ELAINE AND THE KISS.

[dadio]

Elaine sits in her room, the school bus had dropped her and her sister off at their stop, they walked home in silence, glumness, her sister in deep thought. The school day had been an unusual one, the kiss from the boy John, the feelings inside, confused, complex. If she sits still a moment she can still feel where his lips touched hers, skin on skin, warm, soft. She stares at herself in the mirror. Frumpy, round shoulders, glasses, dark straggly hair. Nothing to impress there, she thinks, taking in her snub nose, and pathetic mouth. He had to be kidding her; the kiss was just some joke, she's sure. But he seemed sincere. No one else was looking or gaping or sniggering. The school sports field had been where he said meet and they met and then the kiss. She runs her tongue over the lips, feeling for some sample of him, a speck or spittle of him. She stands and takes off her cardigan and puts it on the old chair by her bed. The white blouse is getting too small, it pulls at the breasts, buttons taut. She unties the school tie with her ink stained fingers, and puts it on the chair back. Get out of your school uniform, her mother had said, as soon as he had got in. She does a twirl, slow twirl. She stares at her frumpiness. What boy in his right mind. Maybe he does. He did seem sincere. She unbuttons the blouse, button by button, fingers fumbling. Loose button, must tell Mum. She opens it up and takes it off and throws it to the floor. She peers at her bra and the small breasts. Hardly worth the cloth. She hates it in P.E. when they have to strip down to their green panties and vests and do stuff in the gym. Her breasts are not as big as some girls, but bigger than others. She hates it, running, climbing the ropes, jumping the horse. The gym mistress is a right cow. Sadistic, body like a tank. Other girls say it, not she. She unzips here school skirt and takes it off and puts it on the chair with the cardigan. She stands there gawking. Plumpy frumpy. She tuts. Who'd fancy that? Inside is a little girl wanting to come out again. One with no breasts or floods or any of those female things that have come about. She twirls. Her bottom sticks out. The regulation green panties are a passion killer her sister says. Her sister is younger but seems to know more. Thirteen and yet going on sixteen. Elaine sighs. Gazes at her thighs, plumpy frumpy, she sighs. Who'd care? Who'd want to see? She goes to her dressing table and takes out a top and and skirt. Pink top and black skirt. She puts them on. Zips up the skirt. Her hair is in a mess, dark and straggly. Rats tails her sister says. Just because she's got finer hair, longer, down over her shoulders. John. She says his name again, John. Kiss and tell. Wonder if he has? Told. Boasted about it. She can picture him and others in the boys' toilets, having a laugh. No. He wouldn't, not him. Some might. Some girls do things, she's heard them say things. What boys can do to them or what boys would like to do to them. So the girls say. Over heard them. She hates to think of such things. He wouldn't do such. Her aunt said, don't trust them there boys, they only after getting in to your panties. Why, her aunt didn't say. Her uncle just sat there, wordless. She lies on her bed. Wait for dinner. Mum will call when it's ready. She closes her eyes. Pictures the kiss again in slow motion inside her head. Brushed slightly. Not hard pressed. As if silk had touched, not skin. Pretend he's there, she says inwardly. Pretend he's kissing again. She does. Tongues her lips. Runs tongue over the top and bottom lip. He held her ever so gently. Drew her to him. Kiss. She makes a kiss sound with her lips. But then on the school bus he sat there in silence on the seat on the other side of the aisle. Never looked across at her. Perhaps he's shy. Or maybe ashamed of what he did. Conflict inside her head. He could have at least looked over and smiled. She looked over. Waiting for him to turn his head and smile, but he didn't. Do I care? Do I? She sighs. Of course she does. The little girl pushes to get out of her head and body. When he kissed her and was close to her, her body was buzzing and wetness seemed to flow through her loins. She takes the pillow from under her head and hugs it to her breasts. How would he have done it? Hold and squeeze? His fingers along her spine. Shivery. Legs going weak. She kisses the pillow. Lips to cloth. Smooth but cool, not warm or wet. She closes her eyes tight. Pretends. Holds. Squeezes. One girl said to another something about organ playing and they laughed. She didn't know what they were talking about, but they were gesturing downwards. Laughed. Joke or not, she didn't know. Don't trust boys, Elaine dear, her aunt said, they only want to. Some boys call her Plumpy Frumpy; other say less clean things. The girls seldom talk to her, some might now and then, but she's an outsider, out in the cold. She'll tell no one about the kiss. Not her parents or her sister. Her father would say, who's kissing my Plump Hen? And her mother say, O you're too young to think about kissing and such. Her sister would guffaw loudly. Secret. Not until my dying day. Cross my heart and hope to. She hugs the pillow tighter. He's taller than the pillow. More of him to hug. She bites her lip. Sighs. Squeezes. That boy Trevor pinched her bottom some months back on the bus and made them laugh on the coach. Finger pinching, nails pinch, made her jump and scream out. Red mark for hours after. And he kissed me. She recalls it. Lip to lip. Pressing the pillow. Lips on cloth. Don't trust boys. There is a knock on her bedroom door. Dinner ready, her sister bellows, opening the door, peering at her, on the bed, hugging a pillow, sniggering she shuts the door. She can hear her sister's laughter on the stairs. She sits up, puts down the pillow, looks in the mirror at the frump who stares.

[goldenmyst]

Sensitively written account of a passage for a young girl. You wrote it with respect and propriety. Well done.

John

[dadio]

Thank you, John.