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What if your first kiss was just awful? A #ValentinesDay short story about Riley Murphy, a high school freshman and her first kiss disaster

VIRGIN KISS

I wrote this fun short story about Riley Murphy  a high school freshman and her first kiss disaster based on a true story.

————–

VIRGIN KISS

Jina Bacarr

 

Introduction

What’s in a kiss? A kiss by any other name is—

—sweet, romantic, intimate, passionate, wet, sloppy, disgusting, probing, awful, nasty, sexy, tingly, and sometimes just plain wonderful.

But what if it’s your first kiss? And you have to pucker up in front of a live audience at your high school? What then?

Pass the Altoids, please.

The kiss-from-hell happened to me, Riley Murphy.

This is my story.

* * *

A few weeks before Valentine’s Day…

I’m the new kid at Holywell High School, a shy, skinny freshman with cinnamon-colored freckles sprinkled across my nose. Flat-chested. I’ll never be Miss Popularity with the bouncy boobs and flirty lashes.

I’m more like an olive stuck on the end of a toothpick.

Even with that dossier, I’m not a total dork. I’ve gotten pecks on the cheek and quick brushes on the lips, but I’ve yet to experience the soul-melting kisses you see in the flicks. The passionate lip-lock I’ve dreamed about, wrote about in my diary.

I’ve pined for that kiss, but it’s yet to happen to me. God knows, I’ll be in graduate school facing lifelong debt before the right pair of lips meet mine.

To overcome my shyness, my mom convinced me to try out for the Drama Club. Somehow I land the leading role in a one-act Chekhov play.

Yes, Chekhov.

I play this mad, beautiful countess with passion and heart. I love it. I come alive on stage. I can do anything, be anybody, say anything, I can—

—kiss the male lead?

A gangly sophomore named Harold Brimwell with long, greasy hair and an upper lip curled in a perpetual snarl? He’s going to anoint my virgin lips with my first kiss?

Forget the Altoids. I need a stress pill.

I quit the play. They can find another dupe. Not me. I’m not going to let him use my lips for kissing practice.

Then I hear this little voice in my head telling me this is acting. Going through the motions at rehearsals and on stage don’t count on the kissing scale. I can pucker up with Harold on stage and still be a kissing virgin.

Right?

After my pep talk to myself, I sail through rehearsals, knowing my lines and ‘connecting to my character’ according to the director. He says I’m a natural, my emotions raw but real. This is amazing. Me, Riley Murphy, the kid who’s always the ‘new girl’ at school because we move around so much because of my dad’s job, found something she’s good at.

Then the trouble starts.

The director insists on method acting.We don’t rehearse the kiss. He wants a real kiss on stage, not a phony smooch.

Worse yet, we open on Valentine’s Day with a preview performance at the afternoon school assembly. Not only do I have to kiss this guy, I have to do it on the most romantic day of the year in front of the entire student body.

I dump the Altoids… along with my confidence down the toilet.

* * *

Valentine’s Day dawns rainy and cold. Perfect weather for a Russian play.

I arrive at the gym early, put on my makeup in the girls’ bathroom then, hands shaking, I hook up my long Victorian black lace dress borrowed from the costume department, the silk petticoats rustling around my feet. I’m way nervous, but something cool happens as I run my lines over and over, my fear slowly dissolving into a shaky confidence as I slip into my character’s skin. Humming ‘I will survive’, I check my props, my fingertips tingling as I pull on my snug dueling gloves, then twirl the dainty parasol over my head like a spinning top.

I grab the small pistol for my big dueling scene, then heave out a big breath, praying I don’t drop it and everybody laughs at me.

I save putting on my lipstick for last.

First, I gargle mint-flavored mouthwash until my lips turn green and my mouth goes numb. Next, I line my lips with Chekhovian, dark red lipstick and smack them together. Perfect. I’m ready for my lip close-up.

It’s showtime.

I’m so nervous when the lights come up, I garble my opening lines. Then I trip over my own feet and nearly crash into the backdrop. Hot tears form in my eyes, but I want this too bad to give up now. All my life, I’ve stayed in the shadows. If I fail now, I may never get the courage to try again. I ignore the smirks and catcalls and swish my long skirts around like a real countess to boost my confidence.

I can do this.

Somehow, I get my groove on and my theatre training takes over. I sail across the stage, chin up, shoulders back, my voice clear, my lines down to a T. I’m ‘in the moment’. Much to my relief, the dueling scene goes off without the pistols misfiring.

Then it’s time for…

the kiss.

I’ll never forget the expression on Harold’s face when he takes two long strides toward me. A mixture of sadistic pleasure and baddass ‘tude comes over his face, as shiny and sweaty as his palms, freaking me out. Lower lip snarling, my co-star gives me that ‘I’ve got you now’ look all fired up in his eyes, pinning me to the wall.

My teeth chatter. My mouthwash stops working.

It’s so quiet in the high school gym you can hear the director chewing on the end of his pencil.

My heart pounds so hard I can’t get my breath on when Harold pulls me into his arms, yanking me around like I’m a dollar store rag doll and then—

—he slams his mouth onto mine.

Bile rises in my throat as he pushes my lips apart and thrusts his mushy, saliva-coated gum into my mouth, making me nauseous. I swear if my dress wasn’t hooked up so tight, I would have ralphed all over him. Before I can push him off me, he shoves his tongue down my throat, way down, nearly gagging me.

I start choking.

I can’t breathe. Oh, my God, I’m going to pass out.

No, I can’t, I won’t. I’m determined not to faint. I have to get him off me. No gum-chewing, phony-macho sophomore is going to get the best of me.

I’m an actress, I tell myself, so act!

With stars circling around in my pounding head, I pull up my strength and kick him in the shin. There.

Startled, he jerks backward, but not before he bites my lower lip.

What the—

I taste coppery blood. Fresh, oozing, smearing my perfectly-applied lipstick. I’m in shock, disbelieving. It can’t get any worse.

Can it?

It can.

Dabbing my bleeding lip with my silk sleeve, I struggle in his arms, but he holds me tight, slobbering all over me, licking my face, my throat, coating my skin with stringy gum. My ears won’t stop ringing. The audience is going crazy, yelling and shouting like they’re at a basketball game and I’m the bouncing ball.

No, no, he’s not going to take advantage of me. I worked hard to get this part, learn my lines. Practiced how to walk, how to find the core of my character. Gosh darn, this is the first time in my whole life I’ve come out of my shell and done something really special.

He’s not going to ruin it for me.

I have to do something. Fast.

The pistol.

Where is it? After the mock dueling scene, I threw the prop gun down on the round table. It has to be there, but where?

I reach out behind me, my nails catching on the lace doily… I twist my head just a little… yes, I see it. I edge the gun toward me, an inch at a time. Sweat oozes down my too-tight collar and my knees buckle, but I don’t give up.

Almost got it… there. My fingers wrap around the pearl-inlayed handle. I suck in a breath then, without losing my nerve, I jam the prop into his ribs. Hard. I yank my body with such fury, I rip the black silk sleeve right out of the armpit. It slides down my shoulder, but it doesn’t stop me.

Get your hands off me, you sloppy-kissing, gum-chewer!’ I yell, ignoring the script and re-writing Chekhov. ‘Or you’re getting an “F” in drama class.’

The director gasps. Loudly. But he doesn’t refute what I said.

‘Yeah, sure,’ Harold stutters, letting me go, raising up his hands and backing away. ‘Anything you say, Riley.’

‘That’s telling him!’ a girl yells from the audience.

Amy Zanderbar. His ex-girlfriend.

She’s not the only one. All the girls stand up and start chanting, ‘Go, Riley, go!’

Wow. I hit a nerve with the females sitting in the bleachers who had their share of bad kissers.

They love it.

The audience starts clapping wildly and stomping their feet and continue chanting my name. I break the fourth wall and give them a ‘V’ for Victory high sign until the chanting dies down, then my thespian instincts kick in and I get back into character, giving Chekhov his due and ending the play as he wrote it.

I’ll always remember this night when a shy freshman girl in a borrowed Victorian dress took on a snarky sophomore and became empowered to stand up for herself in front of the whole student body.

It changed my life.

* * *

Epilogue

We performed the one-act play for the next few nights without further incident, faking the kiss each time. Harold is cool, not attempting any more way-out kissing. For me, it’s strictly acting.

I’m still a virgin in lip-land.

But I’ll never forget V-Day and my experience with the gum-toting, kissing bandit. Not a bad guy, just a rotten kisser.

And in case you’re curious, next semester I do find the right pair of lips to land that first kiss.

A hottie junior. Jack Dwayne.

When Jack takes me in his arms and lowers his face to mine, I quiver with anticipation and soon discover a kiss isn’t just a kiss, it’s…

magic.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

——————–

PS — yes, Riley is me, a shy freshman back in the day.

—————

 

THE RUNAWAY GIRL, is on schedule for a March 17 pub date.

Two women hold the keys to his heart. Only one will survive that fateful night…

When Ava O’Reilly is wrongly accused of stealing from her employer, she has no option but to flee Ireland. The law is after her, and she has only one chance at escape – the Titanic.

Aboard the ship of dreams, she runs straight into the arms of Captain ‘Buck’ Blackthorn, a dashing gentleman gambler who promises to be her protector. He is intrigued by her Irish beauty and manages to disguise her as the maid of his good friend, the lovely Countess of Marbury. Little does he realise, that the Countess is also in love with him.

As the fateful night approaches, tragedy strikes further when Ava is separated from Buck, and must make a daring choice that will change her life forever…

A sweeping historical romance set aboard the Titanic, from the author of Christmas Once Again.

Praise for Jina Bacarr:

‘A delightful holiday romance that has all the charm of a classic Christmas movie. Christmas Once Again is perfect for anyone who loves a holiday romance brimming with mistletoe, hope, and what ifs.’ Andie Newton, author of The Girl I Left Behind

‘A breathtaking holiday romance that is sure to stay with you long after reading’

‘A mesmerizing holiday romance that is sure to sweep you off your feet and take you away to another place, another time.’

‘A fabulous book you won’t want to miss’

THE RUNAWAY GIRL is now up for pre-order:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Kobo.

Apple Books

Pink Hibiscus: An Army Nurse’s letter to her sister on December 7, 1941

pink_hibiscus_pretty_nurse

What was life like on the home front during WW 2? Find out in CHRISTMAS ONCE AGAIN — info at the end of story

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

December 7, 1941 7:30 a.m.

Dear Peggy,

I’m bustin’ with news to tell you, little sister. I only have a few minutes before my shift at the hospital starts, pink_hibiscus_couple_moonso bear with me.

I don’t know where to begin. It all happened so fast. I met Jimmy at the Officers’ Club when I first got here last summer and the handsome Army Air Force lieutenant asked me to dance. The band was playing Moonlight Serenade and before I knew it he had his arms around me, holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe.

Then he kissed me. Oh, it was so romantic. The warm night breeze blowing in off the ocean, the smell of pink hibiscus making me wild with desire, his hand reaching under my long evening gown and sliding up my thigh. Then he picked me up in his arms and carried me down to the beach and we…

7:45 a.pink_hibiscus_nurse_phonem. Sorry, I got called away by the nurse-in-charge. She was worried about a patient wheezing and coughing. She thought it might be pneumonia. Just a couple of nurses on duty this morning, so she asked me to help her with paperwork.

I was disappointed, seeing how I haven’t had much chance to use my nursing skills since I’ve been here. Still, Pearl is the best duty an Army nurse could wish for. We get a few pilots scraped up after a rough landing or with a bad hangover, but it’s mostly sunny days and balmy nights.

I bet you and Mom were all bundled up when you did this year’s Christmas shopping at Wanamaker’s. I love walking down Market Street with all the holiday decorations. The soft, white snow landing on top of the pretzel man’s cart. The hot cocoa with Mom’s fresh whipped cream.

I miss you and the family so much, but don’t worry about me, I’m having the best time of my life. I’ve nearly worn out the soles on my new high-heeled pumps dancing every night with Jimmy. Here’s my news, he…

7:55 a.m. Something’s happening, Peggy, something awful.

Sirens going off, a loud explosion, and everyone’s scrambling. I’ll write more later. I’ve got to get back to my patients. They’re jumping out of bed and yelling for their pants.

We’re under attack . . . oh, God, what’s happening?

======

11:30 p.m.

It’s over. For now. A mad, insane day that I shall never forget . . . But my job is just beginning. I wish I could call you on the telephone and hear your voice, tell you that I’m okay, but that’s impossible, so I’ll write everything dopink_hibiscus_nurse_clipboardwn as fast as I can. Here’s what happened earlier today on December 7, 1941 . . .

The second wave of the surprise attack lasted until nearly 10 a.m.

I haven’t stopped since then and I’d still be racing from one patient to the next if the nurse-in-charge hadn’t insisted I get some rest. First, I’ll give you detailed account before I grab a few minutes of sleep, then go back on duty. My thoughts are scattered, so bear with me.

By the time you read this, you’ll know the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on a quiet Sunday morning at 7:55 a.m. I was recording a patient’s vitals when a soldier with a broken leg asked me to help him stand up. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he looked real nervous. Said he heard something that didn’t sound right. Planes flying overhead that weren’t ours. I thought he was joking, then I looked out the big, square hospital window—

Oh, my God, Peggy, I don’t know how to describe what I saw. Planes roaring overhead with red suns emblazoned on them. Loud, ear-splitting explosions. Black plumes of smoke swirling into the sky like a death flower.

It was maddening. Fear choked my throat. My body went numb. Hot tears spilled onto my cheeks. I wiped them away with defiance. Nurses don’t cry.pink_hibiscus_nurse_soldier I let go with a long shudder. I don’t know what came over me. Fear, I guess, but I was okay now.

Duty came first.

This was what I’d spent years studying for, watching, observing, the sleepless nights working in the emergency room in the big Philadelphia hospital. It all came together for me in that moment. Thank God. Within minutes, the wounded came pouring in. Carried in on anything sturdy enough to hold them. The sound of antiaircraft fire ringing in our ears, bombs exploding outside and shaking the walls.

I don’t want to shock you, but you and those at home must know what we’re up against in this war. The pain, the horror. Men missing limbs. Bloodied wounds. Ugly burns with exposed flesh. Others in shock.

We had no electricity, no elevators to transport the wounded to surgery. Not enough nurses. Supplies running out fast. But we did it. We saved as many lives as we could and prayed for those we couldn’t. I went from one patient to the next, never stopping until—

I saw him. My lieutenant. Carrying a wounded soldier on his back, blood splattered all over his uniform. “Jimmy, Jimmy!” I yelled out, trying to get his attention.

“Kitty . . . “

He looked so relieved to see me it made me tear up. I could see in his eyes he wanted to hold me close to him, never let me go. I wanted to feel his warmth, smell his woodsy, masculine scent. Prove to myself he was here, alive.

My patient came first. After I stabilized the wounded man, Jimmy held me in his arms and pulled off my nurse’s cap, and then ran his fingers through my hair.

“Thank God, you’re okay, Kitty,” he said, his lips brushing my cheek. He told me we lost several battleships and more than a hundred planes, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He was going to get into the air no matter what he had to do. Drive all over the island until he found a P36 gassed up and ready to go.

He cupped my chin and said,  “I’ll be seeing you, babe.”

I smiled up at him. “I’ll be waiting.” Then he left. I blew him a kiss. I knew what he was thinking. He had his job and I had mine. Whatever words and soft kissepink_hibiscus_flags we’d exchanged under the swaying palms would have to wait.

We were at war.

And God willing, we’d be together again soon.

But nothing will erase what happened here on this Sunday morning at Pearl Harbor, the sun bright yellow and hot. Then the sky became dark with enemy planes set on destroying us and our way of life.

My heart is so heavy with the pain of what I saw today. The suffering and the dying. It’s my job and the job of every serviceman and woman to stop them before they reach our home shores.

You have a job, too, Peggy. Take care of Mom and Dad, and tell them not to worry about me.

I know everyone will do whatever they can so our fighting men can return home safe.

I can’t wait until I see you all again. When this horrible mess is over, we’ll sit under the old apple tree and eat bonbons and I’ll show you the prettiest engagpink_hibiscus_kissingement ring you ever saw.

Yes, that’s my surprise. Jimmy asked me to marry him.

Till then, little sister, pray for me. And our boys fighting what some say will be a long, hard battle.

But we’ll win. We have to.

For the sake of free men and women everywhere.

Love, your big sister,

Kitty

============== World War 2 women soldiers

I hope you enjoyed reliving the events of December 7, 1941 through Kitty’s eyes. She came to me in an instant when I wanted to write a tribute to the brave men and women at Pearl Harbor and told her story to me. I couldn’t type fast enough…

==============

Enjoy a trip back to Posey Creek, PA during WW 2 on the home front as Kate Arden prepares for the holidays…until her world comes crashing down when her fiancé ships overseas in ‘Christmas Once Again’.

Available at e-tailers everywhere…print and audio book, too.

Find out more in CHRISTMAS ONCE AGAIN E-book links:

US Amazon https://amzn.to/2pcz2eN

UK Amazon https://amzn.to/31rF4pZ

Follow me on BookBub for new releases and promo deals!

https://www.bookbub.com/profile/jina-bacarr

Time travel back to Christmas 1943 on the home front with my holiday Women’s Fiction novel CHRISTMAS ONCE AGAIN 

——————

On a cold December day in 1955, Kate Arden got on a train to go home for Christmas. This is the story of what happened when she got off that train. In 1943. In 1943 Kate Arden was engaged to the man she loved, Jeffrey Rushbrooke. She was devastated and heartbroken when he was called up for wartime duty and later killed on a secret mission in France.

But what if Kate could change that? What if she could warn him and save his life before Christmas? Or will fate have a bigger surprise in store for her?

Christmas Once Again is a sweeping, heartbreakingly romantic novel – it’s one woman’s chance to follow a different path and mend her broken heart… ———–

What readers are saying about Christmas Once Again:

‘A fabulous book you won’t want to miss’ ‘A really beautiful story’ ‘Found this book amazing! Would love to read more of her books.’ ‘5* from me’

—————

Christmas Once Again:

US Amazon https://amzn.to/2pcz2eN 

UK Amazon https://amzn.to/31rF4pZ ———

Thank you for stopping by! If you like WW 2 romance, check out my holiday novella that takes place on Christmas Eve during the cold winter of 1943: “A Soldier’s Italian Christmas.”

December 1943 Italy

He is a U.S Army captain, a battle-weary soldier who has lost his faith.

She is a nun, her life dedicated to God.

Together they are going to commit an act the civilized world will not tolerate.

They are about to fall in love.

Winner in the Novella Category in the I Heart Indie contest A Soldier’s Italian Christmas is available on Kindle ~Jina

Also, my Civil War medical drama: LOVE ME FOREVER is available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited and is on sale December 7-8 for 99 cents!!

=============

Featured Image -- 2069

If you love Civil War romance and time travel and TWO hunky military heroes, check out my Kindle Scout winner: LOVE ME FOREVER  on SALE for 99 cents 

She wore gray.

He wore blue.

But their love defied the boundaries of war. And time.

===========================

Pink Hibiscus: An Army Nurse’s letter to her sister on December 7, 1941

pink_hibiscus_pretty_nurse

If you like stories about love, war, and medicine, check out my Civil War time travel romance, LOVE ME FOREVER – a Civil War medical drama that takes place in 1862 in Virginia in a plantation turned into a hospital.

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

December 7, 1941

7:30 a.m.

Dear Peggy,

I’m bustin’ with news to tell you, little sister. I only have a few minutes before my shift at the hospital starts, pink_hibiscus_couple_moonso bear with me. I don’t know where to begin. It all happened so fast. I met Jimmy at the Officers’ Club when I first got here last summer and the handsome Army Air Force lieutenant asked me to dance. The band was playing Moonlight Serenade and before I knew it he had his arms around me, holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe.

Then he kissed me.

Oh, it was so romantic. The warm night breeze blowing in off the ocean, the smell of pink hibiscus making me wild with desire, his hand reaching under my long evening gown and sliding up my thigh. Then he picked me up in his arms and carried me down to the beach and we…

7:45 a.pink_hibiscus_nurse_phonem.

Sorry, I got called away by the nurse-in-charge. She was worried about a patient wheezing and coughing. She thought it might be pneumonia. Just a couple of nurses on duty this morning, so she asked me to help her with paperwork. I was disappointed, seeing how I haven’t had much chance to use my nursing skills since I’ve been here. Still, Pearl is the best duty an Army nurse could wish for. We get a few pilots scraped up after a rough landing or with a bad hangover, but it’s mostly sunny days and balmy nights.

I bet you and Mom were all bundled up when you did this year’s Christmas shopping at Wanamaker’s. I love walking down Market Street with all the holiday decorations. The soft, white snow landing on top of the pretzel man’s cart. The hot cocoa with Mom’s fresh whipped cream. I miss you and the family so much, but don’t worry about me, I’m having the best time of my life. I’ve nearly worn out the soles on my new high-heeled pumps dancing every night with Jimmy.

Here’s my news, he…

7:55 a.m.

Something’s happening, Peggy, something awful. Sirens going off, a loud explosion, and everyone’s scrambling. I’ll write more later. I’ve got to get back to my patients. They’re jumping out of bed and yelling for their pants.

We’re under attack . . . oh, God, what’s happening?

======

11:30 p.m.

It’s over. For now.

A mad, insane day that I shall never forget . . .

But my job is just beginning. I wish I could call you on the telephone and hear your voice, tell you that I’m okay, but that’s impossible, so I’ll write everything dopink_hibiscus_nurse_clipboardwn as fast as I can. Here’s what happened earlier today on December 7, 1941 . . .

The second wave of the surprise attack lasted until nearly 10 a.m. I haven’t stopped since then and I’d still be racing from one patient to the next if the nurse-in-charge hadn’t insisted I get some rest.

First, I’ll give you detailed account before I grab a few minutes of sleep, then go back on duty. My thoughts are scattered, so bear with me.

By the time you read this, you’ll know the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on a quiet Sunday morning at 7:55 a.m. I was recording a patient’s vitals when a soldier with a broken leg asked me to help him stand up. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he looked real nervous. Said he heard something that didn’t sound right. Planes flying overhead that weren’t ours. I thought he was joking, then I looked out the big, square hospital window—

Oh, my God, Peggy, I don’t know how to describe what I saw. Planes roaring overhead with red suns emblazoned on them. Loud, ear-splitting explosions. Black plumes of smoke swirling into the sky like a death flower.

It was maddening. Fear choked my throat. My body went numb. Hot tears spilled onto my cheeks. I

wiped them away with defiance.

Nurses don’t cry.pink_hibiscus_nurse_soldier

I let go with a long shudder. I don’t know what came over me. Fear, I guess, but I was okay now. Duty came first. This was what I’d spent years studying for, watching, observing, the sleepless nights working in the emergency room in the big Philadelphia hospital. It all came together for me in that moment.

Thank God.

Within minutes, the wounded came pouring in. Carried in on anything sturdy enough to hold them. The sound of antiaircraft fire ringing in our ears, bombs exploding outside and shaking the walls. I don’t want to shock you, but you and those at home must know what we’re up against in this war. The pain, the horror. Men missing limbs. Bloodied wounds. Ugly burns with exposed flesh. Others in shock. We had no electricity, no elevators to transport the wounded to surgery. Not enough nurses. Supplies running out fast.

But we did it. We saved as many lives as we could and prayed for those we couldn’t.

I went from one patient to the next, never stopping until—

I saw him. My lieutenant. Carrying a wounded soldier on his back, blood splattered all over his uniform.

“Jimmy, Jimmy!” I yelled out, trying to get his attention.

pink_hibiscus_hugging“Kitty . . . ” He looked so relieved to see me it made me tear up. I could see in his eyes he wanted to hold me close to him, never let me go. I wanted to feel his warmth, smell his woodsy, masculine scent. Prove to myself

he was here, alive.

My patient came first.

After I stabilized the wounded man, Jimmy held me in his arms and pulled off my nurse’s cap, and then ran his fingers through my hair.

“Thank God, you’re okay, Kitty,” he said, his lips brushing my cheek. He told me we lost several battleships and more than a hundred planes, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He was going to get into the air no matter what he had to do. Drive all over the island until he found a P36 gassed up and ready to go.

He cupped my chin and said,  “I’ll be seeing you, babe.”

I smiled up at him. “I’ll be waiting.”

Then he left. I blew him a kiss. I knew what he was thinking. He had his job and I had mine. Whatever words and soft kissepink_hibiscus_flags we’d exchanged under the swaying palms would have to wait.

We were at war.

And God willing, we’d be together again soon.

But nothing will erase what happened here on this Sunday morning at Pearl Harbor, the sun bright yellow and hot. Then the sky became dark with enemy planes set on destroying us and our way of life. My heart is so heavy with the pain of what I saw today. The suffering and the dying. It’s my job and the job of every serviceman and woman to stop them before they reach our home shores.

You have a job, too, Peggy. Take care of Mom and Dad, and tell them not to worry about me. I know everyone will do whatever they can so our fighting men can return home safe.

I can’t wait until I see you all again. When this horrible mess is over, we’ll sit under the old apple tree and eat bonbons and I’ll show you the prettiest engagpink_hibiscus_kissingement ring you ever saw. Yes, that’s my surprise. Jimmy asked me to marry him.

Till then, little sister, pray for me. And our boys fighting what some say will be a long, hard battle. But we’ll win. We have to. For the sake of free men and women everywhere.

Love, your big sister,

Kitty

==============

 

World War 2 women soldiers

I hope you enjoyed reliving the events of December 7, 1941 through Kitty’s eyes. She came to me in an instant when I wanted to write a tribute to the brave men and women at Pearl Harbor and told her story to me. I couldn’t type fast enough…

==============

Thank you for stopping by! If you like WW 2 romance, check out my holiday novella that takes place on Christmas Eve during the cold winter of 1943: “A Soldier’s Italian Christmas.”

A Soldier’s Italian Christmas from Jina Bacarr on Vimeo.

December 1943 Italy

He is a U.S Army captain, a battle-weary soldier who has lost his faith. She is a nun, her life dedicated to God. Together they are going to commit an act the civilized world will not tolerate. They are about to fall in love.

Winner in the Novella Category in the I Heart Indie contest

A Soldier’s Italian Christmas is available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited

~Jina

Also, my Civil War medical drama:

Women Soldiers in the Civil War from “Love Me Forever” from Jina Bacarr on Vimeo.

LOVE ME FOREVER is available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited and is on sale December 7-9 for 99 cents!!

Christmas during the Civil War in 1862 from “Love Me Forever” from Jina Bacarr on Vimeo.

=============

Southern Belle and Spy: Excerpt from LOVE ME FOREVER from Jina Bacarr on Vimeo.

Featured Image -- 2069If you love Civil War romance and time travel and TWO hunky military heroes, check out my Kindle Scout winner:

LOVE ME FOREVER  on SALE for 99 cents until December 9, 2018

She wore gray.
He wore blue.
But their love defied the boundaries of war.
And time.

 

 

 

===========================

And finally, a word about my Christmas time travel WW 2 novel: I’ve submitted my women’s fiction story about a woman in 1955 who goes back in time to Christmas 1943 to save the man she loves from being killed in the war — it’s on submission at a trad publishing house. When I have news, I’ll be bursting to share it with you!

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“Christmas Once and Again”

On a cold December day in 1955, I got on a train to go back home for Christmas.

This is the story of what happened when I got off that train.

In 1943.

The “Mistletoe Flyer” is a magic train that goes back in time to 1943…

 

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