Kissing Natalie for Luck

Two neighbors meet just before grade three begins and become an inseparable couple. Their penchant for kissing in class creates problems, however.

Authors Note

This story is mostly a romance with a sexual conclusion between 18-year-olds. If that doesn’t appeal to you, you’ve been warned. However, if you like a cute love story with a bit of sex thrown in at the end, please read on.

Part One

It was September of 1972. I was 8½ years old and just about to enter the third grade when my family moved to a new city about 50 miles away. Uprooting became necessary when my father, an excellent commercial artist, secured a much higher-paying job with an expanding company. I was an only child, so I truly hoped the neighborhood would be filled with many playmates for me. Obviously, I wanted other boys as buddies.

Unfortunately, I discovered our house, a comfortable and spacious home, was just one of two that had so far been completed within an equally new subdivision. Within a year, there would be 40 other homes occupied by families on Chestnut Crescent. But just days before the new school year began, my family, the Morgans, had only one neighbor on our street. They were the Flanagans. A one-child family like ours, they had an eight-year-old girl.

The Flanagans had moved into their new home three days before we had arrived. They made a point of welcoming us immediately. Furthermore, they graciously invited us to have a backyard picnic with them on Labor Day so we could get to know each other. My parents and the Flanagan adults hit it off immediately. (In fact, they would be good friends for the next 50 years.) Natalie, the Flanagans’ little girl was friendly…a bit too friendly for my liking. As a typical eight-year-old boy, I did not have a lot of tolerance for giggly girls, their dolls, nor any other female behavior and pastimes that males my age found off-putting. I tried to avoid her without much success. Neither of my parents was an ally. They obviously sensed my reluctance to befriend a girl, but both of them told me to get to know Natalie for the sake of companionship because there was literally no one else my age on the street yet.

“Come on, Craig, be nice to her,” my mother insisted. “She wants to be your friend. How can that be a bad thing?”

Dad was more practical. He reminded me, “Within a couple of weeks—maybe earlier—there will be other families moving onto Chestnut Crescent. There are bound to be boys your age or close to it among them. In the meantime, it looks like you and Natalie are sort of stuck with each other. Make the best of it, Craig. Hey, she’s a cute little girl—almost as cute as your mother was at that age!”

While Mom kissed Dad on the cheek for the compliment, I responded with a softly uttered, “Yuck!” but I followed my folks’ advice, nevertheless. I reluctantly approached Natalie, introduced myself, shook her hand, and made some small talk to break the ice. I was immediately and pleasantly surprised to learn that Natalie possessed a large collection of fun card games and board games that she was wanting to play. She was more than pleased that she now had someone to play them with. After we had consumed plenty of sandwiches, soft drinks and homemade blueberry pie at the picnic, Natalie and I played various games for the next four hours until it was time to head home, laughing and enjoying each other’s company all the while. I had no idea it had been that long until my mother said we had to get home as I needed to go to bed because school was starting the next day.

Mrs. Flanagan agreed that it was bedtime for Natalie, too. We both let out a collective moan that made all four adults laugh. Natalie suggested that we walk the three blocks to Forest View Elementary School together the next morning. She admitted she was daunted by the prospect of entering a new school where she knew no one. I said, “Well, now you know one person: me. Maybe we’ll end up in the same classroom together.”

“Oh, I think that would be wonderful, Craig!” Natalie replied. Then she did something I had not expected at all. She tightly hugged me and kissed me on my right cheek. A tingling sensation immediately ran up my spine. I had no idea how to respond, but I felt that I should: I kissed her on her right cheek in return. Discounting my mother and all other female relatives, that was the first time I had ever kissed a girl in my life.

My mother found it very amusing. She announced, “Craig, for someone who allegedly doesn’t like girls…” She did not complete her sentence.

Mrs. Flanagan duly noted, “That’s quite a coincidence. A few hours ago, Natalie didn’t think very highly of boys.”

As part of her saying goodnight to me, Natalie declared she would knock on my door promptly at 8:20 the next morning. I suddenly realized something that I had not noticed before: Dad was right! Natalie was indeed a cute girl with her wavy blonde hair, long eyelashes, and an endearing, toothy smile.

Back home, before I retired for the night, when I had a moment alone with my father, I quietly asked him how old he was when he fell in love with Mom. He smiled, placed his hand gently on my shoulder, and told me a story I had never heard before. He said, “I guess I was 10. Your uncle Ted—your mother’s brother—was a classmate and a buddy of mine back then. One Monday after school, he invited me to his house to show me some new toys he had received as birthday presents. That’s when I met his little sister, Patty. I went to his house after school each day for the next four days—but not to play with Ted. I was more interested in befriending Ted’s only sibling—a sister with curly brown hair, dimples, and a sweet disposition. You know her as ‘Mom.’ Within a week, I knew I’d marry this adorable, little sweetheart someday—and, 15 years later, my instinct turned out to be right.”

“How old was Mom when you first met her?”

Dad gave me a knowing smile and replied, “She was eight. I believe that’s the same age your new friend Natalie is. Now why would you be asking me about such things, Craig?”

I didn’t need to answer—and I did not. What was the point? Somehow, Dad already knew.

Part Two

The next morning, just as she had promised, I saw Natalie standing on my porch at the exact time she said she would. I liked that she was punctual; I had the same personality trait as did both my parents. I opened the door before she had a chance to knock on it or ring the doorbell.

Natalie enthusiastically said, “Hi, Craig! Good morning. Ready for Day One of school?” I wasn’t paying attention to her words as I was instead mesmerized by this lovely girl’s neat appearance. Natalie looked like one of those models who posed in catalogues advertising back-to-school fashions. The weather was still warm, so she was wearing no jacket. Natalie wore an appealing blue dress adorned with white polka dots, navy blue knee socks and a pair of shiny black shoes with buckles. Her curly blonde hair rested on her shoulders. Her dress was tight enough to show that Natalie had the slightest hint of breast buds—which attracted my attention. I didn’t have the courage—yet—to tell her how pretty she was.

It was sort of customary to do so on the first day of school in the early 1970s, so I was nicely dressed for the occasion, too. I was clad in dress slacks, leather shoes, and a new brown sweater. Natalie looked considerably better than I did, though. At least that was my assessment.

“Ooh! Don’t you look handsome this morning, Craig?” she blurted. No girl my age had ever said anything like that to me before! Natalie even took a moment to straighten my sweater to remove a wrinkle in it.

“You look nice, too, Natalie,” I replied with a bit of a stammer, vastly understating her terrific appearance.

My mother happily wished us well as we departed together. We hadn’t taken more than two strides from the doorstep when Natalie said, “Hold my hand, Craig. I’m really scared about starting at a new school.” Of course, I let her slip her right hand into my left one. I quite enjoyed Natalie’s touch. I had seemingly matured five years in my attitude toward girls since yesterday’s picnic.

The bell, we had been told from the info our mothers had gotten from the school board, would ring precisely at 9 o’clock. Every student in the kindergarten to the eighth grade would be ushered into the gymnasium where each teacher would read a class list. The teacher would then lead us to our respective classrooms for the 1972-73 academic year. Natalie and I, thoroughly enjoying our hand-in-hand stroll together, did not set any speed records getting to Forest View Elementary. We got to the school yard at 8:52, found out where the other third-graders were clustering, and waited with them for further instructions.

Natalie said, “I liked walking to school with you, Craig. Let’s do it every day—and on the way home too!” I readily agreed.

Then Natalie looked around and panicked a bit. She noted, “There looks to be about 50 or 60 third-grade students, Craig. That means there must be more than one third-grade class. I’d hate it if we weren’t in the same classroom this year!”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Let’s cross our fingers and hope for a bit of luck.”

Natalie grinned and whispered to me, “My mother always kisses me for good luck! Should we try it?”

I nodded and prepared for another buss on the cheek, similar to what Natalie had given me the night before. I was not prepared for the full-on lip-to-lip kiss that Natalie delivered for several seconds. My lack of preparation did not prevent me from enjoying it, thoroughly, however!

Kissing was virtually unknown amongst third-grade students at Forest View Elementary School in 1972, and Natalie’s outward display of affection elicited a few negative reactions from our peers standing nearby us—especially the boys.

“You’re just jealous!” I declared. “I have the prettiest girl in this school as my girlfriend—and you don’t!”

The impact of what I had said didn’t immediately register with me—but it had on Natalie. She promptly gave me a second, longer kiss to celebrate my declaring her to be my girlfriend. I hadn’t really intended to say that. It slipped just out. Honesty tends to do that. There was no taking it back—and I didn’t really want to. When a teacher opened the door and led everyone from the second and third grades into the school’s gymnasium, Natalie walked with both her arms tightly wrapped around my right one. I thought to myself, “What a conspicuous way to make an entrance at a new school!”

Apparently, our kiss for luck—and the subsequent ones—did the trick. Natalie and I were both assigned to Mrs. Dalgliesh’s class. She led us to a classroom at the extreme end of the hallway near an exit. She said that’s the door we should use to enter and exit the school from now on. There were exactly 30 students in the class. Five rows of six desks had been set up. Mrs. Dalgliesh, who looked to be in her early thirties, specifically assigned each one to us based on a floor plan she was holding. She methodically walked to each desk, pointed to it, and read a name aloud. I was given the third desk in the second row. By sheer luck, Natalie got the third desk in the third row so we were directly beside one another. We exchanged smiles.

A boy named Clark Alexander, who would soon become a great friend of mine, quickly shouted, “Look, everyone! The Kissing Bandits have their desks right beside each other!” It was an allusion to a character from an episode of The Flintstones that made the other 27 students laugh, but it puzzled Mrs. Dalgliesh and made Natalie and me blush.

When our teacher demanded an explanation, Clark informed her, “Those two were doing a lot of smooching by the doorway before we were let inside.”

I promptly found out that Mrs. Dalgliesh was a “cool teacher” when she said “kissing is much more desirable than fighting.”

I explained that both Natalie and I were new to the school, and we wanted desperately to be in the same classroom—so we had kissed for luck. I added, “Here we are together, so I guess it worked.”

Mrs. Dalgliesh just laughed and said, “Hey, whatever works…” and continued with the rest of the desk assignments.

Not much is ever done on the first day of school. In those days it was only a half day, designed to get everyone acquainted with the teacher, the classroom, and the routines of the school. Lessons would begin in earnest the next day.

We did have recess, though, and both Natalie and I thought it would be a good idea to mingle with our classmates to get to know them. It took me a couple of minutes to convince my male classmates that despite my enjoying kissing Natalie—a lot!—I was just like they were. At first, they half-heartedly mocked my unusual interest in girls, but I won them over with good humor and soon I had six or seven new male buddies. Two, in fact, became lifelong friends of mine. Likewise, Natalie made plenty of female friends that first day, too.

During our walk home, I told her that I had been razzed a little bit by other boys because I liked kissing a classmate, but it was all in fun. Natalie said the other girls all asked her about our kissing—but they were more curious to find out what it was like rather than condemn the behavior. “Donna Callison asked me if it was alright if she could kiss you, too,” Natalie informed me. “I said no!”

I sensed the third grade was going to be an interesting school year.

Part Three

Natalie and I made it a point to kiss frequently during our walks to and from school, sometimes at recess and at lunch, and occasionally in the classroom if circumstances warranted it. Two weeks into school when Mrs. Dlgliesh announced she was giving us a surprise arithmetic quiz, Natalie rose from her desk and gave me a quick kiss. “For luck!” she explained to our teacher who just shook her head. “I’ve been at this school for seven years,” she said, “and I’ve never seen such an amorous twosome—even when I was teaching the eighth-graders.” After the quiz, which we both aced, I made a point of looking up the meaning of “amorous” in the large dictionary located at the back of the classroom. The definition stated, “showing, feeling, or relating to sexual desire.” I showed it to Natalie. We both giggled—and kissed again.

Our excellent results on our math quizzes inspired Natalie and me to kiss even more frequently. One spring morning before a major geography test, Natalie gave me an especially long, passionate buss on the lips which Mrs. Dalgliesh tried to ignore. However, this apparently prompted Helen Miller to walk across the classroom and surprise Danny Cantonelli with a kiss. “For luck!” she stated. That started an unstoppable trend among half a dozen girls. Next, Donna Callison confidently strode two rows to her left to kiss Ronnie Francis. This was followed by Maryann Arnold moving four rows to her right to plant several kisses on Tommy Cunningham. Three more aroused girls did the same thing to other surprised boys—none of whom objected too strenuously.

“Okay, this has to stop!” Mrs. Dalgliesh said. “That’s it! No more kissing for good luck…unless you do it subtly when I’m not looking.”

“Are you looking now, Mrs. Dalgliesh?” I asked her jokingly.

“No, Craig, I’m looking totally in the other direction,” she stated.

“Good!” I said. I quickly rose from my desk and gave Natalie the most romantic kiss I had given her in the seven months since Labor Day. That one drew a round of applause from our 28 classmates.

When we walked home that afternoon, Natalie confessed that she had planned the mass-kissing demonstration because a few of her female friends were becoming very curious about kissing boys they secretly fancied. Natalie correctly figured that if she could kiss me without getting into trouble, how could Mrs. Dalgliesh justify stopping any other girl from kissing a boy for good luck? My girlfriend was a brilliant strategist for a nine-year-old!

It was inevitable, though, that tales of the smooching third-grade pupils got beyond Mrs. Dalgliesh’s class—and the principal ordered her to do something about it. One night she called my parents and Natalie’s to issue an official cease-and-desist order. My parents had known nothing about my new hobby. Dad thought it was hilarious. “Attaboy, Craig!” he announced. “You are a chip off the old block!” Mom wasn’t nearly as open-minded, though, and sternly reminded me that school’s main purpose was for learning, not a time for romance.

“Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll tell Natalie we’ll have to make up for not kissing on school property with more kissing on our way to and from school. I’m okay with that!”

Mom threw her hands skyward as Dad chimed in, “That’s very resourceful of you, Craig. I’m proud of you!”

As for Natalie’s parents, they already knew about our kissing sprees and did not seem to care as their daughter was not the slightest bit shy in revealing her romantic exploits with me.

The next day at school Mrs. Dalgliesh made light of the edict by somehow getting a large, still photo from the movie Some Like It Hot that showed Tony Curtis kissing Marilyn Monroe. Our teacher had circled Tony and Marilyn—and had drawn a red line through it. The amusing poster was prominently displayed on our class bulletin board for the rest of the 1972-73 school year. On the last day of school, a few minutes before the final bell dismissed us for the summer, Mrs. Dalgliesh made a point of removing that poster from the bulletin board, ripping it in two, and telling the class that we could spend our final moments of third grade kissing as much as we desired. Natalie and I certainly desired. I noticed three other amorous couples locking lips, too. By the time we had finished our romantic interlude, there was no one else in the classroom. Even Mrs. Dalgliesh had vacated the premises.

Part Four

Natalie and I remained a couple all the way through elementary school and high school. Natalie retained her good looks, blossoming quite nicely in adolescence. Although my outlook was obviously biased, I ranked Natalie as the most beautiful girl in the eighth grade. During our high school years, she was easily in the top five in looks. My male friends envied me.

In the 1970s, chastity was still valued by girls, so, somewhat remarkably, Natalie and I never advanced past the kissing stage. One night while I was at her house and we were watching a romantic movie on TV, we did engage in some heavy groping. I sensed that Natalie would have been okay if I had taken her virginity then and there. However, I put on the brakes. “We can wait,” I told her.

“You’re a damn fool, Craig,” she said. “But that’s why I love you.”

In the summer of 1982, when we were both 18, Natalie and I learned that we would likely be separated for most of the next four years. Our pursuit of higher education would lead us to different schools. My university was a short drive away, so I wasn’t going anywhere, but Natalie’s new school was 200 miles away.

Early in August we were attending a play put on by a local theatrical group. We both agreed it wasn’t very good so we decided to vacate the theater at intermission. “Let’s go somewhere intimate,” Natalie suggested. I wholeheartedly agreed.

“I have the perfect place in mind,” I told her. “I’ve been planning this for years.”

“Where are we going to go?” Natalie asked me.

“It’s a surprise,” I told my longtime sweetheart. “You’ll definitely recognize the spot when we get there!”

I drove us to Forest View Elementary School and parked in the vacant lot. We held hands as I led her near the doorway that we had used throughout the third grade. I walked her about 50 yards to a larger door—the one we had waited near to be let into the building for the first time in September 1972.

“For luck!” I said as I embraced her. Our subsequent kiss had to have lasted for two full minutes.

“Ooh, Craig, that was better than the kisses we shared here…oh, my god, that was nearly 10 years ago,” she realized.

“Yeah, and we have no sniggering classmates to heckle us this time,” I declared.

“Too bad we can’t get into the school,” Natalie stated. “I’d like to kiss in Mrs. Dalgliesh’s classroom again.”

“Well, we can stand outside the classroom and kiss,” I suggested. So we did. There was enough moonlight for us to see the inside through the window. The old-fashioned desks had been replaced with newer models and the teacher’s desk was on the opposite side of the room from where it had been in 1972.

“I wish it still looked exactly the same,” Natalie bemoaned. “Look, where Tony and Marilyn used to be, there’s nothing but a big, blank space.”

“Let’s do something we didn’t do in the third grade!” I announced. I picked up Natalie and carried her to the grassy sports field. It hadn’t been mowed since June, so the thick, overgrown greensward was very comfy to lie down in.

Neither of us said a word. We knew what was about to happen. I unbuttoned Natalie’s blouse at the same time she removed my trousers. I unclasped her brassiere to reveal a beautiful and ample set of breasts. I eagerly fondled them. Her nipples quickly became hard from my loving touches.

“How long have you been wanting to do this, Craig?” asked Natalie with a smile as she broke the silence.

I replied, “Oh, about two seconds after you showed up on my porch to walk to school with me on the first day of third grade.”

“That can’t be true,” she insisted. “I didn’t have any boobs back then, Craig!”

“You’re wrong, sweetheart!” I informed her. “You had burgeoning breast buds pushing against your pretty blue dress with the white polka dots. They were the sexiest things I’d ever seen in my life. Of course, I was just 8½ years old back then and very impressionable. I so wanted to lick them!”

Natalie shook her head in disbelief. Then she cupped her teenage breasts and lifted them gently. “I think these are an improvement over breast buds, Craig. Don’t you agree?”

“Damn right!” I said. Then I proceeded to fondle, caress and lick them for the next ten minutes.

When we both were nude, we found a spot in the grass where we explored each other sexually for the first time in our lives. Natalie seemed enthralled with my phallus. She stroked it lovingly and kissed it until I thought I was going to explode. Wanting to last as long as I possibly could before having an orgasm, I reluctantly moved away from Natalie and instructed her to spread her legs. I think she expected me to penetrate her, but I was going to please her orally first. I did such a splendid job at stimulating her hairy pussy with my tongue, that I accidentally let a longtime secret out.

Between lustful groans, Natalie stated, “Craig, I’m a virgin, but there’s no way you are. This is so wonderful that you’ve had to have done this before.”

“Oh, yes. I have,” I admitted. Then I realized I might be in serious trouble with the girl I loved.

“Craig, we’ve been a couple for nearly ten years. Whose pussy did you lick? Tell me, I won’t be upset. Honest.”

“Remember in the seventh grade when you were absent from school with the flu for about a week? I had a little fling with a classmate. It didn’t mean anything. It was just sex—and I wasn’t getting any from you.”

Natalie stayed on point. “And that classmate was who?”

“Donna Callison,” I stated. “Remember her? She was the girl who, according to you, wanted to kiss me on the first day of the third grade. She approached me the week you were ill and said since you were unavailable, she would show me a good time in your place. I figured, why not? We went to her older sister’s apartment after school and got to know each other quite intimately. I gave her pussy a good licking. She gladly returned the favor with a blowjob. I came in her mouth, of course. What seventh-grade boy wouldn’t? Then we fucked. I didn’t come inside her. About three weeks later, her family moved a thousand miles away. I haven’t seen or heard from Donna since then.”

“Thanks for your honesty, Craig. I appreciate it. Let’s get back to business. Pease fuck me—and I don’t care if you come inside me.”

Orders were orders, so I mounted my sweetheart and slowly inserted my manhood into Natalie’s virgin pussy. The feeling was tremendous; it was honestly worth the ten-year wait. I used slow, gentle strokes to please her—until I felt a huge orgasm building. When I knew I was about to come, I became a little bit more aggressive with my fucking, pounding Natalie’s vagina with rapid thrusts. Then the inevitable cum shot occurred. What an overwhelming feeling engulfed me as at least three huge blasts flew from my penis into her love channel!

Long after my ejaculation ended, we remained conjoined. I had rolled Natalie over so that she was on top of me instead of bearing my weight as I outweighed her by at least 75 pounds. “My god, that was enjoyable!” she stated with glee. “Gee, maybe we should have done this in 1972.”

I joked, “If I was capable of an orgasm like that in 1972, I’d have been the world’s first male child star in adult films.”

To my surprise, Natalie was eager for another romp. “Let’s see if there’s another load inside you, Craig.” With a few gyrations of her hips, this former virgin got my dick rock hard again. It took about 20 minutes of Natalie’s sensual riding for me to launch another but less substantial amount of semen into her womb.

“Am I better at sex than Donna Callison?” Natalie asked me.

“Donna who?” I replied. Then we embraced and shared a long kiss—for luck.

It must have worked. Somehow Natalie did not become pregnant that night. She did, however, conceive in 1987, 1989 and 1992. In July 2025, we celebrated our fortieth wedding anniversary with our three children at our side.

They surprised us with a highly unusual gift. They had tracked down 85-year-old Norma Dalgliesh and arranged for her to be a special guest at our party. We were thrilled by her attendance. She was long retired from teaching, widowed, and a bit on the frail side, but she possessed the same sense of humor she had in 1972. Her gift to us was an enormous copy of the Tony Curtis-Marilyn Monroe photograph. This one still had Tony and Marilyn circled—but this time no line ran through it.