First and Last Kiss

The smell of the car’s trunk tugged at a distant memory, but I couldn’t place it. It was musty with a hint of aged wood. I knew the smell wasn’t what I should focus on, but it seemed important.

The bouncing of the car hurt my shoulder. I rolled onto my back, and something sharp poked my hip. At least the pain was somewhere new.

Now I remember that smell. I first encountered it at summer camp when I was fourteen. One night, I snuck off to the boathouse with a giggling girl, Betsy, or Becky. Becky, I think. We held hands as we entered the boathouse. An electric bolt shot up my spine as our fingers intertwined. I didn’t want to let go, but I had to in order to reach into the boat to retrieve a blanket. As I spread it on the floor, that same smell escaped the folds — musty and woody.

Becky and I knelt on the blanket, held hands, and stared into each other’s eyes. Hers were blue and inviting. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her eye shadow glittered, and her eyeliner was thick. It was sexy as hell.

The car came to an abrupt stop, and the trunk popped open. The cool night air was a relief from the stuffiness of the trunk. I could see from the light of the taillights as the oaf of a man grabbed my legs and dragged me from the trunk. My head grazed the bumper, and I landed hard on my back. He untied my feet and waved a gun at me.

“Get up. Walk.”

I rolled onto my knees and pushed myself up onto my tingling feet. He waved the gun toward the front of the car and I walked ahead of him. I caught the faint smell of the ocean on the breeze. The stars and the moon were obscured by an ominous layer of low clouds. Trees gave way to a small clearing where the headlights illuminated a pile of dirt with a shovel planted upright in the middle. Beyond that was a black hole.

I stared at her lips and moved closer. She closed her eyes as our lips met. She tasted like strawberries. An animal urge grew within me. I pulled back, taking in raspy breaths. Her eyes were still closed and her lips were parted. I kissed her again and pushed my tongue past her teeth where her tongue eagerly met mine.

“Get in.”

It was quite a step down. I stumbled and jammed my knee into the side, unable to catch myself with my hands bound and unable to let out a yelp with a gag in my mouth. The hole was nearly waist deep.

Becky and I laid down on the blanket. I hovered over her and stroked her long hair. It smelled of flowers as it slid between my fingers. I kissed her and my hand slid down her neck, across her chest, and onto the swell of her young breast. She giggled and pushed my hand away.

At the time, my adolescent mind wondered if that counted as second base, or if that required a bare breast. I didn’t know the exact requirements, but I felt that I was stuck between first and second base and soon to be thrown out.

“Lie down.”

He waved the gun at me. I knelt down. Rocks dug into my knees, and the dampness of the soil seeped through my pants. I lied on my side and rested my head on the dirt. I had to bend my knees; the hole wasn’t long enough. He swung the gun toward my face, and I stared down the barrel and at the unsmiling face beyond.

I caressed the side of Becky’s lovely face and stared into her eyes. Her breathing was as ragged as my own. She grabbed the back of my neck and pulled our faces together. Once again, I slid my hand onto the swell of her breast where it was allowed to stay this time. She arched her neck. It was white and soft and tasted of salt. I squeezed her breast, and the gun flashed.