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.