My Good girl was of the white glove generation as I would reach from what is now called tweens into the leaving poodle skirts behind my white gloves, replacing and developing a love for all things British. The mini skirt with white boots go-go dancing and every variation possible; the Monkey and Twist. My favorite was the Mash potato which had many variations on body movements. Still I thought that white gloves were a symbol of girls carrying stories of bodies being temples and anything under there closes was private. Feelings left me frozen in how the Church told us that French kissing was a mortal sin. I even know what French kissing was. The good girl in me was told babies were made only after marriage. I remember my first thrill, being so confusing. A boy and I were in the back seat of the car kissing (necking) and he held me. The trill took my whole body and I pushed him on the floor of a 1939 car, make unknown. A vivid experience and I felt or thought God had struck me with fire and brimstone. How could I move from the tales of the Good girl with a religious up bringing so laced in fear.
