The Kissing Chronicles, Part Two

So, where were we? The lanky 16-year old Shiny had received her first, fumbling kiss in a smoky bar amidst St Patrick's Day glasses of green beer and many, many people. (Kissing Chronicles, Part One)

The setting of my next foray into the delights of teen romance was beautiful, and befitting of the best romance novel out there. It was Easter, so the moon was full and round, hanging fatly in the sky amongst swathes of stars above the fever trees on the banks of the Limpopo River. Hippos wallowed and splashed and grunted upstream. It was post-flood, so the river was full to bursting, it's muddy waters glistening as it rushed by in the moonlight.

The boy - a very beautiful, red-haired, Irish twin. He was younger than me too (I warned you, there are definite themes to this long tale). I fear the only reason that I was the target of his affections was because he'd already kissed all the other girls who were there (except his sister, this is not the Jerry Springer Show), but we'll ignore that detail due to the beautiful setting and the need for me, at that stage (or always, I guess), to gather experience.

So, yes, there we were, beneath the fever tree, moon shining on us, talking arbitrarily (you remember that teen chat, just filling the space, before The Moment?) when he moved in and kissed me. It was a far more beautiful, gentle kiss, and I'd like to put this forward as my First Kiss, it just seems so much more romantic than the first fumblings.

However, a couple of minutes into our clinch, things heated up slightly as he slipped his hands INTO the back of my pants and felt my never-before-felt bum. I was incensed! I jumped back in horror, removing his hands swiftly, protecting my innocence. Whether this was due to pure shock and fear of inexperience, or actally piety, I'm not sure. Okay, again, I lie. It was definitely not piety. I can't even pretend to be pious.

I bolted, leaving the poor boy hot under the collar, my buttocks still warm from the touch of his hands, my stomach plaited, my heart aflutter (I really should try to write for Mills & Boon, maybe I missed my calling). I spent the rest of the weekend avoiding his gazes. Ah yes, the folly of youth. How differently that would've turned out, had it been a few years on.

And then there were a few more fumblings with random boys on holidays at the sea, you know the stuff. And then came my First Boyfriend. Of sorts. He was The Brother, from The All Boy's School. Also a twin, his sister and I shared a dorm, at The All Girl's School. It was New Year's Eve, 1990 (or was it '91?), a hot, sweaty Transvaal night. A parent's party, with lots of kids attached. A swimming pool into which we all (obviously) landed, and then we were cold and were all in the pump room (snigger) where it was warm, and even sweatier.

He pulled me toward him and kissed my neck from behind and I was his. Okay, so it was only for a couple of month's, but it was fun. I can't really remember having any kind of meaningful conversation, it was more just some illicit kissing behind his closed bedroom door and many letters with inane details of school life backing and forthing between The All Girl's School and The All Boy's School (the Victorian postal system, as previously mentioned... Seriously, it was a guy on a bicycle who ferried letters daily between the schools.) I still have those letters somewhere. Then he kissed my friend's sister at a party and it was over.

He met the girl who he would marry about a year later. I saw them occassionally on visits home from varsity. They seemed really happy. Like they had not only the illicit kissing behind closed doors, but meaningful conversation, and more. They married and had two children. He died of cancer, two years ago, aged 32. Inexplicably sad.

I hate leaving things on a sad note, but it also seems impossible to return to my usual glibness at this point in the story. I might have to find those letters again. I do miss real, written letters. And the fresh, new, innocence of those first fumblngs. Oh, look, now I've made myself all nostalgic. More to follow, at a later stage.

Sometimes, it's impossible not to wonder, why?