Kissing, and you can guess what kind. Yeah, this one is going to take some work, if it can be done at all. Well, I’ll see what I can do.

French

4:17 P.M., Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Honolulu, HI

The two children, Paula Claire Akron and Paul Clare Macon, didn’t hold hands or hug in public, and they certainly never kissed, nor did they call each other “Darling” or “Sweetie” where others might hear. They were best friends and everybody knew that, and many had suspected that they were girlfriend and boyfriend since well before they actually were, but the two kids were determined not to provide any proof. At their age, eight years, having a sweetheart wasn’t something one boasted of. It was in fact something which could lead to vicious teasing.

But in the shed or any other place they felt that they wouldn’t be discovered they would speak endearments to each other and hug if they were totally hidden from view and fairly safe from discovery. This was mostly limited to the shed, but even the shed was only sometimes available. Kids from seven to seventeen used it, as everything from a pretend time machine to a make-out spot to a convenient place to smoke weed.

This time, the two eight-year-olds had the shed to themselves. There was no time to fetch Hustler and Penthouse and High Society, or the other Hustler, or two issues of Club, which the children had since “liberated” from neighborhood trash cans. These fascinating magazines would have to wait for another time. But young Paul had something he wanted to try.

No sooner was the door closed than

REDACTED, THAT’S WHAT I CAN DO

She tingled every time she called him that: boyfriend.

The two eight-year-olds looked each other up and down, smiling. They hugged and they kissed, briefly and with pursed lips pressed to pursed lips. It wasn’t a sexy kiss or a movie star kiss, but a child kiss.

As they stepped back and smiled into each other’s eyes the boy made his request.

“Paula,” he started, “you know I like you, I mean a whole lot.”

The little girl nodded, her smile seeming to reach from one small cute ear to the other. Actually, she was starting to wonder if maybe her feelings for the other child went beyond “like,” but she was afraid to use that other L-word. In part, she hoped he wouldn’t use that word either, because for all that she felt it might be the right one, it kind of scared her.

The little boy took a deep breath. “OK, now what I’m gonna ask you to do might seem kind of gross and if you don’t want to that’s totally absolutely OK, OK?”

Paula wasn’t sure she liked the direction this was going.

“If you want a blowjob,” she said, “you can forget it. I’m only eight years old; I’m not ready to suck dicks yet.”

Paul’s eyes went wide. He wouldn’t dare ask for a blowjob! OK he had THOUGHT about it, but he wouldn’t dare ASK his girlfriend for it.

‘No, no,” he hastened to assure her. “I, I don’t think I’m ready for that yet either. But I was thinking, well we kiss already, and I was thinking ... um ... I was thinking we could try kissing like the big kids do. Like they do in France.”

Now it was the little girl’s turn to go wide-eyed.

“French kissing?” she asked, and then immediately felt like an idiot because of course that was what he was talking about. “With our mouths open and using our tongues?” Again, she felt stupid. What the hell else did “French kissing” mean?

Paul was nodding like a bobble-head doll. “Yes, yes exactly,” he told her. “Now, I don’t know if we’ll like it, I mean it sounds a little gross, but if we don’t like it we never have to do it again. OK, never mind it was a dumb idea I’m sorry I said any...”

“Let’s do it!” Paula shouted

REDACTED, BECAUSE I CAN DO THAT AGAIN

Both children were relieved that they were not going to go to any “bases.”

Paula smiled at her boyfriend.

“We’ll do sex when we grow up.” She hugged him again and almost whispered in his ear, “I’m glad you’re the boy I’m gonna do it with.”

They chatted a bit more, and even hugged a little. Kissing, even if not French, was something they avoided for the moment. After about ten minutes they left the shed, biked to the park, played a bit, and then rode home. They glanced around to be sure no one would see (a few kids at school were already teasing them), and then kissed good night, with mouths closed and tongues not used.

That night, young Paula Akron again felt the need to say That Word out loud, though quietly enough that her parents would not hear her. “Paul wanted to FFFUCK me!”

That night, for the first time in his young life, Paul Macon dreamed that he was having sex. And he was having it with Paula Akron.