Restroom Revelations

There is an art to kissing.  There really is. Ironically, my worst kiss was somewhere along the lines of my first kiss, but many years later. It was a Superbowl Sunday and my phone rang just before kickoff from a friend who wanted to know if he could come over and watch the game because his wife was sleeping or some such nonsense. Being clueless, the way I am, I didn't realize he was making a play for me at first.  He portrayed himself as a nice guy. Suddenly, I realized that I was sitting on the arm of my couch.  He had slowly encroached upon my territory until that was where I wound up.  I didn't notice it until then, honestly.  He was a slick maneuver-er, that one. About the time I realized how he had backed me into a corner, or the edge of the couch anyway, he makes his move and plants a kiss on me. It was the worst kiss I've ever had.  No tongue, grinding his lips into mine until it hurt.  Good lord. No finesse, no sophistication whats...

It was the summer of my eleventh year.  I was half feral, being encouraged to be out of the house shortly after breakfast and not come home until sundown. I fell in with a boy just as lonely as myself and we roamed far and wide that summer with a stray dog as our constant companion. We did all the normal things kids that age did.  We spent a lot of time exploring the outdoors fishing, climbing trees, raiding gardens, riding a mini-bike.. When we got thirsty we would drink out of the hose.  When we got hot, we would crawl under the trailer. Eventually we got run out from under the trailer and went off in search of a new hangout.  Not terribly far away ...we found a treehouse.  It was just a floor put up in a tree, but it counted. The tree had boards nailed to the side of it that you had to climb.  Once at the top, there was a thick branch to shimmy and drop down to the floor. At one point in the summer, he looked at me and said,  "Want to tr...