As another DelCo summer commenced in 1986, I received a phone call from the younger brother of my friend, Amy. Amy was one year ahead of me in school; she had graduated and was headed to Oberlin in the fall. Prior to college, she went with her parents to...Brazil, I recall, for a family vacation. Although of Italian-American descent, she spoke fluent Portuguese as she spent a year abroad as an exchange student. My mother did not like her because she was "wild", which in retrospect is laughable, as her main vice was occasional use of the F-word.

Her little brother was one year behind me in school and was kind enough to accompany me to my Junior Prom when I couldn't get a date. His name was Steve, and all I really knew about  the quiet, recessive-gened brother (blonde) of my spirited, olive-skinned gal pal was that he played the drums and was musically devoted to The Police.

He was very sweet at the prom, renting a tux at his own expense, and getting me a corsage. He invited me to join a group of his prom-going friends to dinner at a local Houlihan's restaurant. Somehow I managed to enjoy a meal of chicken tenders in elbow-length white gloves!  In all honesty, that was one of the more refined dating experiences I ever had - he was truly kind, respectful, and considerate...yet did not try to bust any moves, which disappointed my teen ego.

I hadn't heard from him after prom. Despite having a pleasant time, there was never any perceivable chemistry between us.

Thus, his phone call that warm Saturday morning was quite a surprise. He asked if I wanted to go to the mall, or similarly contrived date idea...ok, why not; I had nothing else to do, as my best friend was out of the country.

The moment I hung up the phone after his call, I failed to connect the dots of the situation. His family was out of the country and he was here, with a car, a license to drive and an empty house because...I think he had a job or band camp or similar obligation that precluded international travel. The bottom line was: I didn't see it coming.

We ended up at his house, engaged in tepid conversation. Finally he sighs, goes to his room, returns with a pile of porno mags and plops them down on the floor, saying nothing but offering a pleading yet serious glint in his eye. I grinned. And then I played stupid. I began to critique the various airbrushed body parts on the pages before me, much to his frustration.

Finally I asked matter-of-factly, "Steve, did you want to make out?"

Somehow, despite what should have been an awkward start, we had alot of fun and  discovered an excellent kissing chemistry between us. But not much else.

Back then, I recall being cautious about rounding the bases with a boy, as you never knew if a guy would blab and embellish to the locker room, thus thrusting you into the vicious teen rumor mill that is high school.

But in 1986 there was no email or MySpace or text messaging or cell phones; there was no private means of communication for teens to broadcast their exploits or trash one another out of earshot of wary parents. And, as it was summetime, there was no locker room for trash talking.

So we "fooled around" on a few occassions, no pretense of dating, no drugs or booze to get in the mood. Just very natural, fun kissing and touching - always protected from going too far by our respective pairs of white cotton underpants. My parents started to question what Steve and I were doing on our "dates."  I had no movie plots or concert playlists to feed back to their inquiries. Instead of making excuses to them, I just cut off the action. After two turned-down "dates" he got the hint and never called again. He never even said anything to me in school - until nearing the end of my Senior year when he surpised me by suggestively shoving me up against some lockers in a quiet hallway after school. At that point, I knew he was not looking for kissing and cuddling. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted something more, but I was preoccupied with college preparation and a lackluster relationship with a boyfriend/classmate.

After listening to the hits of the 80's on XM radio in my rockin' van, I was thinking about those balmy weeks over 20 years ago. I still find it incredible that despite the circumstances, he never pushed the envelope in terms of what we did; and I am grateful for that to this day. It is a secret I have kept (until now.)