. In those halls I fell in love over and over again. In those halls I learned just how powerful a kiss really could be. Unfortunately, because of all my troubles and moving from juvenile halls to foster homes, over the next 6 years I would have relatively few opportunities to maintain a girlfriend, let alone kiss on a regular basis. The Youth Detention Center is where I spent time when I was 13, 15, 17, 18. Zero opportunities for kissing there, I can assure you!
I did have a few brief dalliances. Relationships where I was the veteran kissing expert. Relationships that, though brief, I worked my magic on unwary girls. I learned not to use my tongue as a plunger.
I learned how to avoid cracking teeth–ouch–I began to learn what girls do when their necks are assaulted with kisses and light traces of my tongue.
And so, dear readers, that is how my appreciation for kissing was forged. There is much more to a kiss than meets the eye. Enjoy the last dance: