We wanted to be older than we were. Lindy wore a bra and she lined the small cups with tissue and she said it made a difference to how boys looked at her. And she posed in front of the mirror with her new diddies thrust out before her. It made a difference to how I looked at Lindy.
And we wore make-up some days, lipstick that was pink and tasted of wax, and smudges of eye-liner in bright blue. And Lindy said I looked good enough to eat, which was something she’d heard her father say to her third grade teacher once and the teacher had blushed and looked around to see if anyone had heard.
And we lay on the bed in my room with unlit real cigarettes caught between our fingers and we sucked on them and blew pretend smoke into the air. Lindy had stolen the cigarettes from home. And we swore in whispers, so quiet our mothers downstairs couldn’t hear, and ‘fuck’ Lindy said and ‘shit’ and ‘cunt’. I was shocked but I pretended not to be and laughed uncertainly. I thought that was what a grown up would do.
And Lindy did look pretty and she said I could touch her tissue-diddies if I wanted and I squeezed them a little and I said they felt real even though they made a crinkling sound when I touched her. And Lindy closed her eyes and arched her neck, and she asked me to pretend like I was a boy and she said I should put my lips to her ear and whisper something nice to her.
I didn’t know what to say, so I said just that I loved her, which I did. And Lindy asked me how much I loved her, and I said I loved her more than the moon and the stars and more than new shoes.
And we played at kissing, too. Grown ups were always kissing, Lindy said. We kissed our hands and pretended like we were kissing film stars or Mr Claude from school. If you hold your thumb and forefinger pressed together, and lick them, it is like lips. Lindy showed me. Then Lindy kissed her hand and pushed her tongue between her finger and thumb. She said that’s how grown ups kissed and so I did the same. Once we did it for real, her lips to mine, and our tongues wet and touching. Lindy’s spit tasted a little of tobacco and toothpaste.
Then Lindy asked me if I knew what fucking really was. I didn’t. She said it was something between a man and a woman and it was done in the dark and in a bed. She said the man and the woman took all their clothes off first and then they fucked. That was all she knew so I still didn’t really know what it was. I was a little sad, though. Sad that it could only be between a man and a woman. I wanted it to be something we could do, just me and Lindy, and being grown up together.
Patricia Ann McNair 
We wanted to be older than we were. Lindy wore a bra and she lined the small cups with tissue and she said it made a difference to how boys looked at her. And she posed in front of the mirror with her new diddies thrust out before her. It made a difference to how I looked at Lindy.
And we wore make-up some days, lipstick that was pink and tasted of wax, and smudges of eye-liner in bright blue. And Lindy said I looked good enough to eat, which was something she’d heard her father say to her third grade teacher once and the teacher had blushed and looked around to see if anyone had heard.
And we lay on the bed in my room with unlit real cigarettes caught between our fingers and we sucked on them and blew pretend smoke into the air. Lindy had stolen the cigarettes from home. And we swore in whispers, so quiet our mothers downstairs couldn’t hear, and ‘fuck’ Lindy said and ‘shit’ and ‘cunt’. I was shocked but I pretended not to be and laughed uncertainly. I thought that was what a grown up would do.
And Lindy did look pretty and she said I could touch her tissue-diddies if I wanted and I squeezed them a little and I said they felt real even though they made a crinkling sound when I touched her. And Lindy closed her eyes and arched her neck, and she asked me to pretend like I was a boy and she said I should put my lips to her ear and whisper something nice to her.
I didn’t know what to say, so I said just that I loved her, which I did. And Lindy asked me how much I loved her, and I said I loved her more than the moon and the stars and more than new shoes.
And we played at kissing, too. Grown ups were always kissing, Lindy said. We kissed our hands and pretended like we were kissing film stars or Mr Claude from school. If you hold your thumb and forefinger pressed together, and lick them, it is like lips. Lindy showed me. Then Lindy kissed her hand and pushed her tongue between her finger and thumb. She said that’s how grown ups kissed and so I did the same. Once we did it for real, her lips to mine, and our tongues wet and touching. Lindy’s spit tasted a little of tobacco and toothpaste.
Then Lindy asked me if I knew what fucking really was. I didn’t. She said it was something between a man and a woman and it was done in the dark and in a bed. She said the man and the woman took all their clothes off first and then they fucked. That was all she knew so I still didn’t really know what it was. I was a little sad, though. Sad that it could only be between a man and a woman. I wanted it to be something we could do, just me and Lindy, and being grown up together.
So good.
Thanks, Patty… for reading and for commenting so positively. It is a great encouragement to me.