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The boy who taught me how to kiss (1957)

The boy who taught me how to kiss (1957)
by Don Paulson - SGN Contributing Writer I met Jack through a friend of mine and I was immediately attracted -- even though he was sixteen and I was twenty four. Jack was one of those gay guys who came out early and had no hang ups about it. His Mother said, "I knew you were gay at age three and it's okay." Jack was sweet and sexy and had the face of an angel, but he also had a maturity that surprised me. I knew this artistic young man would amount to something someday. Our short relationship was totally consensual, with no violence or mind trips. I was well aware of our age difference and I played it carefully, but it was love at first sight for both of us, though probably more so for me. I was not a chicken Queen, nor did I turn into one. Was it wrong for a twenty four year old to have an affair with a sixteen year old? I admit to being a little foolish and I was pushing the issue, but under an unwritten gay code at the time, not wrong. The first time we were able to physically connect was in my friends 1950 Plymouth on the way to Walnut, California, where a partner and I opened a small roadside cafe. Four of us were crowded into the back seat but almost immediately Jack and I became one. The sun had just set and in the soft warm light we began to kiss. Over the scratchy car radio Tab Hunter sang his hit song, "Young Love." The air was thick with the powerful fragrance of Orange Tree blossoms from the groves that used to line the roads of southern California, it was so romantic. Suddenly Jack drew back and said, "You're a lousy kisser. Here, let me show you how it's done," and proceeded to show me how to kiss. I was powerless, he just took my heart away. Between his school and the forty miles that separated us, we didn't see enough of each other, but it was so sweet when we did, even though we were destined to part. A new Freeway stole our customers and the cafe failed. Then, I was called back to Seattle, Washington, due to an illness in the family and, of course, I got involved in affairs here. Jack went on to graduate from school and grow into adulthood. We corresponded for awhile but, eventually, lost touch. But there was never closure between us. For me, it was like we'd eventually meet again. I never stopped loving Jack and thought about him over the years, always with a sense of effection and loss. I had no idea where he was or if he was still alive. Then, I found an address on the Internet and it was Jack! I was thrilled. Fifty years had marched on and we have survived. We did not get run over by a bus or go to prison, nor did life get us down with regret and anger. We did not succumb to alcohol or drugs or let homophobia spoil a vision of ourselves or our future. We have both enjoyed successful art careers and have recently lost long-term relationships, but we are okay. California has lost most of her Orange Groves and no one cares about the song "Young Love" anymore, but we are still around. I asked Jack a question on my mind for years: "Jack, being our age difference many years ago, did I cause damage to your young life in any way?" Jack replied: "Absolutely not, you were wonderful and I knew exactly what I was doing." Though seven hundred miles separate us, we planned to meet again, but it was not to be. Jack died of lung cancer; the darling young guy who taught me how to kiss.


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