by Dom Price
“What, like your cold sores, but on your legs? How could that be nice?”
“No you idiot. Your todger! You know at night sometimes you have dreams about naughty stuff, well it’s like a real life version of that!”
Dave considered his response carefully. He’d not talked to anyone about some of the dreams he’d been having, and it really wasn’t a comfortable topic for him, but Tony seemed very relaxed about the situation.
“So how is kissing a girl like having these dreams then?” David had a strong desire to fill some of the rather large gaps in his knowledge and was bereft of other sources of information. Whilst Derek had sat him down for a rather embarrassing chat a few months previously, he covered it more from the biological angle and suggested absolutely no notions that you might be able to determine the future bond with a girl by kissing her and having a reaction in your pants.
Dave knew all about how to not get a girl pregnant, and even about having babies, but had received none of the illicit information about why you’d want to do either. In fact, Dave had learnt more about the real juice behind the birds and the bees from carefully placing a glass on the wall and listening intently to every gem of detail that his Mum had delivered to Anne. For one so prudish when it came to language, Jane was extremely at ease and confident in discussing intimate subjects with Anne, and when Dave saw them together, he was a little jealous of their relationship. He was close enough to his Dad, but they didn’t share the same giggles and mischief that his sister and Mum did. During this particular chat though, jealousy was way down the list of considerations, as Dave learnt third hand about the contraceptive pill, something that happened every month or every period, and a whole load of very confusing conversation around “preserving your preciousness for the right man”. Luckily for Dave, a selection of leaflets had been left behind by his Mum and he eagerly read them from cover to cover when no-one was looking.
“Well if you, you know…if you fancy a girl” Tony continued, now feeling a little self conscious himself, “and you kiss her right. Well if you like her and she likes you, then your todger grows as like a sign that it’s all OK. Some people have to put their tongues in and then the girls do too, and that is what the French do. I overheard my Dad the other day and he mentioned something about a Scottish Kiss, but I don’t know what that is.” Tonys conclusion was succinct as he began scratching at one of his festering cold sores.
“So the girl doesn’t have to be French for it to be a French kiss then?” David was very confused about the authenticity of some of Tony’s geographical kissing. He placed much more reliance on the leaflets he’d read, which made no mention of such actions or reactions.
“No you plonker. French kissing is when you put your tongue in the birds mouth, and she does the same, and you kind of battle. Give me your thumb.”
“You can sod if you think I’m going to let you French kiss my thumb. I saw what happened with you and Nina Menzies! I don’t want coleslaws all over my hands!”
“They are called cold sores, not coleslaw. And I am not going to kiss your thumb. Let’s have a thumby war. One, two, three, four, I declare the thumby war”
The boys competitively gripped hands and began jostling their thumbs. Random pressure applied and the boys fought for the angle, with their teenage thumbs knocking together, their mouths grimacing with the concentration and determination that comes with being a 12yr old hormonal boy. Suddenly, just as Dave thought he was getting the upper hand over the weakening Tony, the instigator pulled his hand away and stood, extremely proud. “That is French kissing!” he proclaimed.
Dave was now all kinds of confused, and displayed a whole new level of being lost for words. His mind over-reacted and went through a crazy series of thought processes as he stood motionless with his right thumb still triggered from the war. So did French kissing require that you engaged the girl of your choice in a thumby war, or therefore did he just experience a French kiss with his best friend and male, Tony? What were the ramifications of this? On the plus side, Dave’s long and strong thumbs meant he was mildly successful at most thumby wars, and therefore bode well for a decent career of French kissing. That said, he’d not competed much against girls, so maybe his stats wouldn’t translate over to the weaker sex? Worse still, his first time had been with another boy.
Weighing up the pro’s and con’s of being gay at 12yrs old versus showing excellent promise of being a seasoned and successful French kisser, Dave’s thought process and motionless was broken by Tony’s extended explanation. “So what we just did with our thumbs. That is what your tongue does with the chick whilst you snog her, to make it a French kiss, only different coz you don’t use your thumbs.”
The relief at not being the youngest and only gay he knew was a welcome feeling, along with the genuinely good addition of kissing technique to what was a barren chapter in Dave’s life story. Knowing how to kiss was one thing, but who to kiss had been a blank page for a long time.
Now with a strong desire to add to this empty page, Dave had spotted Veronica around the play grounds and in some of the classes they’d had together. His attempts to get noticed had been a little barbaric to begin with. Lost for anything to say in the queue for lunch, Dave had panicked and pulled at Veronica’s hair, later realising that this form of affection could be confused for Grievous Bodily Harm which was punishable with time in prison. That though, was nothing compared to the dead arm he’d given her in history, after failing miserably to write her a cute note or communication to her in anyway which utilized words and smiles, opting for ‘playful’ punches and hair pullings instead.
Dave had been waiting for an opportunity, and it looked like it might come on the annual class field trip to the local zoo. On the field trip, Dave had wanted to progress things at what seemed like an alarming rate for a teenager. He was hoping for a conversation. This level of progress was pretty much unheard of amongst his peers, but Dave had always been buoyed on by confidence in his convictions, brought about by spending considerable time with Grandad Bob who had an anecdote for every occasion, and who could spur the snail on to beat the Hare and the Tortoise!
High on the confidence with a man on a mission, and with a devout desire to appease the pain he’d caused Veronica with the dead arm to her petite and yet womanly frame, Dave was mentally ready for this challenge. Almost in direct correlation to the conversations that Dave and Tony were now having, Dave had noticed that most of the girls in school had definitely started to change their appearance. As a taller than average lad, Dave was at first impressed to see that Veronica was approaching his stealthy height over recent months, but as their length grew ever closer, something dramatic happened practically right before Dave’s eyes…in fact, about 10 inches lower than the eyes. Having invested months in Physical Education and the playground ogling at Veronica’s glorious frame and increasing height, Dave now found himself permanently transfixed by Veronica’s new depth in the chest department. Tony called them ‘Babylons’, “Bristols” or “Baps”, but all Dave knew was that Veronica was the complete package for him and he’d be happy for a Welsh kiss for now, let alone anything else.
The ride over the Pennines and the Yorkshire Dales in the noisy school bus was largely uneventful for Dave. He’d normally sit with Tony and plot some form of disruptive fun, but on this occasion he left Tony to terrorise the girls at the back of the bus with his on-demand flatulence. Dave’s seat towards the front of the bus afforded him some anonymity and the chance to plan his attack.
Despite the lack of structure and the apparent free for all in The Manchester Science and Industry Museum, Dave was searching for the holy grail of school field trips, which was a moment alone. Whilst every sinew in his body was bursting with false confidence that today was the day to make a lasting impression of the girl he’d dreamed so vividly and consistently about, each particle of excitement was matched by a larger particle of bad circumstance. The coach on the way there had been ruled out in advance, as bein
g simply too obvious. The attack would have to be saved for the tour of the museum itself.
Throughout many sections of “The Steam Years” there was the seeming abundance of teachers or guides at every corner, and “Electricity and its Impacts” was just too crowded with tourists and another school on a similar excursion. What made today even harder, was that with a shortage of teachers and a heap of children, the school had reached out to the parents, and 3 mothers had come along on the trip as chaperones to help the teachers.
One of the parents who’d volunteered to help was Mrs Cartwright. If she was any example or vision of what Veronica might one day mature into, then she was a dream come true. Mrs C was well known in the school playground. Tall and slender, Mrs C was of Indian descent, and had been raised on the posh side of Yorkshire judging by the way she walked, dressed and spoke. She was the only ethnic who lived in the part of Sheffield that the Marsdons were from, though she’d worked hard to acclimatise with the rest of the community. Rumour had it, that when she and Mr Cartwright, a very successful local building merchant and odd job man, had got married, they’d bought a house with a downstairs toilet. That pretty much made them the poshest people in the world as far as Dave knew. Mr C was not Indian, but was Yorkshire through and through, with a serious family history in the steel works and mining. The word around the playground was that he was fishing well out of his pond with Mrs C, who was a good few leagues above him in the aesthetics department. Their combined DNA though had made for a tremendous experiment in Dave’s eyes. Veronica had all the attributes of a good old fashioned Yorkshire lass, but with a soft darker skin that showed a glimpse of her heritage. All the boys that Dave knew at school had a bit of a crush on Mrs C much to the dismay and frustration of Veronica. The boys were all really happy that she was chaperoning on the school trip, apart from Dave. Having Mrs C in tow was going to make wooing Veronica that little bit trickier.
Dave had overheard one of the teachers whinging that “we can handle these little shits in a room all day, but we’re a danger in public eh? Is that what they are saying?”, whilst another one noted that “you should be glad that we’ve got some extra sets of eyes for these lot today. Did you not see them all head for the back of the bus on the way here? I reckon there has been some necking going on, so we should sit one of the parents back there for t’way home”. Dave knew that he’d have to make his move well before the way home if there was to be any chance of some Scottish or French action on the back seats of the coach.
Unfortunately, what seemed to crystallise as the magic moment for opening up some flirty dialogue with Veronica, did so when Dave was least prepared. But as Derek and Bob, through the stories of Grandma, had insisted, sometimes instinct can work better than preparation. Well, the gift shop in the Science and Industry museum was a prime example of how not preparing can lead to things not going to plan. Seizing the opportunity, Dave speedily approached an unaware Veronica utilising the pincer movement and some subtle army like combat skills. En-route, Dave’s brain was working out the perfect combination required of charm, without being cheesy, and the need for impact. He knew Veronica knew him, but he wanted her to remember him and then fall for him. Recognition alone wasn’t enough. This needed to be good.
His gliding approach had been impeccable, and he smiled graciously at the impressed audience of shop keepers as he got closer to his prey. The sudden whiff of her perfume caught his nasal passage, and like a patriot missile, it simply disposed of his scud. He felt like an armed bank robber who’d just had his mask removed, gun stolen and pants pulled down. Sheer fear combined with unwarranted embarrassment was about to hit him as his heart pulsed, searching for the words that would woo the lovely Veronica. But her magnificence close up, the heat of her body, the fur of her hood on her parka and the glisten of cherry lip gloss on her peachy lips overloaded all of Dave’s confused senses, leaving him with the physical prowess of disabled amoeba.
Veronica had been unaware of Dave’s approach, and was deeply engrossed in the Egyptian display that lit up one section of the Gift Shop and advertising one of the other local museums. Charting the history of the Egyptians and the splendour of their hierarchy, she was blissfully ignorant to the glow that was rising on the fastly approaching boys face. A little startled as she turned around, Veronica nearly dropped the Ancient Egyptian figurine that she’d picked up from the display as an ideal gift for her father.
For Dave, the connection between the brain, the creation of sensible sentences and his mouth, had been destroyed by the beauty of Veronica close up in her 5 button parka. Altering between a petrified smile and a fearful grimace, Dave knew that it was now or never…as Grandad used to say’ fight or flight son, fight or flight. And only poofs take the flight option!” Dave hadn’t known what a poof was, but he’d assumed it was a bad thing.
The words were spinning around Dave’s head as he searched in vain for something in his line of sight that would make for an intellectual comment, and desperately trying to not say either baps, bristols or babylons. Avoiding any eye contact with the humps that filled so many of his dreams, Dave quickly averted his gaze from Veronica’s chest, and noticed the figurine that she was clutching as she’d spun around to greet him. Instinct kicked in, and the words came out before his brain had engaged. “I love your Mummy. Excellent colour.”
***
Chapter Preparation and Playback
***
“Back in the day, you cooked with lard and you lived ‘til you lived! None of this margarine crap and low fat rubbish”.
The dulcet tones of an aging Yorkshire Nanna provided Dave with the information he needed. With her never ending voice in the kitchen, Dave knew that his Mum wouldn’t be using the tape deck that usually sat on top of the fridge freezer and entertained Jane through the lonely hours of slaving over the stove for her family. Today she had company, so would be many things, but not lonely.
As Dave quietly entered the kitchen to plan his essential equipment heist, Nanna was still continuing. In fact, there was every chance she’d never stopped. Dave and Anne were often the brunt of some of her Nanna-isms, with a current trend around her concern for their time spent in front of the TV or even worse, the computer. Dave’s timing was impeccable.
“You know Jane, I was a working woman by the age of 13, and it did me no harm at all. In fact, it got me where I am today”. The fact that Nanna’s interpretation of work was baking in the kitchen with her mother for the men of the house, compounded to the fact that this story dated back over 50 years, didn’t stop it being delivered with precision and perfection, like it had only happened yesterday.
Dave innocently strolled over, gave his Nanna a big generous hug and a kiss on the cheek. That, combined with his boyish smile was enough to melt the old battle axe, and the change was instantaneous.
“Oh Jane, they are good kids you know.” Nanna was now bear-hugging Dave with deceptive strength for a frail looking women who was smiling from ear to ear. “You are too hard on them sometimes.”
Jane knew better than to respond. Deep breathing was the only method that would deal with Nanna. Oh how Jane craved for some Hollies and 10CC, but she was secretly glad to have Nanna around. Whilst madder than a box of frogs, Jane knew that it was good for the kids to see so much of Nanna and wished that Grandad, her father, was still around. Selfishly, Jane missed Bob the most for his ability to shut his wife up at any telling moment, and giving everyone some respite.
“Bloody hell woman, if you are going to tell the story about working when you were only 13 years old, then I’ll tell them all the tradition that in those days, women didn’t speak until they were spoken too!” He’d only take her on if he had a big enough audience. It had been only 3 years since her Dad had passed away, and Jane missed him as much as anyone else. Whilst he hadn’t kept his dominating stature in his later years as time took its toll on him, the barking voice and scary eyes were always enough to take over any room and dictate any conversation, though often w
ith a slice of wit and humour, rather than with the bluntness of fear or anger. Jane hoped dearly that her father’s temperament and success would reach down another generation to David and hoped that would combine with Derek’s keen eye and frugality.
Had Jane had the opportunity to reach for her stereo to play some music, she would have realised that her tape player and “The best of 10CC” tape were both missing, having been carefully stashed in Dave’s bedroom.
Dave’s collection of the system was a tribute to his late Grandad by using one of his favourite one liners from the old man, “remember the 7 P’s David son…Proper Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance!!” Dave’s plans required the tape player.
Bob had taught David the phrase whilst trying to train him for the egg and spoon race at the end of year sports day at school. The fact that David was only 9 at the time didn’t seem to phase Bob’s regime. Dave’s lasting memory from the session was his Grandad in some borrowed sports gear from the 60’s, that looked like they had never fitted properly. Snug was an understatement. At the time he’d not understood his Mum’s and Nanna’s horror at seeing Grandad Dixon in his tight sports attire, or why they’d sent him to get changed before he was allowed a cup of tea. The tight pants had been expertly matched with one of Grandad’s trusty vests, which amazed Dave. They provided limited coverage, and seemed to accentuate Grandad’s massive and ever growing arm pit hair that bustled out of every crevice.
Sadly for Dave, he hadn’t prospered too well at sports day, being slowed by the constant heavy application of Camomile Lotion that was required to cover the chaffing that he’d received during Grandad’s 7am training session.
Having sneaked the car keys off the table in the hall way and emptied the trusty Volvo 440 of all of its tapes, Dave was now ready for the rest of his plan. As a family, they’d never really invested much in technology, although Dave had often displayed a keen eye for all things electronic. What Dave did know, was that he had two weaknesses with his new plan to woo Veronica Cartwright. Firstly, was the technology issue; the Marsdon’s owned a varied selection of tape players and recorders, but not one of them was a double cassette deck. Secondly, for the plethora of music he had at his disposal in front of him, which incidentally spanned many generations and genres, lacked one distinct generation and genre…the current one. Dave had a few “Now that’s what I call music…” tapes, but he knew that he needed something special and from the “now now” if he was going to impress Veronica. Needing to get some traction to see his project progress, Dave carefully erected the electronics in the quiet corner of his bedroom, away from any background noise. Mum’s tape player would play the tapes that he’d grabbed from downstairs and the car, and his two tone red and black Sharp DMX 445, with its subtly hidden mic on the front panel, would be the receptor and creator of the best and most successful mix tape in history.
