Fond Memory of Ronnie...
Ronnie and I had been dating on and off for a year, starting in the summer of 1967. We lived in the same neighborhood, had the same friends. He was the 'bad boy' of the neighborhood, but he was respectful to me. We never did anything more than make out.
In the fall of 1968, we sort of lost interest and went our separate ways. Then one night during the summer of 1969, I ran into him on a neighbor's porch. He shot me one of his devilish smiles and I knew I was hooked again. The rest of that week is a blur, all I can remember is the last night I saw him.
He was walking me back to my friend Lisa's house through the alleys, when all of a sudden he pushed me up against the garage wall and started kissing me passionately. His full body was pressed up against mine, something he'd never done before. He was holding me so tightly, I swear if I had lifted my feet I would not have moved an inch. His hips were grinding against me when I felt a bulge in his pants that pressed between my legs. I had no idea what was going on since I was only twelve years old at the time, but it felt so good I couldn't move. I didn't want him to stop. His kisses were deep and passionate. Our tongues searching uninhibited, like one long erotic connection.
Ronnie pulled himself away just enough to slide his hand up under my t-shirt and bra to touch my erect nipples. I didn't push his hand away; I couldn't. The rhythm of his hips and that wonderful, warm sensation I was feeling between my legs caused by that large, hard bulge in his pants, made me forget where we were or for how long. Then, at the same exact time, we both started to breathe heavier than before. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders; my hands cupped his head pulling him even closer. My mouth opened as sighs pushed uncontrollably out of my body as we both started quivering and shaking in rhythm, in ecstasy... and then it was over.
Without a word, he stepped back pulling himself away from me. With his head held down, he turned and walked away. I became sharply aware of where I was, standing in an alley leaning against the cool bricks to support my weakened legs as I watched my lover fade into the distant darkness.
I had only seen Ronnie twice since that summer, briefly in passing. We never said a word to each other about that night. It was my first orgasm with a boy and the best memory from the Summer of '69.