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The First Kiss

Oisin

gone but not forgotten
You have Kate and Jerry to blame for this: Kate for giving me the idea and Jerry for leaving me with too much time on my hands between epics.

THE FIRST KISS

It was a hot Friday night of 1960 when it happened. By the time my mate, Norm, and me turned up at Bishop Latimer’s youth club the usual assembly of scrawny girls was already up dancing in front of an audience of gangly youths. Full of ourselves, we swanked into the hall in our naturally arrogant fashion. We were the main men – the bees-knees and, we thought, everyone knew that.

We hit the kitchen counter and grabbed a couple of glasses of orange squash, which we stood and sipped while taking in the atmosphere – nothing new – just the same old crew doing the same old things. Or was it?

Perusing the dancers my eyes fell on something unusual; a dark haired bird. At first glance I thought she could have been a new youth club organiser or something? No she wasn’t. As she moved closer, gyrating to the tones of Ray Charles’ Tell Me What I Say with her scraggy partner, I was able to get a better look at her. Despite the accentuation of her well-developed figure under a plain white blouse and tight black skirt, she was a girl, a girl probably not much older than me.

I nudged Norm, who, like me, appeared hypnotised by the way her arse moved in that tight black skirt as she strutted her stuff. ‘You seen her before?’ I asked.
He shook his head without diverting his eyes from the girl. ‘Nah. New to me.’
‘I wonder where she’s from,’ I pondered.
‘Dunno.’ Norm shook his head again. ‘But I’d really like to get to know.’
‘Betcha I find out pretty quick,’ I challenged with characteristic bravado.
‘Would ya?’ Norm smiled.
I looked him up and down. He was my best mate but he could be thick at times. You know, lacking in that certain something that’s in the genetic make-up of every aspiring BARman. ‘Not for you, you prat!’ I told him, ‘I’m gonna have her for meself.’
‘And how ya gonna do that?’ he asked, substantiating my opinion of him.
I looked him up and down again before replying, ‘I’m gonna dance with her.’
The announcement left Norm completely bewildered. ‘What? But we don’t dance!’
‘Correction,’ I sneered, ‘you can’t dance. I choose not to dance with the usual Dozy-Marys that come here, but she’s summat else, ain’t she?’
‘Yeah,’ he drooled.

As if reading my mind, Margaret, the middle-aged (well thirty-something) organiser slid Eddie Cochran’s Hallelujah I Love Her So onto the Dancette. That was it. That was just what I needed – perfect. I thought of myself as a bit of an Eddie C and this fast number didn’t require any specific dancing skills. My sisters had taught me the basics of rock ‘n’ roll so I was well in. ‘Come on.’ I nudged Norm. ‘Let’s do it.’
‘But…’ He protested.
‘But bugger all,’ I commanded, ‘someone’s gotta take her mate off me hands.’
Probably because of a mistaken belief that I would do the same for him some time, Norm joined me on the floor.

There wasn’t much of an introduction or request, we just sorta butted in, took our respective partners and rocked. And boy could my newfound brunette move. I particularly liked the bits where we came together and my hand fell on her waist and clenched her hip in order to spin her round. The sensation was something I ‘d never experienced before.

When the dance finished we stood breathless facing each other, my eyes fixed on her breasts, which heaved up and down to the rhythm of her breathing. She fanned herself with a loose hand. Wow! That was something!’ she gasped.
I was glad I’d made my mark but I wasn’t going to show just how glad. I had to maintain my image by keeping cool, making out that I was used to such compliments. ‘You didn’t do too bad yourself,’ I shrugged nonchalantly.
‘So who are you?’ Her large brown eyes finally captured mine. I felt my cheeks redden.
‘Eddie,’ I told her nervously, then risking a smile I added, ‘but not Cochran… And you are?’
‘Joan.’ She whispered the word through her brightly painted lips. Then nodding at her friend she said, ‘And that’s Carol.’

Caught in the moment I’d completely forgotten the other two. ‘Well that fella she’s with, even though he likes to think of himself as Phil Everly, is Norman Hancox.’ I watched her heavily made up eyes flash in recognition of my humour.

I couldn’t believe my luck, I was scoring points like the Baggies’ front line. ‘So where you from?’ I enquired, ‘I ain’t seen you here before.’
‘Handsworth.’ She smiled a smile that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Although I didn’t let on, I was short on experience, but such as it was, I had learned that girls from Handsworth were generally more mature and refined than their Winson Green counterparts.

My eyes strayed back to the front of her blouse as she tugged at it to circulate some air, while she continued fanning her flushed face with the other hand. ‘Coo, I am hot,’ she gasped.
‘Get you a drink?’ I nodded in the direction of the kitchen counter.
‘Sounds good to me,’ she smiled, ‘then maybe take them outside where it’s cooler, eh?’
My luck was improving by the minute. It was one of those balmy, Birmingham summer nights that you only got back in those days and there I was being asked to share it’s atmosphere with the most beautiful girl I had ever met.

When she’d made herself comfortable beside me sitting on the church steps, I offered her a Park Drive, which she refused with an air of disdain. ‘Are you old enough to smoke?’ she asked.
I took exception to the insinuation, but knew I had to tread carefully. ‘Course I am. How old are you?’
‘Fifteen,’ she said without hesitation.
‘Working then?’ I tested.
‘Yeah, got a job at the Co-op on Soho Road. And you?’
‘Fifteen as well.’ I lied, ‘Delivery driver’s mate.’
I’d have been lost if she’d pushed me for details as I was fourteen and still at school. My invented occupation was the first thing that came into my head.

We fell silent both staring across the small lawn towards a tangled privet hedge, bordering the vicarage. While she sipped at her orange squash I puffed at my Park Drive (one from a packet Norm and me had bought between us). Eventually, lost for better conversation I asked where exactly she lived in Handsworth.
‘Babington Road,’ she told me, ‘Why, do you fancy walking me home?’
It was a bloody stupid question but, for credibility's sake I had to resist sounding too enthusiastic. Snared in those eyes again and with the fragrance her of perfume affecting my senses, keeping cool wasn't very easiest my achievements. ‘Don’t mind.’ I shrugged. ‘But what about you’re mate erm…’ The name momentarily escaped me.
‘Carol.’ She bailed me out.
‘Yeah, Carol.’
‘Well,’ she grinned, ‘I thought Phil Everly might be interested.’
‘He’d bloody better be,’ I muttered under my breath.
‘Pardon?’
‘I said he’s sure to be,’ I falsely elaborated. ‘Where does Carol live?’
‘Tew Park Road.’
‘That’s okay then,’ I mused, again to myself, ‘we can lose those two on the way.’ And that’s when it happened.

To this very day I don’t know exactly what prompted it. One moment we were chatting, the next it seemed as if some sort of magical magnetic field drew us together and our lips fused.

Poets describe it with metaphors of crashing waves, flashing lights, shooting stars, symphonic crescendos – it was all that and more - much, much more. At that split second, that wonderful moment in time, I couldn’t have cared less if I had dropped down dead right there and then on those stone, church steps. In fact, for a moment or two I imagined I had done just that and gone to heaven.

Of course there was more to follow when we reached her front door but that was the one I remember, that very first sensual kiss - Joan's kiss. Strange, isn’t it how I can recall almost every detail of that encounter while I can’t for the life of me remember her surname.

Anyway like most of these instances of juvenile infatuation, although we knocked around together for a while, we eventually went our separate ways .I think I may have become less attractive to her when she discovered I was still at school.

THE END
 
You were 14..............your poor adolescent brain wasnt developed to cope with the onslaught of all those 'explicit' images, so it concentrated on the 'important' ones ::)

Written like a true 14 year old.............your 'more mature' brain obviously has a good 'memory compartment' left in it :coolsmiley:
 
SuBee said:
You were 14..............your poor adolescent brain wasnt developed to cope with the onslaught of all those 'explicit' images, so it concentrated on the 'important' ones ::)

Written like a true 14 year old.............your 'more mature' brain obviously has a good 'memory compartment' left in it :coolsmiley:

... and don't forget the romance... This proves that even since my very early years I've been a die-hard romantic? ^-^ ... well, doesn't it? ::)
 
No Comment - other than to say....................It's lovely to have a short story to read at coffee time again :)
 
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