Memories from old letters. Here's one from David, a boy I met at Cornell in New York, at a Luther League Convention, 54 years ago. We spent the entire weekend making out in the bushes. My, that boy could kiss.

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Kissing - it was a carnival of kissing, as I recall. It seemed we never could kiss quite enough. Not long enough. Not sweet enough. But kiss long and sweetly we did.

54 years ago I was 16 and still virgin. It was the in-thing in those days. It wasn't to last much longer, but sweet 16 I still was. I'm certain there was some groping here and there, but when I plumb my memory for anything that even went above my knees or inside any article of clothing, it isn't there.

What is there is simply long, looong, loooooooong sweet kissing. We must have talked and laughed as well - well enough to make a three year-plus correspondence out of it, he even sent me his class lavolier - and we must have considered attending a meeting. We were at a conference, after all. But we never went. The lips would not allow it.

Our lips could not leave each other alone. Soft. Insistent. Sweet. No world but this sweet. Now, I've been kissed long and sweetly several times in the intervening 54 years. But, when I remember any of them, there is so much more to remember. When I remember David from Washington, D.C., whom I only knew in person for - was it as much as a week? Only a weekend? I don't even remember that.

I remember kissing.