It was summer, late 1980. I was seventeen. She rode past me on her bicycle.
I was on my skateboard outside my parent’s house, occupying myself in the late afternoon sunlight by practicing ollies on the pavement. I saw her approaching on her bicycle and stopped, catching the board mid-pop.
“Hello,” I said as she neared.
“Hello,” she replied, flashing me a wondrous smile as she pedalled by. Stunned, I watched her round the corner at the top of the street and disappear from view. Too late. Why hadn’t I stopped her?
A week later I was out on my silver Yamaha 175 DT Enduro when I saw her riding her bicycle again. I wasn’t about to let this chance pass me by. I stopped the scrambler a short distance in front of her, flipped out the side-stand and leant on my left foot.
“Hey, stop!” I called to her. She stopped her bike and leant against it. “Can I ask you what your name is this time?” I gave her what I hoped was a roguish grin. She smiled that glorious smile again.
“I’m Kimberly,” she said.
“What school are you at?” I asked.
“What standard?” I tried to draw the conversation out.
“Standard seven,” she said.
“You’re at the wrong school, you know,” I said. She cocked her head.
“Why?” She asked.
“You should be at The Glen,” I said. “Because I’m at The Glen.” I was taken aback at my own boldness.
I got her number, and soon I was on her doorstep every afternoon. With my trusty steed parked on the pavement, I was the good knight come to visit his damsel.
Our first kiss took place on top of Alan’s mother’s washing machine in the laundry room of their Brooklyn home. We were attending a party there towards the end of the year. Kimberly was ravishing in her coral cat suit which exposed her figure beautifully. Getting that first passionate kiss took me a while, but by the time 1980 was over, Kimberly and I were intoxicated with each other and she had convinced her parents to let her move to The Glen in the new school year.
We revelled in our first erotic encounter, and although we didn’t actually progress to the real thing, we became more and more daring with our exploration of each other’s bodies. I stroked her hair, ran my schoolboy hands over her body and breathed her in. From the furthest shadows of the garden, Pan watched our silhouettes with an impious gaze.