Vacation Chronicles: Sandy Toes & Salty Kisses

"To me, there is no greater courage than being the one who kisses first." --Janeane Garofalo

The music was loud, the kids in the club were dancing uninhibited, parents forgotten, as the band on stage pounded out popular 80's rock tunes. I was fourteen (almost fifteen, my birthday only a couple of weeks away) and at Myrtle Beach with my cousin, his mother and my grandmother. My cousin and I convinced his Mom to let us go to the little club for teens 13-18 on the Boardwalk, and I was standing on a chair, a little tan, a little sunburned, dancing and feeling wild, free, grown-up and young all at once! My cousin had vanished into the crowd just before the band started to play, and I briefly hoped wherever he'd gone, he was having as much fun as me.

At the end of the song "Round and Round" by Ratt, one of the most striking boys I'd ever seen gently put his fingertips on my bare calf to get my attention and motioned me to come down. Prior to that, I'd been lost in my own little world of blessed freedom from the million things that usually kept me in knots with worry. This boy, however, snapped me back into awareness as he was ridiculously cute. I came down from the chair and stared up at him, admiringly. He smiled down at me and the impact of it was so arresting, I'm pretty sure I swallowed my gum. He leaned down and said into my ear, "I've been watching you. You must be hot from all that dancing. Would you like to step outside with me and cool off?" What? Wait. He'd been watching ME? I nodded an followed him out, not even considering "Stranger Danger!" but sanity did kick in once we'd stepped out the door, so I told him, "We can't go far. I'm here with my cousin and he'll worry."

We sat on a bench right outside the club that faced the busy Boardwalk, where hundreds of cars full of beach goers of all ages cruised the main strip. I know we shared our names and where we were both from, and that we exchanged teen small talk for several minutes but I have zero memory of the details. What I do remember with crystal clarity, however, was the moment he said to me, "You are so pretty. I'm going to kiss you now." And then he did. WOWZERS! If kissing is an art form, this young man was a Picasso, full of wild swirls of color and electricity! After the second kiss, he stood and took my hand, leading me around the side of the building where there was a pier stretching out into the sea, it was dark and we'd have no audience.

I remember the crashing sound of the waves, almost as loud as the pounding of my heart, while he proceeded to kiss me utterly senseless for the next forty-five minutes (give or take a second or two). There was no groping, no raunchy behavior, just a sweet assault of lips and tongue. When it was time for me to go (which I only knew because my cousin was shouting my name from around the corner), I have no idea what he said to me, nor I to him. I don't know what became of him, or if I'd even recognize him today if I passed him on the street. What I do know is that when I open up my internal box of "Happy Memories", he and his master kissing skills are tucked in there and still make me smile. Considering how many years ago that was, I'd say that's pretty darn special.

*Image at lovefortwo.ru.