I went to the local Izaac Walton league as a guest at a wedding of a family friend.
The wedding was everything you’d expect of a trailer couple, and I tried to stay outdoors as much as possible.

I wasn’t much of a dancer, I didn’t want to grope drunken bridesmaids, and I didn’t want them to grope me. There was a lot of wierdness going on, and i didn’t want to be a part of any of it., But these people were our friends, and I sure didn’t want to upset them. So I wandered around outside, looking at the trap ranges.

A girl about my age came out and wandered toward me. I thought she had been sent out by my parents to chide me for leaving the reception, but she was just sick of the smoke and the loud bad music and wanted fresh air. It was early enough in the year that there weren’t mosquitoes, and we walked around relatively unscathed.

She talked about how she didn’t like the smoke. She talked about how her framily were nice enough until they drank, and then she was embarrassed to be seen with them. She was dressed- as all girls were, then, trying to look as much like Stevie Nicks as possible. That was fine by me. She’d had some kind of an injury, her right hand- or, at least wrist- was encased in a cast. She reached out with it instinctively to hold my hand, and I withdrew my hand, thinking I’d hit her cast and possibly hurt her. I was embarrassed and with my near legendary obliviousness to the advances of women I was unaware that she was showing interest in me. Until we got out to a shooting position near the lake, and she turned to me, using her left hand, pulled my head down to hers, and planted a big wet one on me.

I poked her eye with my nose, I think, causeing her some not inconsequential damage,and I thanked God I was wearing tight underwear, because Mr Happy came to full attention. I figured I’d get creamed by one of her family members if I touched her anywhere inappropriate, so I lifted my right hand and cupped the back of her head in my palm. She was a great kisser, I now know, though at the time I wouldn’t have been able to differentiate between that and a cow. I did OK, I suppose, because apparently enthusiasm made up for lack of experience, and she became a bit weak in the knees (An experience that has repeated itself often, since then) so she attempted to steady herself by throwing her arms around my neck.

Cracking me in the ear- HARD- with her cast. My ear began to bleed and i coated the side of my face with blood while she apologized and even acted as if she was going to cry at the injury she’d inflicted. I assured her I was fine, and she helped me wipe my face until I looked a bit more presentable, and even licked my ear until the bleeding stopped (ever wonder why dogs lick their wounds? Saliva stops blood faster than anything I know) I went back indoors a few minutes after her, so as not to be obvious, I certainly didn’t want to do anything that would cast aspersions on the young lady.

Dad gave me the stinkeye for a while about the bloood on a school shirt.

I saw her again in the crowd, drinking a coke and smiling at me. She winked. We left shortly therafter.

I never learned her name. I never knew, even, what family she was connected with. But that’s how, at the ripe old age of fifteen, I kissed a girl for the first time, and was rewarded for doing so with a hard crack to the head.

She played a primary role in moments of solitude for a long time thereafter, and I glazed many a knuckle thinking about her. Someday I’m going to convince the Ogwife to molest me while wearing a cast on her right hand and whack me but good just as I get to the happy ending.

Or maybe not.