Savannah Houston was seventeen, intensely beautiful and fully aware of the fact. She was nobody’s fool either. She had no time for schoolgirl cliques, fractious conversation or cerebrally-challenged members of the opposite sex, whose tastes ran to little more than their fully-loaded Ford Mustang or hanging out with their lowbrow compatriots.

Savannah knew what she wanted!

Being seventeen had its advantages. She had been able to co-erce her father into buying her a car since obtaining her driving license. It was easy enough to pass for an adult with the aid of the right clothes and some carefully applied make-up. Should it be necessary, she could also take the other end of the spectrum quite easily, and appear to be a much younger schoolgirl, with the aid of a backpack and uniform. Had not she used this very ruse, to entice that cute UPS delivery man into taking her virginity the previous Spring Break, while her parents had been overseas? That was the first bucket-list item out of the way.

She was in two minds currently, as to whether she should promote the worldly-adult academic posture or the naïve but cute young schoolgirl look. Her gut feeling told her the latter might be more appropriate on this occasion.

Her mother put her head around the open bedroom door.

“Not dressed yet Savvy?” she muttered. She was always muttering ... it drove Savannah to distraction. “Your dad and I are leaving for your Uncle’s now,” she continued. “Sure you don’t want to come?”

“No thanks mom,” she answered, “I have to get a couple of assignments finished today so they can be handed in Monday morning. I’ll be fine!”

“Suit yourself then,” came the glib response. “We’ll be back around 6.30. I’m guessing. Maybe we can all go to The Watershed for dinner tonight?”

“Sounds good Mom,” she answered unemotively. The bedroom door closed. She watched as they both slid into her father’s Tesla and backed out of the driveway.

Selecting then a newly dry-cleaned and pressed school uniform, she firstly slipped on a pair of very brief red panties and matching bra – a front-loader for ease of operation – at least the “operation” she had in mind. Dabbing on some of her mother’s ultra-expensive ‘Clé de Peau Beaute’ perfume in highly appropriate or inappropriate places – depending on one’s viewpoint – that just left the pony tail to round off the image.

Young Warren Brinkman was all at sixes and sevens. He still couldn’t believe his good fortune at meeting that seventeen-year old dream of a girl at the supermarket two days ago. She had slipped on a patch of water in the cereal aisle and literally fallen into his arms. Having ascertained she was OK – no twisted ankle or anything, he had offered to buy her a soda at the coffee bar next door which she had accepted shyly. Pressing his luck but with nothing to lose, he had then asked just before they parted, if she would like to meet him in Sherman Park on Sunday morning and maybe walk around the beautiful Olde English Gardens, that had just recently been opened there. Her acceptance of the offer rounded his day off nicely. It was almost 11 am. now, at their pre-arranged meet time. Looking up he saw a pretty young schoolgirl walking in his direction. It wasn’t until she was within fifteen yards of where he stood, that he recognized her.

She had to be an angel!

“Sorry Warren,” she giggled enticingly, “My uniform was the only clean outfit I could find – hope you don’t mind.”

“Er, no,” he stammered, “You look so pretty Savannah, how could I possibly mind?”

Her smile left him weak at the knees, helped not a little by the brevity of the uniform itself.

He retracted his arm, that up till now had been concealed behind his back.

“These are for you,” he said, clearly blushing, “Something to cheer you up after Friday’s little slip. Just a dozen red roses.” He held them out to her.

She took the flowers and raised them to her nose.

“They’re beautiful Warren, you shouldn’t have spent so much money on me. Roses are just so expensive.” She sighed. “But I love them. Thank you so much.”

She transferred the bouquet to her right hand that held also her small clutch bag, and took his hand with her left.

“Let’s go see the English Gardens,” she said softly.

They entered the main gate – a huge wrought iron affair, and found themselves on a path that offered three alternatives – left, right or straight ahead. They opted for straight on. So far as beautiful English gardens go – this was clearly at the high end. Passing immaculately kept beds of hydrangeas on their right and blue delphiniums on their left, you could be forgiven for thinking this was Kew Gardens at Richmond in west London. Walking on, they passed dahlias, chrysanthemums, foxgloves and of course English rose bushes which exude an aroma all their own. Something was lost in the translation by the time they bloomed in the USA.

“This is awesome,” Wayne whispered as they moved along the walkway towards what looked like a small fountain.

“My dad’s family comes from South London,” she said. “We went there two years ago and my Uncle’s garden in Bexley looks just like this – smells like it too!”

Ahead, the path wound slightly to the left and the fountain was shown to be the centerpiece of a large circular fish-pond, complete with lily pads, golden carp and even the odd croaking frog. On the other side of the pond, was a wooden bench set back from the path beneath a huge oak-tree, whose great boughs spread far and wide. Growing either side of the bench were a cluster of hollyhocks, their colors shimmering in the sunlight.

“I think I’ll move to England,” Warren uttered – sounding like he meant it. As they sat there, he became aware of a scent that definitely was not any type of English flora. It was, he could tell, on-site slightly beneath the owner’s right ear. He had little hesitation then. in leaning across and planting a gentle kiss there. The aroma was intoxicating!

“Oh wow, Warren,” she giggled, “That’s naughty!” He looked chastened.

“Sorry Savannah, I just couldn’t help myself – you’re just so adorable.”

“OK, well you can do it just once more then,” she grinned, “To tell the truth – I liked you doing it!”

She didn’t have to ask twice.

The problem is that one kiss is never enough and both of them were so absorbed in their lip workout, they failed to see the two old ladies coming around from the other path.

“Well I never,” muttered one to the other, “Young people today have no restraint do they Ellen?”

“None at all Marjorie,” replied the other, straightening her hat, “Absolutely none at all.”

“It’s OK,” Savannah laughed after they’d passed, “They probably haven’t been kissed for seventy years or so. They probably thought we were having sex.”

Warren almost fell off the bench, partly at hearing the “s” word from so gentile a young girl and secondly because he was imagining that very scenario even as he kissed her passionately. Even from where he was sitting that moment, the gentle curve of her girlish breasts was driving him crazy.