I like my romance novels with plenty of action. And it’s always best if action and romance go hand in hand. This is exactly the ingredients of my first summer fling. It couldn’t have been more idyllic if I had written it myself.
I was seventeen and newly graduated from high school. The excitement of knowing you have your whole life ahead of you and the uncertainty of how you’ll figure out how to navigate said life boiled up inside me.
He was nineteen, also newly graduated, and in the grand old state of Alaska for the summer, helping build a house for a family member. Ah, there is no lack of adventures and action in Alaska in the summer. The sun stays out nearly all night and every feels unreal and magical. So when this rather “normal” looking guy started hanging around the coffee shop where I worked, I thought nothing of it. Oh, the naiveté of the young! Once he mentioned he wanted to go canoeing . I offered to take him, since I had been countless times and even had a favorite island.
We went early. Very early. And somewhere between the endless paddling and flirtation, his clothes came off. (Are you jumping to conclusions?) He stripped off every single article to rescue our lost vessel. That’s right, even though I firmly suggested we tie up our boat, least we become stranded, (the tides, you see.) he didn’t think we needed to. That’s why he swam into the freezing cold ocean. It was quite the adventure.
Our next outing was accompanied by a similar adventurous spirit, and once again took place in the wilds of Alaska. Sadly, no clothes came off. Instead, we dropped from dead trees into cold water, convinced we were being hunted like the prey in Crocodile Dundee when fishing boats turned hunting lights on us. We got soaking wet and giggled with the excitement of almost getting caught past dark.
And that’s when my first kiss happened. In truth, I don’t really remember details, only the vague memory that it’s a lot more “real,” meaning slobbery, rough, and overall, not as romantic as I was led to believe from the plethora of romance novels I had pored over for descriptions of just such an act. As things progressed, I discovered this wasn’t about romance, but about curiosity.
He said I kissed well. Maybe he said that to all the girls. Or maybe I could thank my boundless imagination and all my descriptive romance novels.
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