Pass The Parcel

The Pass-Around-The-Name Game

We had invented this game of Pass-Around-The-Name. It would work a lot like musical chairs. It was to be timed to a record like that game. Someone would control when the music stopped. The difference was that a folded piece of paper would be passed in a circle. On each paper was someone’s name. When the music stopped, whoever held the paper had to open the paper, read the name aloud, then kiss that person. It was possible to pick the same sex. It was also possible you could pick your own name.

“Come on. It will be fun,” winked one of the more experienced guys.

At the time, some of us had just discovered French-kissing and some were still in the dark about what all the chuckling was about. Also, we had not heard of gay sex. Everything was new in those days. Many of us would not know a condom from a balloon.

“Alright,” I agreed, hoping I would open a note with Mary Ellen’s name. She was button-cute. I used to admire how she twirled her pen absentmindedly.

This was the days of poodle dresses and saddle shoes, or greasers with actual grease in their hair with spit-curls. Rock and roll was just being invented. We knew James Dean and Elvis were dangerous, and a lot of us guys wanted to be just like them. I just wanted Elvis’s left-over girls. I was not sure what I would do with all of those girls but I was willing to find out.

Jane whispered in my ear, loud enough for others to hear, “I hope I get your name.” Jane was the brains of the class. My face reddened and everyone noticed. I think she was practicing her seductive voice and had not worked on her volume.

The music began. We passed around a note. I was feeling tense. What if I ended up with a guy’s name? It was a little late to have that concern.

Luckily, I did not get the paper. Jack did. He opened it and discovered he had picked Sally, the class assigned slut since she once showed too much leg and we saw he knees. Sally puckered up. Word had it she had mono. Jack closed his eyes and looked like a fish.

“Break it up,” demanded George’s mom. “I am sending you all home... now!”

I was devastated. I would never be able to kiss Mary Ellen that way. We all left, a little disappointed, and some seemed relieved. Some of us were just not ready yet. I could tell from my own distracted feelings, I really wanted to know all the excitement.

On the way home, I felt a tapping on my back. I turned around and saw it was Jane. In the half-shadows of evening, I could see she was smiling. She seemed to have a mystery. Without blinking, she pulled my head to my head, sent her tongue drilling into my mouth. Now I knew what it was all going to be nothing but excitement.

We stay like that a long time. It felt like centuries. I did not want it to end. It had to end sooner or later, but who was rushing sooner? We weren’t. We were locked into a flight of tongues. It felt like bees in my mouth.

When we broke apart, Jane was panting. “We do not need a game to be kissing.” It was the smartest thing I had ever heard. No wonder she was the class brain.

“I agree,” I concluded, and we went back at it again for another century or two.