Tag Archives: first kiss

Sixteen

Sixteen

Do you remember when you were unkissed—
dreaming and wondering what you had missed?

Your evenings too tranquil, but you were too scared
to do much about it. You just never dared

to flirt with a guy or call boys on the phone—
too shy to make any advance on your own.

You disparaged those girls who had gone on before you.
You claimed that their exploits did nothing but bore you,

but you knew, really, that they’d won the race
that established you firmly right there in last place.

Not one errant lover had attempted to con you.
No single advance had been foisted upon you.

Alone in this horrid lamentable state,
sweet sixteen and un-kissed was a terrible fate!

Then that night in the summer out under the stars,
when you stood by the roadway between your two cars

and talked for an hour with soft music streaming
from both of your cars, you thought you were dreaming

when finally it happened, and you two were kissing
you finally knew what it was you’d been missing!

 

Word prompts today are tranquil, disparage, kiss, foist and race.

The Sun Hat

The Sun Hat

Her hat’s broad brim shadows her face,
discouraging his fond embrace.

He removes the hat and then
plants a kiss where it has  been.

Both actions—kiss and hat removal
have the lady’s full approval.

So, with no further ado,
he makes it two!

For dVerse Poets: Embrace.

Young Love

So I took a stroll into the town plaza instead.


Young Love

After a certain interval, my innocent young sister
seemed to fall in love with each teenaged boy who kissed her,
but these girlish fantasies just left her in a pickle,
for as you know, boys in their teens are usually fickle.
So, although each goodnight kiss to her seemed purely magic,
its likely aftermath was more usually tragic.

Prompt words today are aftermath, popular, interval and sister.

First

 

First

After the dance, we walked the streets all the long night through,
moving to a doorstep to avoid the cleaning crew.
You let me rabbit on about every silly thing,
then made your wordless statement as the morning birds took wing.
Lifting through the rising sun, they faded into mist,
unaffected by the fact that I had just been kissed.
Then you restored my fallen hat, my scattered keys and purse,
that morning without equal in my young universe.

 

Prompt words today are rabbit, mist and equal.

First Kiss

jdb photo     


First Kiss

Your kiss is radioactive  and its half-life is too short.
I’d like to have another, but I’m not the tartish sort.
My exhilaration is one that will endure—
a sort of welcome fever for which there is no cure.
I want to tell the world of it. I want to shout and sing,
make friends with all your relatives and let my love take wing.
But confiding in my diary, instead, will be my fate,
at least until you call me for another date!

 

Prompts today are sing, relative, radioactive and exhilaration.
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/12/02/rdp-sunday-sing/
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/12/02/fowc-with-fandango-relative/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/12/02/radioactive/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2018/12/02/your-daily-word-prompt-exhilaration-December-2-2018/

First Kiss

First Kiss

“Allemande left, allemande right.
Promenade your lady, hold her tight!”
Years later, I recall demands
for touching waists and holding hands.
To “Promenade. Go ’round the world.”
We do-si-doed and faced and whirled.
Square-dancing was called to blame
the day I first encountered shame.

Just six years old and mild and meek,
a boy my age dared peck my cheek.
His mother pulled him off the floor,
then jerked him rudely out the door,
shaming him with words and action
before I knew my own reaction,
which might have merely been a measure
of a friendly mutual pleasure.

Instead, for twelve more years together,
held as classmates in close tether,
much as I perhaps desired
that we might have again conspired,
he never tried what once was censured.
Another kiss was never ventured

’til in our twenties, home from college,
emboldened by our further knowledge,
home briefly for summer vacation,
heartened by a small libation,
finding ourselves in darkened car
up on a hill, his mother far
away in town, we finally kissed,
discovering what we had missed.

Then we went our separate ways—
that one night just a summer’s phase.
Years later, though, I still recall.
that first kiss, and his mother’s gall
over what was a gentle theft
prompted by an “Allemande left.”


The “guilty parties” are, it is true, pictured above, but I’m not one to kiss and tell. This true memory was prompted by today’s “Daily Addiction” prompt of
 promenade.

girls on wall
My sisters Betty, Patti and me, back in my pre-crush years. I remember being very proud that my legs had finally grown long enough to cross! Not too successfully, by the look of me.

Crushed!

When I was very small, I was notorious for hating boys.  My eleven-years-older sister once came into the living room and I was running around and around a big chair.  “What are you doing?” she asked. “Chasing boys!” was my answer. My sister was at an age when “chasing boys” meant something else entirely, but she got my drift.

When I was six, a lovely southern lady moved to town who enlivened the entire town.  She taught ballet and acrobatics to the girls and square dancing to everyone age 6 to 76.  This only lasted for a year or two, but twice a month most of the town would gather in the fairgrounds meeting room to do-se-do and alamand left.  I was usually paired with a little boy who was in my first grade class.  One night, after an especially invigorating “trade your partner,” when I was once again hand-in-hand with him, he gave me a big kiss.

I can’t remember my reaction, but I certainly remember his mother’s.  Abandoning her “trade your partner,” she came flying across the dance floor to shake her finger in his face.  “Shame on you, Brian!” she said, “Shame on you!”  (Not his real name.)  She then grabbed him by the upper arm and jerked him off the dance floor to go sit in a chair by the wall.  I was left without a partner and so had to dance with Will Prater, a grown man who was jerky and severe in his movements and who nearly dislocated my shoulder every time he swung me around.

Brian’s mother’s fervor in upbraiding him worked.  He never dated a girl, let alone kissed one, for his entire grade school and high school life.  He did ask me to the prom my sophomore year, but unfortunately I had accepted a date with another boy the night before.  By then I had a pretty big crush on him, fueled by his third grade tauntings of ‘Mayor’s daughter, mayor’s daughter,” when my dad was, indeed, mayor of the town, as well as a lifetime of torments in study hall, where he would break my pencils or pass me notes upbraiding me for scoring higher than he did on chemistry tests .  In my town, teasing was foreplay, but unfortunately in this case, the foreplay led to nothing, since he never repeated his offer of a date, in spite of his dad’s best efforts.

By my junior year, I was dating a boy from out of town.  “What are you doing dating that White River boy?” chided Brian’s dad every time I ran into him on the street or in our little town’s one  general store where I had gone to run an errand for my mom or to buy penny candy or a bag of Russian peanuts (our name for sunflower seeds.) “There are plenty of good boys right here in your own town!”

I knew he meant his own son, and had I not been in the throes of first lust with that “White River boy,” that would have been fine with me, as my longtime crush had continued.  But, alas, Brian never heeded his dad’s hints, either, until my sophomore year in college when, both home for the summer from college in different states, he finally asked me out. There is no crush like the one where contact is long delayed. I remember one very hot and heavy kissing session before we both went back to our separate lives.

We both married older people with children.  Both became swamped in our own lives.  I see him now and then at school reunions and of course crushes rarely survive a combination of reality and the passage of years.  But everyone needs a first crush, and perhaps he doesn’t remember that I might have been his, but he has the distinction of being mine.  I wonder if he would be surprised.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “First Crush.” Who was your first childhood crush? What would you say to that person if you saw him/her again?<