Ah, to Be Young, Able
& Never Been Kissed

Many people have about only a few things in mind while living. There’s an entire multicultural, multilingual literature about at least two of them; we’re not getting into that, though. But most do think about their first kiss ever so often. As it turns out, they’re a dying breed.
Never Been Kissed, a study published on the Archives of Sexual Behavior, reveals that almost a hundred out of 700 college students, never touched the lips of another human with their own, which would startle any card-carrying Baby Boomer, other studies being considered.
Reportedly, the Sex Revolution old devils seem to be still pretty much at it, and what comes before and after it, even as they push their 70s. Not so for 14.2% of an already hyper-battered Millennials demographics, focus of the small sample. Is there something on their WiFi reception?
From time immemorial, the thrill of the first time at various initiation rites was a form of incentive for growing up. Generations born on the 20 century simply couldn’t wait to have their first driver’s license, for instance, or spending their first night away from their parents’ home.
Many a first baby born out of a Saturday’s night fever, regrettably or not, was also a result of a first, intense, passionate kiss. Does it mean that, without such tricky but irresistible first step, future population volumes are at risk? They seem to be concerned about that in Japan.
A few things about the Never Been Kissed, the study, not the movie: they are all excellent students, maybe because they drink less than others; have overbearing moms; are neurotic; and with lower self esteem. Truly a small sample of a very boring group of people, indeed.
Bias aside, to most people, memories from their first kiss, if it happened before maturity, tend to be sweet or, if not traumatic, served well to everything that came after. To us, it brought up that time at a certain front porch, and the story we wrote about it. Below, our humble contribution to such an endearing theme.

Laura & the
Many Kisses

At 12, he fell in love with Laura. She had braids and freckles, and he’d trace her soft step across the school. He’d follow her closely but without being noticed. Or so he thought. One day, he turned a corner and came face to face with her. He thought she’d never noticed him, but she was very aware of his existence.
He looked into those deep eyes, intensely black, and awkwardly, their faces blushed. A few Saturdays later, they met at the veranda of his house, as planned. Not knowing what to do of this magnet that had brought them together, at the sunset of their childhood, they talked a little. After a silent pause, they went down to the narrow hallway, between the house and the ivy-covered wall, and kissed.
Once. Twice. A few more times, then back to the porch, flushed and slightly moist. They tried to talk a bit, but had to go again, hands in hands and racing hearts. They kissed dozens of times. A record. He’d never kissed anyone in the mouth before. Still, those were innocent kisses, sweet, the kind you’d plant on a baby’s cheeks. Or that nannies place on the forehead of their zany grand kids.
Back at the porch, people passed by, workers headed home. Night was falling and a miracle was privy only to them. Everything was so new, hearts coming out of their mouths. Again and again, lip tastings below the ivy, but tongues asleep, resting quietly on their beds. Not yet time to open up curtains to the vertigo of lust. Little kisses. That was all.
They smiled goodbyes, each knowing that they’d found a precious gem, but unsure whether to tell the world about it or to keep it (more)
_______
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