I Wonder Who's Kissing Them Now?...a memoir in honour of past loves. (standard:non fiction, 808 words)
Author: pjt	Added: Feb 14 2001	Views/Reads: 3781/1	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Now and then I find myself thinking about the romantic attachments of my "puppy love" days; and a tantalising question always arises: Where are they now?

Having travelled through "7-year Itch territory", I now find myself
settled in a state of serene stability in the company of a loving wife 
and an adorable son of nearly four years. However, I have a confession 
to make. Please lend me your empathetic ears and I'll lay it all out 
for you. 

From time to time I find myself wondering about the loves of my pre- and
post-adolescence and the mind-expanding period in between, starting 
from the time I was about six years old. You're probably thinking, 
"precocious little so'n'so, wasn't he?" Well, you'd be wrong: those 
were the bright and shining days of un-selfconscious innocence moving 
steadily, irrevocably towards its loss! 

My first kiss was shared with a girl of my own age when I was in my
sixth year. It happened in a town in the north-west of New South Wales, 
Australia. We were standing behind an oleander bush in the grounds of 
my family's residence when something inside (which could not be denied) 
whispered,"Give her a kiss." It was a short and sweet kiss, but the 
memory lingers on after seventy years. 

Her name was Margaret Sullivan and she was the daughter of my mother's
best friend. I wonder what kind of life she has carved out for herself 
since that first kiss which, no doubt, surprised her as it did me! 

The setting for my next venture was in the garden of Mary O'Grady's
family home. In those days I was a boarder at a well known college in 
Sydney and, with the consent of my parents, had been given a leave pass 
for the weekend to visit family friends. On the Saturday evening I was 
invited to a local dance by the youngsters of the host family. 

It was in a church hall: all very respectable, but 'twas there I met
mesmeric Mary O'Grady. I had several dances with her and was a smitten 
kitten by the time we danced the last dance to the strains of 
"Goodnight,Sweetheart". 

I escorted her home after the dance (my friends covered for me with some
misleading story), and there we were, standing together on the front 
lawn, gripped in a state of glorious uncertainty. I finally took her in 
my arms and she did a swoon on to the lawn. I followed her down and, 
believe it or not, all I did was kiss her. Well! we were only fourteen 
and in those days fourteen-year-olds were quite happy to leave it at 
that! 

Now tell me, sweet Mary O'Grady, are you still around sixty years later?
If so, what have you been doing since that wild kiss way back then, 
when men wore the pants and women were glad of it? I'll probably never 
know, but thanks for the memory, anyway. 

These curtain-raisers to the main games of my more mature years were
played out during the "puppy love" period of my days. There are, 
however, quite a few more I could mention which are still occasionally 
active in the Memory Lane that runs through my heart. Perhaps they 
should be held over for another time. 

Nevertheless, I would like to conclude my ramble through this register
of unrequited romances by giving cheerio calls to those who are regular 
contributors to my mental catalogue of long-departed darlings. 

Hello there to the two Jeans: Jean McPherson and Jean McDougall (are you
there?). They were both of Scottish descent and, in Miss McPherson's 
case, there was a dour Scottish father hovering in the wings who 
threatened bloody murder in the event that his lovely daughter should 
marry a catholic! Jean McDougall fell into the arms of another while I 
was away on active service during WW2. Still, my called-up memories of 
both of them are warmed by a reminiscent glow and a strong sense of 
gratitude at having, through circumstances, avoided marriage (and 
possibly death), two conditions for which, at the time, I was totally 
unprepared! 

And hello again to Gladys of the voluptuous figure and the flaming red
hair who came into my life for such a short time and quietly glided out 
in circumstances now beyond my recall. 

Then, finally, as I write, images of Pam, Paula and Renee flood my mind,
and my heart tells me of how I loved them for their affectionate 
natures and the magnetism which drew us to each other at different 
periods of my young life. Yet, Fate also intervened (as it often does) 
in their case, and one by one they fell away from the romantic roller 
coaster we were joyfully and spontaneously riding together. 

I hope that they all enjoyed our fleeting though felicitous flights of
fancy as much as I did; and as much as I do now in remembering them all 
and wondering how they are, where they are, and whether they remember 
me too. 


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