I remember it well. It was the Summer of Love, 1967. Jack and I had invited ourselves to a party and decided that a few beers would ease our social mixing. Unfortunately, we were too young to buy alcohol but he had a finely-crafted, fake draft card and, better yet, his kindly uncle owned a pony keg.
Emerging from the store with a six-pack, Jack jumped behind the wheel and drove toward the wealthy section of town where horse pastures line long driveways that lead to the mansions. Turning up the radio, we sipped our beers and listened to Grace Slick belt out Somebody to Love. Jack reminded me that a friend of his sister was hosting the party and that her parents were currently in Europe.
Once we reached our destination, the crowded scene forced us to park at the bottom of the driveway. Though we could hear the music and see the glow from the outdoor lights, we were too far away to see the house or the party. We thus decided to finish our beers and then emptied our bladders in the gate-side rose beds before trudging up the hill.
Scanning the crowd, we located a couple of our high school classmates and tried to act like we were invitees. Our nervousness was soon dashed when we realized that most of the celebrants were too drunk to care. Striking up a conversation with our friends, we grabbed another beer from an ice-filled horse trough.
Sometime later, just as the urge to urinate was occupying my attention, a girl grabbed me from behind, spinning me to the left. Before I could ask her name, she placed a sloppy kiss over my mouth and probed about with her booze-flavored tongue. I did my best to respond but she slid to the ground, staring up with a glassy-eyed smile before she passed out. Luckily, a few of her friends arrived within seconds and helped her into a lounge chair.
Once they were convinced she was just inebriated, her friends dispersed into the boisterous crowd. I felt obliged to keep an eye on her and eventually joined her on the chair, trying to ask questions and holding her hand. Much to my surprise, it was an emotional experience and my eyes soon filled with tears. When Jack came over and said it was time to go, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and ambled off, looking back several times. Though I watched for her at sock hops and parties over the next year, I never met her again and never learned her name. But I will always remember that first kiss.
Emerging from the store with a six-pack, Jack jumped behind the wheel and drove toward the wealthy section of town where horse pastures line long driveways that lead to the mansions. Turning up the radio, we sipped our beers and listened to Grace Slick belt out Somebody to Love. Jack reminded me that a friend of his sister was hosting the party and that her parents were currently in Europe.
Once we reached our destination, the crowded scene forced us to park at the bottom of the driveway. Though we could hear the music and see the glow from the outdoor lights, we were too far away to see the house or the party. We thus decided to finish our beers and then emptied our bladders in the gate-side rose beds before trudging up the hill.
Scanning the crowd, we located a couple of our high school classmates and tried to act like we were invitees. Our nervousness was soon dashed when we realized that most of the celebrants were too drunk to care. Striking up a conversation with our friends, we grabbed another beer from an ice-filled horse trough.
Sometime later, just as the urge to urinate was occupying my attention, a girl grabbed me from behind, spinning me to the left. Before I could ask her name, she placed a sloppy kiss over my mouth and probed about with her booze-flavored tongue. I did my best to respond but she slid to the ground, staring up with a glassy-eyed smile before she passed out. Luckily, a few of her friends arrived within seconds and helped her into a lounge chair.
Once they were convinced she was just inebriated, her friends dispersed into the boisterous crowd. I felt obliged to keep an eye on her and eventually joined her on the chair, trying to ask questions and holding her hand. Much to my surprise, it was an emotional experience and my eyes soon filled with tears. When Jack came over and said it was time to go, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and ambled off, looking back several times. Though I watched for her at sock hops and parties over the next year, I never met her again and never learned her name. But I will always remember that first kiss.
