His first kiss...

(photo: random photo - not Sweet Thing)

He kissed her; in her mouth; on her lips - where she spoke from. It made her his girlfriend. “Sweet-thing,” her nick name; a 15 year-old former prostitute who found religion and ended up right in front of him, in the same church, willing to give an offering to a lucky fella, although luck had nothing to do with Sweet Thing's juices.

He did not notice or understand.

The kiss on Sweet thing’s mouth did not have any meaning for her. It was just another kiss from a man, a boy; men had already fucked her, she, Sweet Thing. What could a boy in the church offer her? It was dusk, right after hot summer Sunday night church service. The Holy Ghost had not left the building. Traffic zooming by on the freeway drowned out the conversations of church members socializing outside the big stone alters on the cool sidewalk. A world within a world; created it was; for him that night, a virgin of the first kiss, lie and eternal ignorance.

He did not notice or understand.

The naïve man-child hunting prematurely for something to put his penis in other than one-hand while the other hand held the cold uncaring Penthouse magazine. “Splush.” The city lights from downtown started to light up the skyline. The church mother’s kept a keen eye on Sweet Thing. Her tight dress clinging to her shapely ass; a body with perfect teardrop breasts; and skin that glowed and her walk, a sexual manifestation that set off ten-alarm fires of, “fuck me if you can,” made the old deacons watch her closely, wanting to take her in the back room of the church and lift her dress and feel the taboo heat she was so willing to share in the most sacred place, including a van parked around the corner. Some female church members too searched on how to taste the red lipstick on her lips and be close enough to see the blue eyeliner surrounding the eyes of this worldly creature. At 16, his first kiss was from someone who knew what happens next; the order of things to come; and come again - because he did not.

He did not notice or understand.

A church musician, a good boy; a straight a student was ready for that feeling his friends talked about behind closed doors. She played the game of first kiss like a Wordsmith writing a sonnet; 13 lines with meaning, if you can find it. He whispered to her; she smiled while looking at the church drummer.

He did not notice or understand.