After 71/2 years in a Catholic Elementary school with the guys in beautiful downtown Fargo here I am in beautiful downtown Van Nuys, Calif. Girls? Well girls are something I cope with rather than BE with.
There are a number of kids near my age in my new neighborhood but without a doubt but I’m wrestling with the problems of being the new kid on the block. Summer comes and evening games are played in the street. I cautiously join in on ‘kick-the-can’, ‘hide-and-go-seek’ and the like. And ‘girls’ are mixed in.
Two sisters, 2 or 3 years older than I, are part of this pack of 12 and they, with a couple of guys, simply ‘disappear’ early-on during our evening playtime. Us younger out-to-lunch players are often waiting for the mysterious 4 to return.
Charlie is one of the more senior types in the group and I just have to ask, “Charlie, where do Charlotte and Rita go with those two guys every night when we’re out here”? He looks at me like I was someone just dumped off the turnip truck. “What would YOU do with either one of those two hot chicks out here in the dark”? This turnip truck 12 year old kid hasn’t the foggiest notion as to what I’d do with ‘those two hot chicks” even if we were in the middle of my folks living room. Charlie doesn’t wait for my non answer. “Eddie, those four go out there in the field in those tall weeds; they’ve got a regular bedroom built out there. They have a ball with those chicks.” I dare not ask what “a ball” could possibly mean but I have to guess it has nothing to do with game balls. This one-sided talking goes on for too long and I finally patch together that ‘German kissing’, maybe it was ‘French’, and something called hanky-panky is what happens to those teen-age girls.
Buried in the middle of all this confusion I get to know one of the other girls in the group, a Patty Brown. She is 2 years older than I; cute, quite tall, and, what did I call her, ‘interesting’? We are never alone together and talk is always safe; and oh ya, always most certainly at more than two arm’s length.
I find myself alone with Patty on her patio. Mysteriously, I’ve been maneuvered into this. It is late in the afternoon, I am aware that her folks are not home. The conversation is stop and start. I am oh so nervously aware that just the two of us are standing but 6 feet apart right here in the middle of an empty patio. Things are a whole lot closer than I could possibly feel comfortable about. And there’s not one other human being anywhere! There is no touching, there is no reaching out. Patty is standing there in her damn short shorts, relaxed, calmly shifting from one long leg to the other, chit-chatting about the pending family vacation, – all this in her low-cut peasant blouse.
On my part, it is a time of clammy hands, nervous oh-my-god-what’s-going-on-here, and what do I say next? The idle talk seems to be going on forever; she in her comfort zone and I’m sweating bullets. I’m so preoccupied with the situation I’m having trouble following what she’s talking about. Somewhere I’m hearing, “………and we’re going for 2 weeks, we’re leaving tomorrow.” All this is openly presented with a lusty, ‘and what do YOU want to do about that? Oh my, I guess it’s my turn to speak, – it comes out a hopeless mumble jumble. Her response is, “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” She may as well have asked me to jump in front of a fast moving truck. Shock! Absolute TERROR! I’d never kissed ANYONE on the mouth in my entire life, NOT ONCE, not even my mother.
Talk about a blur. The next two hours, or was it only 2 seconds, are frozen in PANIC!? All I can remember is that she solves the stop-camera-moment by stepping closer, …………….. kissing me on the cheek, and giving me my very first, long to be remembered, HUG.
Within this story you have just witnessed the beginning of the sex life of one Eddie Roche.
(But never with Patty Brown.)
by Edwin G. Roche
Select all writings of Edwin G. Roche
Select biography of Edwin G. Roche