Short Stories

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Young love is sensual, bringing gratification with each lingering goodnight kiss. I am not intentionally suggestive, just revealing personal experience. As I retrieve memories of dating from way back when, one fact remains clear as crystal; it involved all my senses.


Guys might not realize the intensity of pleasure they provided. First, many were easy on the eyes. A fresh haircut implied he looked forward to our date as much as I did. His selection of a colorful shirt and Wranglers, or dark suit, shirt and tie left a big impression on me. One steady date and I wore matching madras plaid shirts, guess that dates me in my saga.


I snuggled up close to get a better position for aromatherapy. Long before it became trendy or big business a splash of Old Spice, Aqua Velva, English Leather, Canoe or Brut helped me to sit back and relax. The time spent with my head on his shoulder came with repeated deep whiffs of manly fragrance.


The romantic voice of an admirer at the other end of the phone made my heart flutter. Some conversations spanned time linking the closing of one day to the rising of the sun. Three little words transported me to springtime and apple blossoms. “You’re my sweetie!”


Holding hands became an art form and I would love to sign up for an art appreciation refresher course. There were many ways to hold hands. Beginners advanced to firm holding with fingers intertwined. The Cadillac of hand holding involved caressing of the hand.


I must not neglect to mention the taste test. Kisses came in many flavor varieties. Many left behind a refreshing taste of minty mouthwash or Lavoris cinnamon. I’m not knocking Listerine or Dr Tichner’s, but that antiseptic shocked the taste buds.

I routinely judged chewing gum. Do you remember that juicy kiss when a date chewed Juicy Fruit gum, sugar rush after Double Bubble bubblegum, Black Jack licorice, Chiclets mint, or zesty Dentyne chewed as a precaution against halitosis? Most people are loyal to a brand of chewing gum. I tagged each with their distinctive taste sensation.


Popcorn won first place in my kiss taste test; each bag or bowl led me closer to the aisle. My young man placed popcorn at the top of his snack favorites. Our dates often included matinée viewings in dimly lit movie theaters or rendezvous at drive-ins.


He first detoured to the concession stand to buy popcorn and soda. Each tender kiss tasted like melted butter with a generous topping of salt. I guess it became addictive; I could not get enough!


We’re old folks now; we don’t get out much anymore. He lingers over popcorn servings from large salad bowls, relaxing in front of the television. One eye is on the TV screen, the other on his popcorn target.


The western hero wins in the chase scene, and my hero munches on a handful of microwave delight. The sun sets in the west; we’ll meet at the pass for popcorn goodnight kisses. Popcorn, till death do us part…

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