Saving my life at the swimming hole isn't all that my cousin Steve did for me. He also taught me how to French kiss. Okay, so he didn't actually demonstrate—he only explained the proper technique. But how many friends do you have that will do even that much?
We were both around eighteen at the time. Steve's family had moved to California years before, but he and I remained very close. Steve had come back to Utah to stay with us for a week or so, as he contemplated attending Weber State College. When Steve was in town, we would do everything together—including the most important activity of all, chasing girls—and we'd have a grand old time at it.
Now, at this time there was a girl I'd been interested in for about two years, by the name of Naomi Osbourne. She and I were pretty good friends. We had met in a community theater group, and we hung out with a larger group of friends that seemed to want to do everything together. She was sixteen, she attended Bountiful High, and she was as sweet as ice cream in July. Cuter than hell, too. And I suspect she knew it.
Anyway, there was a dance at Bountiful High during the week that Steve was in town, so I dragged him off to it. (Actually, I didn't have to do any dragging. Steve has always been ten times smoother with women than I, and he was always on the lookout for ways to meet them.) Naomi was there, along with a nice-looking friend of hers named Tabitha whom I had never met. The four of us ended up spending the bulk of the dance together, talking and laughing and switching partners and so forth. We had such a great time that Steve and I asked Naomi and Tabitha if they would like to go out with us early the next week, on a double date. The girls readily agreed.
As we drove back to Kaysville after the dance, Steve and I began to wonder aloud which of us was actually going to be paired with which girl on the date. Steve knew I had carried a torch for Naomi for a long time, but we were both attracted to her, and we were both attracted to Tabitha, too. Well, we didn't end up worrying about it too much—we just decided to see how things naturally fell out.
When Steve and I went on double dates, we would always split up the driving duties. One of us would drive the car to wherever we were going, and the other one would drive it back. That was so we both got a chance to be in the back seat with our dates. On the night of our date with Naomi and Tabitha, I ended up driving first. And since Naomi lived closer than Tabitha, we ended up picking up Naomi first. And Steve and Naomi just sort of naturally got into the back seat together.
And that was fine with me, really. Tabitha and I ended up having a very nice time that night. In fact, on the way back from whatever it was we did that night—dinner and a movie, I think—I remember snuggling with Tabitha in the back seat while she sucked on my fingers. This was the first time I'd ever had anyone suck on my fingers. I had no idea what it symbolized, but I sure knew I liked it. When we dropped her off at her house, Steve timed my goodnight kiss with her at forty-five seconds. Tabitha and I ended up going steady for the next few months.
But I was still interested in Naomi, too. So when Steve walked her to her front door, and when I saw them up there making out in the shadows on the porch, I felt a little pang of envy. Steve came back to the car, got in the driver's seat, and didn't say anything for a minute. Then he said, "I'm sorry, Bill."
I asked him what he had to be sorry for, and he said, "I know you really like Naomi, and here I am making out with her in front of you."
I told him it wasn't a big deal, that he didn't have to feel bad, because it wasn't like I was hurting for female attention myself.
He was quiet for another minute or so, and then he looked up with a mixture of slyness and guilt on his face. "Do you know how to French kiss?" he asked.
I was a little taken aback. "Um, no, actually."
"Well," he said, "I'd better teach you how, because someday you might end up kissing Naomi, and then you'll have to know how to do it right, because she doesn't."
And then I burst out laughing.
So Steve proceeded to explain all the intricacies of French kissing to me, there in the car in front of Naomi's house, including how you need to do something delicate and sensual with your tongue in the other person's mouth, like running it lightly around their own tongue, instead of just sticking it in and letting it sit there like a big hunk of wet meat—which is what he said Naomi had basically done to him.
I have a great cousin, you'll have to agree. But the rest of the story, including what eventually happened between Naomi and me, and between Tabitha and me, and how and where I finally ended up using what Steve had taught me, will have to wait for other memos on other days. I think I've gone about far enough for now.
