I did it! I made a move, and Carole responded! Whoa! Whoa! I shouldn’t get too ahead of myself. It was just a little step, kind of pathetic really, and I’m blushing when I write this. But it was something.
We did another computer job, helping a lady with her internet connection. It was a beautiful afternoon, so Carole suggested we take a walk through the woods that are adjacent to the ballpark in our neighborhood and then go get some pizza. I couldn’t help wondering if she was giving me another hint.
The walk through the woods was kind of romantic. It was a beautiful fall afternoon. The sun was shining, the leaves were turning a million colors, and the world seemed like a good place. We sat down by a stream and gazed at the water gurgling over the rocks.
We both sat there quietly, leaning on each other, lost in our own thoughts. Then Carole moved away from me a little and said, “RV. Where are you, RV?” She was staring at me with the funny look that made her eyes sparkle.
Carole giggled. “You’re so far away. We’ve both been far away. Let’s come back here. Here is nice, isn’t it?” She moved back a little closer to me.
I hugged her more tightly. Okay, this was it. I leaned over and kissed her on the lips.
Her lips felt soft and spongy, like marshmallows. Except they weren’t sweet. They didn’t taste like anything. I pulled back, and we were staring at each other again.
“You’re a nice guy,” Carole said. “I really like you.”
“I really like you,” I answered. The skin on my face turned hot. I’m sure I was blushing so hard I created new shades of red.
Carole leaned over, wrapped her arms around me, and kissed me so hard, I fell backward onto the grass. Carole fell on top of me and continued kissing me so hard my teeth began to hurt.
Then I felt her tongue against my lips. I’d read about French kissing and knew that you were supposed to let the other person’s tongue go into your mouth. The thought of letting someone’s else wet tongue in my mouth grossed me out for a second. But this was Carole. It seemed like the right thing to do, so I opened my mouth.
Carole’s tongue went right inside, pushing against my tongue, probing around my teeth. I did the same thing, sticking my tongue into her mouth. It was like a sword fight with tongues. I wonder if there’s an app that tells you the rules of French kissing. Like whose tongue goes first? Or how much time do you have in the other person’s mouth before it’s the other person’s turn in your mouth? I made a mental note to ask Ray. He’s always on his cell phone even at dinner, which makes Dad mad. But if anyone would know about such an app, it would be Ray.
Carole and I lay there kissing and hugging each other. I was starting to get a little tired, but Carole didn’t seem tired at all. Her tongue was all over my mouth and my lips, and she was running her hands through my hair.
I figured I better do the same thing, so I started running my hands through her hair. Then I moved my hands over her back, the way James Bond does in his movies. I love James Bond movies, watch all the old ones, and wish they made new ones more often. Now there’s a guy who knows how to kiss. I tried to remember all the moves he does with the ladies, but I’m sure my movements with Carole were pretty pathetic compared to his.
Carole finally took her tongue out of my mouth and lifted her head. Her eyes still had that sparkly look in them, though, and she was staring at me for what seemed like hours. Then she finally rolled off me. We lay side by side, looking into the blue sky.
“What are you thinking about?” Carole asked finally.
“Uh, nothing much,” I answered. “What are you thinking about?”
Carole giggled a little. “Actually, I was thinking this was the best French kiss I’ve ever had.”
I wanted to ask her how many French kisses she had before, but didn’t dare.
“How about for you?”
“Oh, yeah. It was great compared to the others,” I lied. Am I supposed to admit to her that I’ve never come close to any kind of kiss with a girl, let alone a French one?
Finally, both of us sat up. “I guess I should be going home,” I said, brushing the leaves off my clothes.
“Yeah, I should too,” Carole said.
We walked home, not talking too much. I wonder if Carole was thinking about all her French kissing experiences. I was thinking about the opposite—my total lack of kissing experience—in French or any other language.