First Time

of course I remember my First time.
He always remembers his First.

Thank God it’s gotten better.
So.
Much.
Better.

Tastes refine; methods change
otherworldly practices invade, catch on, fade away
Cultures Collide.

That French contraption never really worked for me,
though I gamely persevered.
a year? two?
if for no other reason than to get my
money’s worth

I can be frugal when it suits me.

my First time,
I likely couldn’t find France on a globe
let alone know how to do anything in a “French” fashion
or with l’appareil français

Now, though, because
#silverlinings,
I see how l’appareil taught me to
Appreciate.
Savor.
the Whole Experience.

Purpose in the preparation.
the act before The Act.

la patience

I confess my ability (desire?) to wait has waned.

Not for all things,
No.
Forbearance is my specialty.

that First time, though
I no longer saw waiting as an option.
it felt compulsory
commanded
demanded

I find Firsts are a curious combination
of Impulse
and Obligation.

You understand me.

The image remains vivid,
as I suspect it does for most.
I know exactly where I was.
of all places.

Church

benediction bestowed.
choir and clergy in rapid recess.
the Time had come.

I’d wager many Firsts happen after church,
in that afterglow,
when we believe ourselves
absolved and thus immune
from damnation,
albeit briefly.

Briefly.
Brief.
Not for long.
It was over quickly.

I don’t think I finished.
I’m quite sure I didn’t.

I know this is a strange place to start,
but memory’s magnet draws me.

Who could possibly enjoy this?
and why on earth would anyone try it again?
The taste
not at all what I had expected
Bitter
I’d say acidic now
I would not have used that word then.
could not have used it.

Vocabulary grows with the rest of us

I knew there were ways past
the bitterness.
Many ways, I’ve learned since.
But I’d learned enough from the adults I’d watched
(yes)
that simplest is best.
is Supposed to be Best.

no muss, no fuss
fussiness is for babies.

I was no baby.
not anymore.
would never be again.

Innocence Lost – so much to question
Were the rest of the taboos this bad?
All of the adults just having a
big
old
laugh
at youth’s expense?

I digress

It was hot. So hot.
(pity the poet – I know no other word)
I mean,
I knew it was hot.
was supposed to be.

I hear of some who use ice.
an Abomination.

Yet this,
This!
was too Hot for me
Burn the roof of your mouth Hot
Hot that leaves your tongue
abrading dead skin cells
from your palate
for days.

well, as much as the human tongue can abrade anything.
In this case, a cat’s tongue might be better suited.
I admit, however, a squeamish aversion to that… thing.
la langue du chat
Yes, I know they serve a purpose,
those barbed papillae.
They Give Me The Shivers.

I’ve heard it said there is no accounting for Taste.
“one man’s meat is another man’s poison”
Indeed.

Again, I digress.

What was I saying? Oh yes,
the burn.
the tongue roughly working the palate.
the days of peeling.
prolonged pain for a moment of…

pleasure?

Still,
Pain or Pleasure,
Rapture or Regret,
It was my First.

He always remembers his First.

Ever an enduring image
of the moment
he tasted
Manhood.

I, of course,
Did it again

and Again.

It does get better.

I’ve already done it today.
Perhaps you have, too.

I think I’ll brew the second cup now.