Zelma

I noticed that she glanced at me in History that day.
But I was shy – a clumsy guy who knew not what to say.

With shaking hand, I wrote a note to ask if she could go
to this week's high school dance with me...
would she please let me know?

I sent the note across the room – then sat and held my breath.
To think that she might answer yes had me scared half to death.

I didn't need a note sent back – her smile would say it all.
I gathered up my courage as I stopped her in the hall.

Her number she had written down... she placed it in my hand.
She smiled once more and said to call –
the dance would be just grand.

I went right out and bought a suit – I really couldn't wait
for Saturday to come that week – I actually had a date!

But when I called to pick her up my eyes began to pop
to see her in this evening dress – with curves that wouldn't stop.

The dress was flared, but short enough to show a lovely pair
of shapely legs in nylon hose. I tried hard not to stare.

The top was snug, not cut too low – it didn't need to be.
I judged her bra to be at least a 30-something-C.

I'd never held a girl before, and now began to doubt
if I could keep a certain thing from wanting to stand out.

In looking back, I wonder now how teenagers survive
this urge to merge, the endless pain, the overpowering drive.

As Maurice Chevalier once said, "I'm glad I'm not young anymore."
(Well, I'm not that glad.)

I walked her to the dance that night, a scant two blocks away.
I felt a silly tongue-tied fool, but she knew what to say.

Her gentle laugh and friendly smile helped make me feel at ease.
But at the dancefloor's edge I felt a trembling of the knees.

The others there were dancing close, with stardust in their eyes.
But I had one big problem – that kept wanting to arise.

Embarrassed, I just hemmed and hawed – then gave a sideways glance
at her appealing eyes which said, "I thought we came to dance."

"It's warm in here, and crowded too," I said, but not too loud.
She smiled and gently took my hand; then led me through the crowd.

The time had come to hold her close, but I would surely die
if she should feel what I could feel – (why was I born a guy?)

I tried to hold her off a ways, but readily could see
this wouldn't work – she stopped and asked, "Are you afraid of me?"

"t's just that – well, I'm not too sure – " my words began to slur.
"Well, we'll fix that," she whispered as she pulled me close to her.

I knew there was no way to hide this thing that tortured me.
I felt it must have been right out for all the world to see.

But she just sighed and cuddled close as though she never knew.
This happened oh so long ago, but I can tell you true...

The memories that I have today, are strong and bittersweet –
and every guy's first date should be as helpful and as sweet.

In walking Zelma home that night I felt a strange relief –
my "problem" finally went away; I sighed in disbelief.

She held my hand and said nice things, much more than I deserved.
She knew just how to break the ice – her grace had never swerved.

She seemed so cool and confident, I guess you'd say mature –
just what it was she saw in me I really wasn't sure.

Her place was on a second floor - she lived there with her mom,
who earlier had made me feel at home and more than calm.

But now the thing that worried me, as we approached the door,
was if she really cared for me – would there be something more?

My heart began to pound as we came to that dimlit hall.
My palms were wet, my mouth was dry, I couldn't speak at all.

She stopped and stood in silence there, her face turned up toward mine.
Her eyes were closed, her lips apart - well, things were going fine!

I put one arm around her waist and started to draw near.
But now that thing was back again, that thing that brought me fear.

But now I found I didn't care – I figured, "What the heck!"
She might as well find out the truth – I took hold of her neck.

Her bosom heaved as I closed in, I leaned my face toward hers
Her heart was racing fast like mine – so this is what occurs!

The time had come, this girl was mine, love oozed from every pore.
But light now pierced the darkness – did I just hear a door?

There stood her mom with beaming smile, "I thought I heard someone.
Well, don't just stand there in the dark. I'll bet you two had fun."

"Well, yeah we did," I mumbled low, releasing Zelma's neck
and feeling I had just become a hopeless, nervous wreck.

"I'm glad you got her home on time. Be sure to come again."
Well, I was going to come all right – but didn't know just when.

The agony of going home while feeling such distress
meant there was just one thing to do
(but you'll just have to guess).