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| Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., actor |
Passed Out |
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On an unusually fine, warm day in late March, we were deep in the lovely Bois de Boulogne. She and I strolled deeper into the thickest part of the woods . . . She giggled sweetly and led me behind a great clump of bushes quite away from the eyes of other wanderers.
And there and then, to my numbed but ecstatic delight, she kissed me! I was in no way prepared for the vigor and enthusiasm with which she went about it. I had never thought of kissing as being such a devouring process....
The next thing I knew she suggested that I stretch out on the grass beside her — a proposal that needed no urging. And then all sorts of previously unknown sensations whizzed about in what was left of my consciousness. I had, of course, a pretty good idea by then of the conventionally recommended method by which the species is perpetuated. But I was too bewildered to be aggressive and was quite content to, as it were, take lessons. Very strange — and strangely agreeable — things were happening to me about which I had never heard before. What on earth was she doing? It wouldn't have occurred to me to protest, but I never in my life so much as suspected that variety could also be the spice of carnal gamesmanship.
And then I became delightfully dizzy and just plain passed out! When I opened my eyes, I realized the girl was trying to revive me, fanning me with her hanky, gently slapping my face, and asking, "Est-ce-que ça va, mon chou? Tout va bien? Oh, mon pauvre, joli chou!"
The girl was gently understanding and, of course, amused by what was clearly the technical end of my innocence. She even laughed as she wiped her lipstick off my clown face and reapplied her own. (Paris, 1925)
from The Salad Days by Douglas Fairbanks (Doubleday, © 1988)
© 2000 Nerve.com, Inc.
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