Invent a definition for the word “flangiprop,” then use the word in a post.
Okay, the prompt says to invent a definition, so I’m going to try to resist looking in the dictionary and try to make up one of my own.
I was 12 years old when Carl, and the rest of his family, moved into the house up the hill from mine. Carl and his sister, Carla, were Cherokees from Oklahoma adopted by Hank and his wife, Nell. Carl was a year older than me and Carla was a year younger. We became fast friends and hung out together at home and at school.
The summer I turned 13, was when it happened. Carl and I were sitting on the porch steps and Carla was riding her bicycle up and down the road in front of us. Carl reached over and took my hand. “I made something for you,” he said. He slipped a ring he had made from copper onto my finger. Then he took my face in his hands and kissed me.
Up until Carl, my kissing experience had been merely a touching of lips, but this one was Wow! It was long and tender, with Carl’s tongue exploring the inside of my mouth. He kissed my eyelids, nose, cheeks, and neck. Then he would explore my mouth again.
I was lost, filled with so many sensations and feelings. I loved it. I loved Carl. I loved the whole world. Suddenly, my mom’s voice penetrated the ecstasy I was feeling. She was calling me home for supper.
Carl laughed and squeezed my hand. It was getting dark and the stars were beginning to shine. A beautiful night. I managed to stand, but found that I was dizzy and my legs were still shaking from emotion. Carl laughed, again, and stood up to help steady me. Yes, it was that kind of kiss!
My mom called for me again. I said “Bye,” to Carl and Carla, who was giggling from witnessing the kiss. I started to walk down the hill toward my home, but found myself stumbling and staggering. I simply had no balance left. Carl had completely overwhelmed me.
Then I stepped on the flangiprop and the handle flew up and hit me smack in the forehead. I stumbled backward and fell to the ground. Immediately, Carl was at my side, laughing and trying to help me up. “Are you okay?” he asked, still laughing. “I think so,” I said although I could feel a goose egg forming on my forehead. I managed to make it the rest of the way down the hill, but I will never forget that flangiprop!