I first met her on April Fools Day, April 1st, 1963. She was 16, as was I, but she was certainly no fool. In this young man’s eyes, she was absolutely beautiful – and sexxxy! We became part of a summer group of close friends that met everyday at the local swimming pool – and every night in the park by the bandstand, where they would spin our favorite 45’s. Young, immature, each to different degrees, but with healthy bodies, pumping with testosterone and estrogen – the hormones of desire. Tender flesh, slathered in suntan lotion, beaded with pool water – or sweat pearls, aglow in the heat of a Midwest summer night. She was my wanton wench and I was her potent pirate – both hungry teenage free spirits.
Yet, we were both foolhardy innocents, caught up in that naive time of the summer of ‘63, before the tragedies of the 1960’s, that began in November of that year, at Dealy Plaza, in Dallas Texas. We were coursing with sexual desire! They were urges we didn’t fully understand how to handle. But back then, for the most part, it was dealt with sweetly and politely. It began with holding hands, fingers interlocked, a special shared pleasure. An arm around your girl was almost foreplay. And a kiss on the lips was ecstacy! Sexual progress then was discussed in baseball terms.
It was in this strange, sexually-charged, physically-repressed summer, that I fell in love with my first real girlfriend. It was both glorious, and agonizing. Lots of petting, abundant with soft sweet flesh – but my girl and I were too afraid to go “too far”. But that first young love, was adoring, worshipful affection – wondrous infatuation, powerful impulses played out awkwardly to the sounds of “He’s So Fine”, “Then He Kissed Me”, “I Will Follow Him”, until sadly, almost inescapably… “Can’t Get Used To Losing You”. Yes, she eventually made me a fool for love – but by then, she had also made me a man. But those amazing, angst-filled first loves my friends and I discovered, with all the wonderful, overwhelming pleasure and pain, were never to be forgotten.
woodpecker drums summer stumps
boys kiss moist red lips
rob kistner © 2019
DAY 1
Spinning 45s and sexual progress in baseball terms – reminds me of the films I watched when I was a teenager – and those song titles! First love seems so wonderful in retrospect for most people, but all I seem to remember is the pain of being let down.
Yes Kim, the broken hearted fool was a familiar, oft repeated character in the sagas of young love – but I loved it! Guess I am still a fool… 🙂
What a wonderful and sweet tale… I cannot remember something so sweet so early… (and when I was sixteen, sex would have been accepted and expected)… my time came later.
But O. first loves bitter end … that I remember
Thank you… 🙂 This was literally at the very end of the era of feigned American Innocence Bjorn. Kennedy was assasinated that November, and things changed almost overnight. Though sex happened with persistance in those days, it was not the norm like now.
Innocent hand holding at sixteen isn’t my experience either. Eleven or twelve maybe. When did childhood go out of fashion?
It certainly wasn’t just hand holding Jane, it was embracing, and kissing, and petting – but for most 15-16 year old girls in ‘63, it wasn’t copulating, at first… 😉 I was drawn to the “good girls” not the easy girls, no challenge there. And a couple girls we knew got preggers, and at that time, it dramatically complicated their lives. She and I already had plans for college. Although we heard of a new pill you could take to prevent pregnancy, we didn’t have access. By ‘65, it was easier to get. Besides, in ‘63, I was still a romantic – and I enjoyed the conquest! I wanted to be the first…
Nothing as passionate or painful as first love. You capture the spirit of the times, and that first love, so well here.
Thank you Sarah, and it was an emotional roller coaster.
Reminds me of my own time of innocents in the early 1980s. Wonderful story!
Thank you Frank…! 🙂
I love your “wonder years” tale, Rob. I was praying you weren’t going to say it was fiction at the end.
This was a true story Jade, of my very last summer of innocent, my “coming of age” summer. By the next year, I was singing in a rock band, and any semblence innocence was solidly behind me. But for that 16-year-old me, that summer of ‘63 was purely lusting and learning.
Dig it, brother. I graduated high school in ’62; the era of blue balls, passion pits and submarine races. I was driving by ’61, so Drive-Ins, showing Pat Boone in APRIL LOVE, and Elvis movies, and Beach Movies. My problem was, too often, I was more interested in the movie than the girl.
I was class of ‘65 Glenn, and by then I was playing my last year of high school football, and Friday night after the game, as well as Saturday night, I singing in a band in Newport KY. It was a “wide open” city across the Ohio River from ultra-conservative Cincinnati. Our last set started at 3:00 AM. I started that gig the Fall of 1964. I wrote a piece entitled “Sneakin’ Up On Breakfast” about that experience.
Oh, what sweet sadness you write! Love your story and your haiku is really great!
Thank you Dwight, I always appreciate your kind words.
Innocence, where has It gone? Awkward inuendos, courting, not mauling…Those were the days my friend.. Love this whole thing!
It is a very different time now Mary. I am smiling as I write this because I can remember my dad saying something similar to the 16-year-old me back in 1963. But I do think they were simpler times then…? Or maybe I’ve just turned into a grumpy old man… 🙂
What a sweet tale of times past Rob.
Thank you Toni. Life in the rearview mirror.
The innocence of those times seems almost quaint. And yet it allowed for a true maturity and understanding in short supply these days.
It was a different world Kerfe. Not preaching it was better, but it was much less oversll stressful.