I was 5 years old and was gifted a plethora of toy weapons. Birthdays, Christmas, the typical holidays most all of us were spoiled (or soiled) by what was deemed the ideal presents for the respective sexes.

My favorite was a large plastic King Arthur sword that I danced through the house slaying imaginary dragons and evil warlords. I imagined myself a decorated knight or perhaps the 4th musketeer. I had a playmate, a lovely girl from down the block that would often join along in our imagined round table game. My favorite scenario was to lock her in a closet, my damsel in distress – and mercilessly destroy all the evil that surrounded us with my trusted sword. Once sufficiently eliminated I would secure my maidens freedom, and we would then kiss. Like real grownup kisses. No tongue but close enough! Super big, sloppy, inexperienced, and probably ill advised smoochies! I don’t recall any particular stirring in my loins but my spidey sense was indeed tingling and encouraging further evaluation. For a later time.

Mom called announcing that our time was up. Sweaty and exhausted we were always disappointed by the disruption. But happy, nonetheless. The goodbyes were typically unemotional and rather dry. As if we’d had a boring or perhaps even miserable time together. It was our secret.

Within a year my father got a new job, and we moved out of state. My medieval battles came to a close. My legendary sword wielding  exploits would remain solely in my imagination, and that elusive next (soul) kiss would be several years later yet with spidey’s encouragement I did finally discover some new explorations within my bag of tricks.

And now it appears my time is up, oh germophobic friend and gifted seer. You haven’t said much today but I do appreciate your listening. I look forward to our next session as I have much more to share.