That Tongue Thing

Linda Swanson and me

On a soft spring night

Watching the submarine races

On Lake Michigan

In the front seat of Mom’s brand new

‘67 Cougar

I’m reassessing the bundling board restrictions

Imposed by the

Heretofore sexy bucket seats

But the windows are already foggy in anticipation

Of the the countdown

All systems are go

With the heart rate of a gerbil in free-fall

I lean in. . . .

A moment of

Awkward dueling noses

But if awkward were to stop me now

I might as well move to a monastery

First contact confirmed

We have lift off

Lip to lip at last

No granny cheek pecking here

We’re swapping spit

Nothing sloppy

You understand

Tenuous

The first fluid sharing

of our young lives

Let the hounds loose

Let the fire fall

I don’t know what I’m doing

But I want to do it more

Slamming the door

On childhood

Swept away on a tsunami tide of testosterone

It’s time to try. . .  

the tongue thing. . . .

But what’s this?

She’s beaten me to it!

Sweet mysteries of life!

From pecking to penetration

In one easy move

For the very first time

in my wretched

miserable

monastic

monosexual

life

I’m in

Someone else’s body

And they’re in mine

Gently

Gently now

There be teeth in this pleasure portal

Tongue tip

To electric tongue tip

Reveling

In the spit slippery

essence of of one another

If this is the appetizer

The entrée

Will kill me

60 years later

The tongue thing

Fades into memories mist

Like a soft spring night

On the shores of Lake Michigan

As two breathless kids

Come up for air

“I love you”

“Shut up, stupid

And let’s try that tongue thing again”

We do

As the yellow submarine

Wins by an awkward nose