Kiss and Tell
I was late getting my first kiss, compared to my peers. This was because I lived in the country. I remember going to a party at one of my town friends' homes (the one whose dad was a funeral director, and whose house was attached to the funeral home), and listening to the conversation about who kissed how. I had no idea. But the town kids were together every evening. My more rural peers and I only saw each other outside of school on special pre-arranged occasions, which involved parents driving us to get together. It was simply a matter of opportunity meeting preparation. We were in eighth grade when I realized how far behind I was. I resolved to catch up ASAP.
My boyfriend was Mike. He was a year older, a freshman in high school. He was very much a hippie. Big, curly 'fro (he was white), and he wore wire-rimmed glasses and a red fez. I can't defend the fez; at the time, it seemed jaunty. He lived near town, and the only way he and I saw one another was on the school bus. Until the day his mom agreed to drive us both to the movies. Both his mom and dad came to pick me up
::tangent: I wasn't allowed to "date" at that age; as far as I know, I am still not allowed to date, so I don't know what we were calling that little rendezvous, and in hindsight, I'm amazed I was allowed to go. There may have been lying involved. On someone's part. ::end tangent
and I remember a big, blue car (got me a Chrysler that's as big as a whale and we're about to set sail!) and two big parents. They were really, really fat, and looked very much alike. They were hippies, too, but didn't have the 'fros, they had long, straight hair. They were nice, but not a bit parental, as I recall.
The movie was probably a Billy Jack sequel. The kiss occurred when they took me home. I don't know if Mike had arranged this with his parents or not, but as I recall (gosh, I hope I'm senile or something, because this is too bizarre) he kissed me in the big blue car, in front of my house, with the big hippie parents in the front seat. I don't remember the kiss in detail. I do remember thinking things like, "I think he didn't do that right, because . . . is that it? He must not be a 'good kisser.'" In case you haven't gathered yet, I was not in love with Mike. (I'm not in love, don't make a fuss . . . yea, that crap;) That was it. The first kiss.
That was not the most colorful part of the Mike story. The most colorful part was when I tried to break up with him, not too long after that. I guess he could be called a stalker, although the term had not been coined yet. After too many phone calls that I ended abruptly, he came to see me. Hitch-hiked, some 10 or 15 miles. I saw him across the road from my house. My dad was home. My dad had no clue that I was interested in boys, or they in me. And there, across the road from my rural ranch house, was Mike with his red fez. He stood there staring at the house for a long time. I was getting tummy trouble from the anxiety, and prayed he would get tired and leave before my dad noticed him. He got tired, but he didn't leave. He just lay down. In the ditch. With his red-fezzed head sticking up above the ditch-line, staring across the road at my house. Son of a mother...
OK, insert Dad's southern accent here. "Susie, there's some ol' boy a-layin' in the ditch. Do you know that boy?"
Boy? Ditch? I looked out the living room picture window. "Um, I don't think so..."
"I'll go see what he wants."
"NO! I think I know who that is. He rides my bus. I'll go see what he wants!" And out the door I go. He would not leave. I begged. I went back in the house and told my father, "He wants to talk to me, but I don't want to talk to him. I just want him to leave." Then a strange thing happened. My father, who had no respect for hippies, and I would have thought, even less respect for red-fez-wearing, ditch-lying hippies, said to invite him in. I can only imagine that my father remembered what it was like to be a teen-age boy, "sweet on" a girl.
Mike came in and was very polite to my father. We talked on the back porch, and he finally called his parents to bring the blue whale and pick him up.
The next boyfriend was Ricky. I liked him much better. He could have lain in my ditch any day.
::tangent: That reminds me; Mike wasn't truly my first kiss. My VERY first kiss was from an earlier Ricky, Ricky Canterbury. He was from West Virginia and looked just like Howdy Doody. We played baseball. I did love him. We were in third grade. end tangent ::
This is a motif Monday post, brought to you by mrtl. mrtl is also responsible for the tangents in this post. She is the tangent master. Wax on, wax off.
If you didn't do motif Monday, tell us here about your first kiss!